Prompt Assignment 01: Tom - Part 1

Friday 14th March, 2003
Silver Lake, Los Angeles
7:04am

“D’you have some kind of emotional problem, Doug?” Doug glanced at me awkwardly, adjusting his seatbelt. “A need to be hated or somethin’?”

“No, why would … why would I have that?”

“Well that’s the irony of paparazzi work, ain’t it? The people, they love to hate us.” It wasn’t a speech I was making for the first time. “Don’t get me wrong, they’ve got no issue with paying for pictures… handsomely. They just can’t accept the means – they’d sooner bite the hand that feeds ‘em, y’know? We’re the ‘scum’, invading people’s privacies left, right and centre. Why d’you want to be scum, Doug?” Doug was looking even more uncomfortable, his eyes flicking back and forth between my face and a point somewhere over my left shoulder. He was clearly unsure what to say.

“I don’t think… not everyone looks at you in that way, I’m sure,” he ventured, obviously trying to avoid an altercation. No way was I letting him off the hook that easily.

“Of course they do! You’re thinking it right now, admit it”

“No, I’m really-”

“Save it. I don’t care what you think, Doug. I don’t care what anybody out there thinks. Neither should you, if you want this kind of life for yourself... but then I think other people’s opinions matter a little bit more to you, don’t they? So why are you here?”

“I guess I just-”

“I’ll tell you why you’re here, Doug. I owed your aunt a favour, that’s all. She asked and I didn’t question it; I’ve taken you in but you still think you’re too good for this work, don’t you?” His fidgeting was becoming more obvious; I got the feeling he was on the verge of opening the car door and running.

“I don’t think I’m better than you, I’m just… this is all new to me, it takes a bit of adjusting.” Another fence-sitting response. Still, that was to be expected – at least he was holding up better than the last nervous protégé I’d had imposed on me. I smiled inwardly, remembering her breakdown… these kids should really leave their reservations at home.

“Your heart’s not exactly in the work though, is it?” I saw Doug beginning to shake his head, then catch himself, hesitating as he tried to think of a justification. “Don’t bother explaining, I don’t really care. Just know this: being a paparazzo is a profession like any other – it’ll pay the bills, but only if you work hard at it. It takes effort, dedication… are you willing to commit to that?”

“Yeah, I think I am…” I shook my head in frustration. This kid really thought he had the whole thing sussed; he had no clue. Sighing, I pointed towards the Ford van parked across the street. The driver’s face was expressionless behind dark glasses and wreathed in cigarette smoke.

“You see that bastard in the shades? Roy Clement. He’s been waitin’ here since…” I checked my watch and made a rough guess, “…since four this morning. You’ve been here, what, twenty-five minutes?”

“Well yeah, but… I mean, we haven’t missed anything, right?” He didn’t get it. How could he not get it? God dammit. I fought the urge to grab and shake him; yet another kid who thought the news only happened when he was awake.

“Time ain’t on your side if you do this work, Doug. We cash in on moments of it, but it’ll keep on passin’ while you’re off knitting, or whatever it is you do for fun. You don’t know when that opportunity’s gonna come, so you’ve gotta be there and be ready. That means making a commitment to your work, yeah?”

“Yeah.” As if reminded of the early hour, Doug yawned widely. I resisted doing the same, not wanting to be seen to follow his lead. I wound down my window instead, blinking in the cool, dry air. Glancing across from the passenger’s seat, he attempted conversation. “So you know that guy well?”

“Who, Roy? Ehh, we go back a way… he’s one of the boys from C.W. – been in the game almost as long as I have. I don’t care for him.” I omitted the more interesting detail of why, deciding not to complicate matters.

“C.W.?”

“Celeb Weekly Magazine… they employ him, mostly. He used to freelance, I think, but salary’s more dependable.” Doug nodded, absorbing the information.

“So how come you don’t…?”

“Work for a magazine? I do, often – Renée… your aunt… she’ll employ me as an outside contractor for StarLife, on a lot of jobs. She put me onto this one, middle of last night.” Deciding enough time had passed, I allowed myself to yawn as well. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and I’d been sitting motionless since well before the first hints of dawn. Working nights was something I usually tried to avoid, but it had been a slow month.

