Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (24 page)

Coco smiled weakly. “This is really lovely, Mom.” She sized up the cucumber sandwiches and the porcelain teacups and mini Bonne Maman jams. Coco knew her mother was only trying to comfort her after weeks of seeing her dreams get crushed. Sure, it was terrible to have been rejected by the world’s most famous record producer (three weeks ago). Of course it was awful to have been demoted from dance captain (almost two weeks ago). And yes, ExtravaBAMSa had been beyond humiliating (last night). But Coco didn’t regret any of it. The way she saw it, September had been a really bad month. And surely there were better things on the horizon. As the light sparkled off Cardammon’s pebble-size yellow diamond ring, Coco realized: She hadn’t gone through any of that to please her mother. She’d done it for herself.

“I’ve pushed you far too hard with the dancing and the pop star thing,” Cardammon said in a serious tone. “I wanted you to have this life because I’ve enjoyed it, but no one
needs
this.” Cardammon waved at a row of her own framed platinum records on the wall. “Seeing those every morning isn’t what makes me happy.”

“I was born to perform,” Coco said, believing it, but wondering why she felt so defensive. “I do this because there’s nothing I love more.”

Cardammon looked down at the pale green carpet, her expression like a sad Norah Jones song.

Coco bit her lip and thought of her idol, Christina Aguilera. Xtina didn’t give up. Xtina had gone before the whole world in trashy, stomach-baring outfits with black makeup and fake braids before she glammed it up, went multiplatinum (hair and records), got married, and had a baby, Coco reminded herself, twirling her Inner Circle ring
.
But then again . . . Xtina had been the most talented girl in America by age six. No one thought Coco had that kind of talent. In fact, everyone thought Coco was embarrassingly bad.

Especially Coco.

She let go of the ring
.
Maybe it was just easier to give in. Why fight it? Even her own mother was holding open the escape hatch.

Coco smiled and reached for a pumpkin scone, lathering it with thick whipped cream from a white ceramic pot, even though she didn’t much feel like eating. Normally she only ate when she was hungry, but now she just wanted to take her mind off dancing.

“Cheers, Mom,” Coco said, numbly raising her scone to her mother’s glass. She was tired of fighting—for her place on the team, for dancing, for her reputation, for approval. It was so much easier to just go with the flow.

“Cheers, luvvy,” Cardammon said. She tapped her glass against Coco’s scone.

It was time to take a bite out of reality, Coco decided. It was time to stop living in a pop star dream world. As she bit into the still-warm scone, she realized it didn’t even taste good. In fact, much like reality, it was very unappetizing.

Emily stared up at the ecru-colored wall of the guest bedroom, her home for the last two weeks. The Armstrongs called the guest bedroom the Gift Closet, because it was where they kept all the presents they didn’t want to throw away but didn’t want to keep on display. Emily’s eyes landed on a heart-shaped jewelry box, a gift to Adrienne from Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner. Then she shifted her gaze to the signed
Shakespeare in Love
poster (from Gwyneth Paltrow) and the Princess Diana commemorative plate (from Elton John) and the brass owl (from Owen Wilson).

On better days, Emily had found the gifts cool. But today, everything about the Gift Closet felt uncomfortable, and not at all like home. It was just a stark reminder that she wasn’t in Iowa anymore, where her walls were covered in yellowed pictures of Davey Woodward ripped from magazines, and goofy self-portraits of her and Paige at Winky’s Donuts.

Through her windows overlooking the Armstrongs’ swimming pool, Emily spied Mac lying in the hammock, lazily flipping through a French
Vogue
under the shade of a palm frond—which she knew was Mac’s go-to de-stress activity. Mac’s brother, Jenner, was practicing his volley-ball serve on the lawn by the pool, and Mac’s fluffy-haired little sister, Maude, was playing at her laptop computer. Jenner walked over to the pool and scooped out a handful of water to throw at Mac. She jerked back and shot him a disgusted look. Maude giggled from behind her computer. Even teasing each other, they looked like such a family. It made Emily feel like more of an outsider. It wasn’t her family. It wasn’t her home.

