LITMIR.BIZ

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the leather seat.

      Kate scrambled on behind him and leaned forward. Her arms wrapped around his waist. It felt strange and thrilling to be this close to him. She tightened her grip as he pulled out of the parking lot and into the street.

      The wind whipped her hair as Luke took winding curves upward into the hills, and the sky turned brilliant shades of pink and violet as they passed Spanish mission–style homes and classic California bungalows surrounded by pockets of rustling palm and madrone trees. At first she tried yelling questions at him over the noise of the engine and the wind, but each time he turned his chin toward her, shook his head, and yelled, “I can’t hear you!”

      She was nervous for what felt like ten miles, but by the time he turned right, pulled through a cluster of trees, and slowed the bike to a stop, Kate was ready to invest in a motorcycle herself. Although, she reflected, her own motorcycle would unfortunately not come equipped with a gorgeous driver.

      Luke put the kickstand down and turned toward her. “Ever been up here before?”

      “I don’t even know where we are.”

      “Look behind you,” he said.

      Kate turned around, and there, glowing in the fading light, was that iconic symbol of fame: the Hollywood sign. “Oh!” she exclaimed.

      “Here, come on.” Luke grabbed her hand and they made their way to the edge of the turnout. The hill dropped steeply away toward the valley, but makeshift stairs had been carved into the rocky dirt and led to the giant white letters.

      “There’s a place to sit down that way,” Luke said.

      A few moments later they were close enough to the H to reach out and touch the whitewashed metal.

      “This is so cool,” Kate said, turning her gaze between the giant letters and the sparkling grid of Los Angeles below them. She could see the Capitol Records Building and the lights from The Grove. She couldn’t see the ocean, but she knew where it was, because that was where the lights stopped and the darkness began. “Do you come up here a lot?”

      “Not much anymore,” Luke said. “I used to, when I first moved to L.A. four years ago. Being up this high makes it all seem—I don’t know”—Luke scrubbed his hand through his hair—“more manageable or something.”

      Kate nodded in complete agreement. Even with some success (and especially without any), L.A. could seem so overwhelming. Everyone here wanted something: money, fame, success; a starring role, a record contract; a chance at making his or her dreams come true. And it seemed like most people would do just about anything to get it.

      “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if you’d stayed in Australia?” she asked.

      “You mean, what if I was okay with being Australian successful instead of trying to be Hollywood successful?”

      “I guess,” she said.

      “I do wonder. My mother certainly doesn’t, though. She’s completely sure I made a horrible decision coming here. She thought that after things didn’t work out with Fight or Flight, I should’ve gone back home immediately.”

      Kate had never heard of that movie when Luke told her about it the other night. Luke explained that of course she hadn’t because before it was released the star (who Kate definitely had heard of) was arrested for drunk driving and apparently said some completely misogynistic stuff to the female cop who’d pulled him over. And someone had filmed it. His name was poison after that and the movie went straight to DVD.

      “Sometimes I even wonder what it would be like if I’d just gone to university, gotten a job, got a promotion, and settled down.”

      “Yeah?” She sat on a step and Luke crouched next to her.

      “It does seem like it would be easier sometimes,” Luke said. “Don’t you think?”

      “Maybe, but you don’t get a view like this in Ohio.”

      Luke was gazing intently at her, his green eyes smiling. “Yes, the view is definitely better around here,” he said.

      She gave him a little punch on the arm. “Shut up,” she said.

      He laughed. “I was just testing you. I want to make sure you don’t fall for any corny old line.”

      “I’m not a total innocent,” Kate said. But she wondered how true this was. Ethan had been her first and last boyfriend; it wasn’t like she was chock-full of romantic experience. But did this, right now, count as romantic experience? Luke was flirting with her, but maybe he was just that way. She had Googled him earlier and saw him on the red carpet with a few different girls. Maybe he was one of those guys who got off on making girls like him. She really had no idea. She’d wanted to ask Carmen about him, but she didn’t want to bother her—Carmen had told her she was sequestering herself for a few days to prepare for some big audition.

      Kate gazed out over the glittering landscape. “I want to be somebody,” she said suddenly, as if informing the lights of L.A. itself. “I want to write songs that matter to people.”

      “Do you hear that, L.A.?” Luke yelled. “Kate Hayes is going to take you by storm! And so am I!” He stopped and smiled, then added, “Whenever I can get away from the GEICO commercials, that is.”

      Kate laughed. “There’s no shame in a commercial,” she said. Thinking: And there’s no shame in reality TV, either. Right? “I mean, whatever pays the rent. And keeps your agent returning your calls.”

      “Something like that.” Luke reached over and took her hand. He looked at her fingers as he spoke. “So, I didn’t ask before, but is there someone back in Ohio?”

      Kate flushed, thinking of Ethan, whom she still emailed almost daily. When she was lonely, she missed him. Or was it just that she missed her home and everything that was familiar?

      “That’s sort of a long pause,” Luke said, interrupting her thoughts. “Does that mean—”

      Kate shook her head vehemently. “No,” she said. “There isn’t anyone.”

      Luke smiled. “Good,” he said. And then he leaned forward and kissed her, with all of L.A. laid out at their feet.

      

      Carmen felt like she was floating out of the building. She’d nailed her reading for The End of Love. She could feel it in her bones—the way her dad could feel a future Billboard chart-topper, or her grandma could sense rain coming on. It was as if, the moment she took the script in hand, every ounce of Carmen Curtis had evaporated. She had become Julia Capsen. She’d spent the last few days holed up in her room re-reading the script and the book the movie was based on, stopping only to take notes on Julia, the star-crossed heroine of the story (and, okay, to eat and sleep . . . and grab a quick brunch with Fawn that turned into brunch and a once-around the Runyon loop and a mani-pedi—Fawn was a terrible influence!). She had so believed in Julia’s futuristic, war-torn world that when the reading was over, Carmen was almost surprised to find herself in relatively peaceful 2012, in a simple bungalow on the studio lot.

      Whether or not her excellent performance would result in a role, no one could say—but at least she’d shown Colum McEntire, the director, and all those PopTV Films people that she wasn’t just some entitled brat riding the coattails of her famous parents. After today, they’d have to acknowledge that her talent was all her own.

      A few short weeks ago, Colum had been completely uninterested in auditioning her; rumor had it his eye was on Bryn Malloy, a distant cousin of his who’d starred in a bunch of teen-superhero movies and was ready for more gritty roles. But when Carmen had gone in for a meeting with her agent last week, Johnny had told her that there was a change in plans; she was going to read for the part after all. Because the PopTV cameras were rolling,

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