“What is it that we’re waiting here for, exactly?” Doug’s impatience was audible, though he’d tried hard to hide it. It annoyed me slightly.

“That apartment,” I pointed through my half-open window, “belongs to some local model. Apparently Whatshisname… lead singer of Poison Dart…” Doug looked at me blankly. “Apparently he left a club with her last night, came here. Since he hasn’t left since I’ve been here, there’s a good chance we can still get him on film.”

“But… this is private stuff, isn’t it? I mean, I get photographing him at events, but shouldn’t kind of thing this stay between the two of them?” Disgusted at this kid’s naïveté, I tried to re-model my look of disdain as an expression of tolerance. I was fairly certain it hadn’t worked.

“His girlfriend in Atlanta might disagree with you there.”

“He’s seeing someone else?” Doug’s mask of horrified confusion was almost entertaining, in an annoying sort of way. What the hell kind of paparazzo was he?

“Welcome to Hollywood. Trust and love mean nothing… people just reach a point where they don’t know when to stop acting. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them gave StarLife the tip-off… sometimes that’s the best kind of exposure.” Another look of appalled confusion. I wondered what kind of fluffy world he’d grown up in, to be so shocked by the notion. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity. Either way, he had to expect this; it’s his choice to make. If his decisions come back to bite him, he can’t go around blaming us for it. We’re photographers; we just capture the truth.”

“So is this what you do? Just f-”

“We, Doug, we. You’re part of the system now.” I shot him a faux smile, enjoying his discomfort at being tarred with the same brush as myself.

“Is this what… we do, mostly? I mean, do you photograph this man a lot, or…?” He obviously had difficulty believing that anyone actually cared who was leaving which building. I had to agree… normally, I’d be pursuing better leads but, again, it had been a slow month. If Roy Clement was waiting on the same nobody, it seemed doubtful there was much else happening.

“Nah, this is the first time I’ve worked this guy.” I glanced at the reference photo pinned on my dash – his hair was several colours, and he had the posture of a smug asshole. My feelings of distaste were renewed. “Mostly Renée’ll ask me to photograph Kia, or one of the other new starlets.”

“Kia?” Once again, his face was blank.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Everybody in America had heard of Kia. I’d found news about her inescapable, whether it interested me or not. “Kia Yates? ‘Salvation’?” Doug showed no signs of recognition; the fluffy environment he was raised in must also have been a cave. “Three seasons on the air and you never saw ‘Salvation’. How about movies, have you ever seen ‘The Weekend’…? ‘Ralph!’…?” I rubbed my brow in frustration, wondering if the guy knew any celebrities at all.

“Oh, oh… did she get married last year, or something?” Eureka.

“Yeah. Childhood sweetheart, the press made a whole ‘puppy love’ thing out of it. I covered the wedding - they had white lilies and poodles in little shoes… all very ‘romantic’. I expect she’s cheated on him ten times over since then... we’ve never been tipped-off, though. Kia’s one of the better ones at keeping her public image and private life separate.” It was clear that this idea too made the new arrival uncomfortable.

“Well, there’s no way you can be sure… I mean, maybe she hasn’t, there’s no reason to…” He trailed off. I laughed mirthlessly.

“I doubt it, mate. Most of these young female icons’ll do anything to secure their next project… including the more unattractive male executives. We get at least a dozen of these stories each year; usually the studios pay us to sit on them - don’t want to tarnish their image. Kia’s no different – she ain’t anything special, just another starlet for the tabloids to build up and knock down.” Doug sat in silence, digesting what I had said. I got the feeling he was also wondering how soon he could leave… the thought pleased me a little. “Of course, your aunt thinks differently. Did an editorial a few months back, saying Kia ‘marked a return to classic Hollywood values’ or some crap like that… she’s no better than the screaming fan girls, with their Kia posters and her…” A car passed by on the opposite side of the road, with the bass track from Kia’s single ‘1 Boy’ blaring from its open sunroof. I gestured, “…and her ‘music’ on repeat.”

