The Hollywood Project: Shuttergirl Part 21

I put the camera to my face and looked through the diners for Brad and his crowd. It'd be nice to know whether they were paying the check or still working on salad, but it was hard to see past the darkness, and my thick lens didn't help. There was a huge TV in there, and all I had to do was find it on the lens, to orient myself, and...

I was. .h.i.t right in the frame with Michael in crystal clear HD, smile as bright as the strip on a Sat.u.r.day night and eye as black as the sky behind it.

What's the use of being with a paparazza if you can't get a black eye for her?

The closed captioning, streaking black bands with white type across the top of the screen, went only seconds behind the movement of his lips.

So, this is very interesting, tell me, is she standing outside the rear entrance? because we might want to stay away from her.

Oh, you will, Jack. Because I have one other eye, and she's mine, you understand?

I do, I do! I guess the other guy looks pretty beat up then?

He does. And let me know if you find him. About six three. Two-twenty. His knuckles are in pretty bad shape.

(laughter) Okay, let's talk about Bullets Over Sunset. You're on hiatus because- I put the camera down.

What the h.e.l.l was that? Was he talking about me without talking about me? None of the paps seemed moved one way or the other, but they knew about the other night on the rooftop. I imagined they could smell the cinnamon of his skin on me, then I became convinced it was the truth.

I didn't have another second to feel shame about Michael and his busted eye. Brad Sinclair and his crew exited the back of the restaurant, and the pack broke. They didn't hustle or rush. Brad put his arm around a pretty blonde's shoulders and turned to Jayce with a comment that made his friend laugh.

I did what I was supposed to do.

I bolted ahead of everyone and leapt over the hood of a car to get in front of them. Clickclickclick.

Head to toe. Heels to hairpins. I had it. If I could separate Brad and Jayce into two separate frames, I could sell it twice.

"Hey," Brad called. "Shuttergirl!" He pointed at his eye. "That was you, wasn't it?"

I put down the camera. "Give me something to shoot, and I'll tell you."

He held out both middle fingers, smiling and looking over those stupid sungla.s.ses. Everyone else had him from the side, but he posed for me. I shot it. You bet I did. Boots to bonnet.

"Well?" he said as his car pulled up.

I lowered the camera. "I'm left-handed. I woulda busted the other eye."

He pointed at me with a fake gun shot. I laughed. I forgot to be jaded and knowing. I forgot how it would look for me to have a friendly relations.h.i.+p with Brad Sinclair. I just felt unburdened and available for a stupid joke from someone I'd casually labeled a douchebag.

When Brad and his friends got into his car, I felt the car door slamming as if it were the closing off a portal to another world. I was in an alley with my peers in their smelly T-s.h.i.+rts and matte black cameras. I had always been an outsider, being a woman, but after being friendly with Brad Sinclair, I was worse than an outsider. I was a pariah. I saw it in their looks and their turned backs.

The shots I'd gotten of Brad should have gotten me high fives. Instead, I looked as if I had a leg up, and n.o.body liked that. Especially not the ragtag team of starkillers I hung out with.

"Laine!" Tom came jogging up behind me, having missed everything. "What did you get?"

"Good stuff."

I felt dead inside. I got no joy from it. Not from the accolades I'd get for doing my job, nor from the money or heated negotiation. I walked out of the alley, and Tom followed.

"Hey," I said, slipping out my phone, "can I see what you've been shooting?"

"Yeah."

I texted Michael.

-I'm worth getting a black eye for?- "You seem surprised," I said to Tom.

-Definitely. I'd give my other eye in your defense- "You never want to see what I'm doing outside the celebrity s.h.i.+t," Tom said.

"I don't know. You seem excited about it."

"I'm doing retouching I've never done before. I can't wait for you to see it." He practically skipped out to the street.

"Let me upload these, and we can go to Pasadena."

My phone rang. It was Michael.

"Hey, I-"

He cut me off. "I just got a call from Brad."

I heard people around him talking in serious voices, and through that, he was p.i.s.sed. "Okay?"

"I asked you not to leave the house," he said.

"I'm sorry? Are you serious?"

"This guy knows where you live and how to get to you. Do you want me to take a picture of my f.u.c.king face so you believe it?"

"Your face? Your precious face?" I wanted to list for him what of mine Foo and Jake had bruised, but that would make him crazy.

"Laine, it's night, it's dark-"

"Tom is here. He'll protect me. He knows them."

"Put him on the phone." He was demanding and borderline discourteous. Who was he? This wasn't the funny, sweet guy I'd kissed hours ago. "Laine..."

"What is with you?"

"May I please speak with your brother?"

I handed Tom the phone with a sour face and got into my car, cursing.

"Yeah, I know him," Tom said from outside.