She picked up the cordless phone from the silver side table and dialed her mom’s number. She wished she could click her heels three times and magically be back in Iowa.

Lori Mungler picked up on the first ring. “Hey, hunny, how’s it going?” She took a bite of what sounded like a Cheeto. The TV was on in the background, and Emily could hear
Dr. Phil
, which her mom must have TiVo’d
,
because his show wasn’t on on Sundays.

Emily felt a tear trickle down her cheek as she listened to the sounds of home. She couldn’t believe that she was getting wistful thinking about Cheetos and Dr. Phil, and
that
thought only made her more sad. Normally Emily could control her tears, but these days, it seemed like all she did was cry uncontrollably.

“Sweetheart . . .” Lori paused to swallow. She lowered the volume on the TV. “Is everything okay with Mac and the girls?”

“Yesbutitsnotworkingformeasanactress!” Emily cried, her chest heaving up and down. She stared at the brass owl. Its carved eyes looked like they were judging her. Even the brass owl thought she was a loser.

“Sweetie, take deep breaths, okay? Everything in life happens for a reason. I miss you, too. But remember, you don’t have these opportunities in Iowa.”

“I know, I don’t care!” Emily cried. Tears streamed down her face. “I want to be home.”

“Sweetheart, it’ll all be okay. When you know what you want, then you can put it into the universe.” Lori soothed. Normally Emily rolled her eyes at her mother ’s
Secret
-inspired wisdom
,
but today its familiarity filled her with relief. Emily was quiet and her breathing slowed.

Finally, when she was able to speak coherently once again, she said, very calmly, so her mother would know she was being serious: “This was a huge mistake and I hate Bel-Air.”

There was a rattle at the door. Emily looked up and saw Mac standing in the doorway, holding a glass pitcher full of lemonade. Mac clutched it with both hands, her eyes wide open like she’d seen a ghost. The look on Mac’s face gave it away: She’d heard everything. She turned and left.

“Oh no,” Emily gasped.

“Ems, are you still there?” Lori asked.

Emily looked at the phone and then the empty doorway, feeling even more powerless than she had ten seconds ago. Nothing she put into the universe was any good.

Mac tiptoed as quickly as she could down the stairway from Emily’s room, holding tight to the banister. She felt her life spinning out of control. She’d failed as an agent and as a friend. She’d lost social chair, her reputation had tanked, and now, her only client (who happened to be her good friend) was ditching her.

Mac needed to talk to her mother—who, as usual, was working on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Adrienne was in her home office, on the phone, raking her Japanese rock garden, when she looked up and spotted Mac. She held up her index finger to show that she’d be right with her.

“All righty, Milo, I’ll get into this some more tomorrow. You be a good boy in Vegas,” she said. “No pictures in
Us Weekly
, okay? Promise?” After a pause, once Milo had clearly hung up the phone, Adrienne leaned into her hands-free headset to speak to her assistant, who had also been listening in on the call. “Are we clear, Charlotte?” Adrienne asked.

Mac couldn’t believe that her mother’s office assistants got paid to eavesdrop on phone calls and take notes on what celebrities said. Or that her mother was so powerful that some poor assistant actually had to work on a Sunday, dialing phone numbers and connecting Adrienne to A-list clients so that she didn’t have to do it herself.

“Thanks for the good work, Charlotte. Especially on a Sunday. We’re done for today. You can come in at nine tomorrow.” Adrienne flicked off her headset and looked at Mac, who had slunk into the Eames chair across from her desk.

“Brighten up,” Adrienne said perkily.

Mac doubled-checked that her mother was not still on the phone. Sometimes she was talking to other people and Mac didn’t realize it.

Negative
. The headset was definitely on the table.

“How can I brighten up when I’m a big failure?” Mac asked. She looked at her mother ’s framed black-and-white pictures of 1920s Los Angeles Art Deco buildings. “I mean, you were at the fund-raiser—you saw what happened.”

