Infamous. Lauren Conrad

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      Kate glanced around at the small apartment, as if she hadn’t been here a dozen times checking in on post-op Madison. Kate was the only person Madison had been willing to see, so she was Madison’s source for take-out sushi, issues of the weekly mags, and information on shoots for the new season of The Fame Game. Like how bad it was going. How flat the scenes were, how empty the fake-impromptu dinner parties. And Madison loved hearing it.

      “Was that spider plant left over, too?” Kate asked, nodding her head in its direction.

      “No,” Madison admitted. “That’s mine.”

      She followed Kate’s gaze. The spider plant was dying, and—there was no getting around it—the apartment was pretty depressing. The kitchen was the nicest room in the whole place, which was ironic for a person who rarely ate and who definitely never cooked.

      She’d moved into it the day after her sudden exit from The Fame Game, because it was cheap (for L.A., anyway) and available.

      This lack of foresight, real-estate-wise, was only one of the things Madison had come to regret. The days immediately after her on-camera explosion at the hospital were dark ones. She hadn’t fully understood what PopTV meant for her, either personally or professionally. So, for the first time in her life, she was utterly alone, with absolutely nothing on her iCal.

      Nothing but the remainder of her community-service hours, that is. Since she couldn’t face Ryan Tucker (her ex? her former friend-with-benefits?), Madison claimed a sudden onset of life-threatening pet-dander allergies and requested a transfer from Lost Paws.

      Connie Berkley, the straight-talking paper-pusher from the L.A. County court system, granted it grudgingly, and Madison spent the next two weeks picking up beer cans, cigarette butts, and fast-food wrappers in a Los Feliz park. She had to wear bad sneakers and a hideous Day-Glo orange vest, and the three other people working with her were beyond offensive. But at least none of them were named Ryan. At least none of them had taken her heart and stomped on it.

      Every day she came home, sweaty and hot, to an apartment filled with pretty but generic furniture she’d gotten free from Crate & Barrel (she promised them she’d do an “at-home” shoot for one of the weeklies). There was no Gaby to greet her, and there were no cameras to film her. If it weren’t for Kate, and for her dog, Samson, Madison would have been seriously depressed.

      When she felt especially sorry for herself, Madison did her best to remember how things could always be worse. For instance: She hadn’t OD’d by mistake, the way Gaby had, and she wasn’t now in a locked-down rehab facility. (No at-home shoots there!) Gaby had been in treatment at the Hope Medical Center in Malibu for almost six weeks now. No doubt she was going to countless individual and group therapy sessions and getting really good at Ping-Pong.

      Or was it mental hospitals where they played Ping-Pong? Madison would have to ask her, if it didn’t sound too rude.

      They’d been in touch a few times since Gaby’s OD, but the Hope staff had confiscated Gaby’s cell phone and limited her computer time, so their interactions had been brief. Also, the moment Madison finished up her community service, she’d hopped on a plane to Mexico to regroup. It was her own personal emotional rehab.

      She didn’t tell anyone she was going (except for Kate, who had agreed to dog-sit Samson); she simply vanished. And it felt great.

      In a small town an hour outside of Cabo, Madison took long walks on the beach, ignored Trevor’s five thousand phone calls, and came to a major decision. She was not done with reality TV, but she was definitely done with trying to play nice. She’d been burned by Charlie, Ryan, and Sophie (twice). It was about time she remembered that a girl couldn’t trust anyone but herself.

      “Madison,” Trevor’s voice mails always said, “we really have to talk.”

      She took great pleasure in deleting each one. She’d talk to him when she was good and ready.

      But all too soon, it was time for her to return to L.A. While Madison could plot her comeback beneath a palapa on a Mexican beach, she could hardly accomplish it from there.

      When she arrived back at LAX, Madison’s very first phone call had been to her go-to plastic surgeon. It was time for some laser lipo, because those carbs she’d eaten when she was “happy” with Ryan were still hanging around her midsection. Dr. Klein, who had a keen nose for business (and had coincidentally done Madison’s nose), had given her a deal in exchange for her participation in his “I’ll never tell” press release. (“I look great after a visit with Dr. Klein. Where did he operate on me? I’ll never tell!”)

      She smiled, thinking about it. She could probably work a similar deal with Dr. Burton the next time she needed a Botox touch-up. (She was definitely looking forward to the day when she was done paying off Luxe for the necklace Charlie stole; it was humiliating to barter for cosmetic procedures.)

      “Earth to Madison,” Kate said, waving a hand in front of her face.

      Madison turned to her. “What? Were you saying something?”

      “I’ve only been asking you the same question for, like, five minutes,” Kate said, looking slightly insulted.

      “Ask me again. Sorry, I’m listening.”

      Kate took a sip of her tea and then got up to find the sugar. “Are you going to go see Gaby when they let her out? We’re all going to be there, you know. And that means the PopTV crew will be there, too.”

      “May I remind you that I quit the show?” Madison asked.

      Kate rolled her eyes. “No need. I was there,” she said. “But the day she gets out will be a big deal. And anyway, don’t you miss being on camera? Airtime is kind of like . . . well, air to you.”

      Madison hadn’t filmed anything for six weeks now—of course she missed it. Whoever said diamonds were a girl’s best friend hadn’t stopped to consider a camera. “Not really,” she said dismissively.

      Then Kate, who was still looking for the sugar, noticed the Gossip magazine that Madison just happened to leave out on the counter. “Hey, is that the issue you’re in?”

      Madison nodded, unable to keep a small, satisfied smile from her face. The moment her bruises had vanished, she’d set up a photo op on the beach in Malibu and paired it with an exclusive sit-down with a reporter from Gossip. She’d talked about her “rewarding” community service, and how it made her rethink her priorities. She had skillfully dodged the reporter’s questions about trouble on the set of The Fame Game. Since Trevor hadn’t included her “I quit” outburst on the season finale, no one really knew what was going on with her. With only a couple episodes of season two having aired, the rumors were swirling, and Madison liked it that way. The less she said, the more people wanted to know.

      The best part of the article was the end, in which the writer suggested that if Madison Parker were to leave the show, The Fame Game would be a total snoozefest.

      “Community service made you ‘reexamine your celebrity lifestyle,’ huh?” Kate asked, looking up from the magazine. “You learned how ‘vitally important’ it is to give back?” She laughed. “You’re amazing, Mad, you really are.”

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