I plugged in my wifi and fired up the laptop, seething from the inside out.

"I know, I know, dude, I know..." Tom said as I ground my teeth.

I pulled up the pictures of Brad, half tilted, middle fingers up, and a big smile under his sungla.s.ses. Not a pap shot. Not a bowed head or sense of discomfort that even the best of them got. No, he was a guy in his own element, and behind him was Renaldo with a sour puss, cradling his camera in his forearm.

"Believe me-" Tom said before I snapped the phone from him.

"You told Brad," I said.

"About what? You? Of course I told him, he's my friend."

"Now he knows me." I flipped through the pictures. It was amazing how they didn't work without the touch of shame and vulnerability. Even though Brad's comfort and smile were genuine, the pictures looked staged and phony. "How am I supposed to do my job if this is common knowledge?"

Tom got in and shut the pa.s.senger side door.

"You can't do your job and be with me. That's common sense."

"That's not going to work," I whispered, because the implications were painful.

Tom leaned over to look at my pictures then scrolled through, brow knotted.

"It is going to work, and you're going to stay by Tom until I can get Carlos there to watch you."

I wanted to tell him I had a camera full of head-to-toes of Brad Sinclair and I couldn't sell one of them, thank you very much. But why would he care? He'd made his position clear.

"Can you not tell anyone else right now? Can you not make implications on talk shows? Can you respect my privacy? And do not even start to pick that apart because you will be as sorry as I am right now."

"Are you apologizing for being a pap?"

"No!" I said. "Not really." I took a deep breath. "Maybe."

"If you stay at Tom's place until Carlos meets you, I will be as silent as the grave."

My first reaction was to thank him, but I bit it back.

"We have a date," he said before I could think of something to say. "I'll see you then."

He hung up. I stuck the phone between my leg and the seat.

"These suck," Tom said.

"They're worthless." I snapped the laptop shut and started the car. "Am I driving you to your car, or did my nurse mother demand you be in arm's reach?"

"I am to be physically present at all times. Can you tell me what happened? Because I didn't think you saw those guys anymore."

I pulled out. "I didn't see them. They saw me in the LA Post. Who even knew they could read."

"Ah, and what did he want?"

"Money. What else?"

"I don't-"

"Do you remember the pictures? Those f.u.c.king pictures?" I slammed the heel of my hand on the steering wheel. He reddened, and I turned onto the 110. "Well, they have them."

"I'm sorry."

I put up my hand. "No! Don't even. Those pictures saved my life." I counted events on my fingers. "You leaving your camera at my house, Jake and them taking pictures of what was happening, you developing them and shoving them in my face... that... Saved. My. Life. But me leaving them there when I split? That was stupid. d.a.m.n stupid." I banged my hand on the wheel again.

I pulled off in Pasadena. Tom lived in a nondescript apartment building off Lake, and I knew the way by heart.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

I'd spent little time asking myself that because I already knew the answer. "Pay them."

"You? You never give in to s.h.i.+t like this. You don't care what anyone thinks, and you don't get bullied. What happened to you?"

I guessed there was a reason I kept Tom around. He didn't let me get away with anything, and he didn't soft-pedal it. I'd done plenty wrong in my life, and though I rarely wanted to hear about it when I did it, Tom let me know every time.

This time, however, I didn't want to defend myself.

"Leave me alone." I pulled up in front of his building.

"No, I'm not going to leave you-"

I slammed the car into park. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"Do you even know how much they want?"

"I don't care." I gathered my things. Laptop. Camera. Bag.

"But you're just going to pay it?"

"Yes." I got out of the car and thumped the door closed. I walked up to the curb and toward the front doors of his building as if I wanted to be there. As if I was storming the gate to a golden city when in fact I was just changing the subject with my feet.

"Laine, come on, man." He jangled his keys. "What is this?"

"Would you want those pictures out? Two guys on me in crystal-clear black and white? Mascara all over my face. Socks on. Naked bodies everywhere. Do you remember them?"

"I'm not going to forget them," he said softly. "I don't want people looking at you, but I can't believe you're just caving because you're afraid of what Michael Greydon will think of you. I mean, that's the reason, isn't it?"

"I'm ashamed of everything about this. But he doubled down today. On television. What am I supposed to do? Let the world know he's with a wh.o.r.e?"

"You're not-"

"What's it matter what you think of me? If everyone thinks I'm a biker's f.u.c.kdoll, I am. And his career depends on what people think of him."

He jangled his keys and found the one he needed. He wanted to say something, I could see it, but he was holding back.

"It's not like it's serious," I said. "I mean, we're doomed from the start. But for as long as it lasts, it's mine. And I don't want Jake the Pillow Snake killing it. Let it die of natural causes."

"Are you going to see him?"