Mac looked down at her red Toms shoes, not wanting to hear her mother rub it in. “Mackenzie, I’m so proud of you,” Adrienne said. Mac looked up at her mother, sure she hadn’t heard right. “Emily showed everyone what a talented actress she is,” Adrienne continued, as if reading Mac’s mind. “I’ll bet the only reason she didn’t quit that dreadful play was because
you
encouraged her to make something of that role.” Adrienne pushed her Armani glasses against her nose. “Am I right?”

“How did you know that?” Mac’s eyed widened. For the first time in a while, she felt a sense of accomplishment: She had made her mother proud, and that was one of the best feelings in the world.

“It’s what we do. We push people to make the best choices for themselves,” Adrienne sighed. “Tristin may be a fireball of talent,” Adrienne said, referring to her two-time Oscar-winning client, “but if it weren’t for me, she’d get one-liners on
How I Met Your Mother
.”

Mac buzzed with hope for just a second. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all? But then she remembered that she’d failed. Emily was leaving for Iowa. And this time, she’d have no reason to believe Mac if she tried to stop her. As if remembering her true loser status, Mac blurted, “But if I’ve done such a good job, then how come I’m so subprime at BAMS? I did what you said—I paid my dues—and no one will deal with me anymore.”

“Did you do your best?” Adrienne asked.

Mac nodded slowly. She’d done it right initially, holding up her end of the deal. But then she remembered the moral detour she had taken when she decided to sabotage the Rubybots. She thought about how that plan had completely backfired, and sunk them even deeper into the self-centered off-ramp of misery. If only she’d stayed on track and followed her mother’s advice! Then maybe none of this would have happened.

“Your best is all you can do.” Adrienne shrugged as if it were all no big deal. She clasped her hands and leaned toward Mac. “Let me tell you a little story,” Adrienne sighed. “Remember that agent who made me go by the name Audrey? Well, I gave it three months. Then, when I realized he wasn’t going to promote me, I convinced another partner in the agency to hire me.”

Mac gasped. She’d encouraged all her friends to work hard based on false pretenses. “But I thought you said you had to pay your dues?”

“Yes, but you have to be smart about
where
you pay them. And you have to know when to cut your losses. I got off his desk, worked for another partner—the one who wanted all those peanut butter shakes—and within a year I was a junior agent. I even got my own e-mail address.”

Mac thought about this. When her mom had hit a wall, she’d switched bosses. But there was no way she could transfer schools two weeks into the year. “But BAMS is the only boss in my world.” Mac sighed.

“Who said anything about BAMS?” Adrienne shook her head.
“
You have to think outside the BAMS box,” she continued with a knowing look.

Mac looked at her mom as if she had fallen from the sky. “Mom, you’re losing me.”

“You did great in Hollywood a few weeks ago,” Adrienne said. “You got Emily seen for the hottest project in town. I have agents working for me who
still
can’t get their clients in front of Elliot Tachman.”

Mad nodded, feeling a tiny bit proud.

“It seems like you’ve been spending an awful lot of time worrying about the small dogs, and now it’s time to pony up for the big dogs.” Adrienne winked.

Mac shook her head.
How
did her mother always know the answer to everything?

“Oh, and by the way, tomorrow you should check out
Variety
. I know things have been tough, but you have to stay on top of industry news.” With that, Adrienne picked up a script with a red Initiative logo and kicked her heels on her desk, signaling that their conversation was over.

Mac smiled. Of course she would check out
Variety
. She used to read it every day, before she became so wrapped up in Pax Rubana and lost sight of her real goal: Hollywood domination. She and her friends were lucky enough to know exactly what they wanted to do with their lives. Why scale it down to BAMS size?

Mac thought about the girl she’d been for the past seven days. And then, as with the skinny jeans trend, Mac knew:

It was time to say
adieu
!

When the lunch bell rang, Emily walked very slowly to her locker, dragging her checker board Vans so that each step took twice as long as it should have. She felt weighed down by a horrible sense of guilt. It had been so painful to see Mac, always strong, actually vulnerable and sad because of things
she
had said. She must have seemed so ungrateful. Emily wished she could rewind and close the door when she’d been talking to her mom.
How could she have been so stupid?