“She’s a singer as well?”

“Oh, they all are now. You’ve gotta be a triple-threat or you ain’t even on the radar.” Exhaust fumes wafting through from outside caught the back of my throat and I spluttered slightly, winding up my window. I reached under the driver’s seat, pulling out a hip flask and took several gulps. It actually made my throat burn more, but the only thing better than a fine brandy is a cheap brandy. Doug exhibited signs of alarm.

“I’m sure, if you wanted… the air conditioning could probably-”

“Cost too much.” Doug returned to looking at his hands. He’d most likely come from a place where finances weren’t an object, and I wasn’t about to let him get complacent. I looked him up and down as he sat hunched over in his seat. For someone from such a background he was oddly scruffy, his shirt faded and rumpled. Without looking up, he spoke.

“Is this how you cope?”

“The drink? Nah, I cope by not caring – this is just a personal preference. If you think you’re gonna need more than that deal with this job, I suggest you find someplace else to work. Somewhere with less pressure… lower wages, maybe.”

“I can’t do that.” Doug continued staring at his hands.

“What, you think you’re too good to flip burgers? I’m sure you’d make a mean Big Mac.” He shook his head dejectedly.

“I need more money than that. Quickly.” The response threw me slightly; I’d expected something a little more altruistic. Out the corner of my eye, I could see Roy’s van pulling out of its parking space and disappearing into the rush hour traffic. Damn, the tip-off must have been a false lead.

“If you’re so anxious to climb the ladder and get your fortune now, you can’t be too picky about your methods, Doug. The whole point about looking out for number one is you put yourself before anyone else.” He lifted his head, now staring out of the passenger window.

“I don’t need the money for myself.”

“There’s easier ways to do your bit for charity.” I was only half-serious, my curiosity piqued.

“My sister.” He continued staring into the distance, his expression unreadable as his head was turned. There was a note of concern in his voice.

“Oh, you live with your sister?” I asked, intrigued.

“Not any more.” He fell silent again for a few moments; it was apparent no more information would be forthcoming. I tacitly pondered a few possible explanations, but none of them seemed very likely. Irritatingly, it made him harder to dislike.

As I’d expected, my cellphone began to trill. Caller ID read ‘Renée Furler’. Yup, here came the bad news. I jammed it into the hands-free cradle on the dash and picked up.

“Ant, are you there?”

“Lemme guess, false lead?” Her sigh echoed down the phone.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry darling; I really thought we were onto something with this one.”

“There’s a lot of that going round - looks like C.W. missed out on the scoop too.” I smiled at the thought that Roy had wasted even longer on this stakeout than I had.

“Mmm… Maggie rang me, said she was calling her man back in…”

“You been fraternizing with the enemy, Renée?” She laughed breathlessly.

“Oh honey, you know me better than that! The girl owed me a favour. How’s my sister’s boy, is he with you?”

“Your nephew is, without a doubt, the worst paparazzo there has ever been. Ever.” Still facing out of the window, Doug’s body visibly tensed. “Maybe second worst, if there’s a blind guy somewhere.” Over the phone, she laughed again.

“Ant sweetie, you say that about all the kids I send out with you!”

“That’s ‘cause the kids you send keep on getting worse. Can’t you find me someone with an actual flare for this work?”

“Oh give him a chance, he’s only nineteen.”

“He’ll get his chance. Just don’t be surprised if he ends up like the last one…”

“You take too much credit for her breakdown, it was a-”

“Combination of things, sure, right…”

“Listen, I’ve got Dylan on the other line - I need to talk to him. Bye darling, sorry about the mix-up!” The line went dead. I reached over and hung up the phone. Doug was looking down at his hands again. It occurred to me slowly that he may in fact have been staring past them at his feet. To my tired mind, the distinction seemed important.

“I’m the worst there’s ever been?” He met my eye for the first time in several minutes.

“In my experience? Yeah, pretty much.” I turned the ignition, and the car shuddered to life. Doug seemed genuinely upset by the verdict, and returned to staring out of the window. For a moment, I felt a surge of sympathy. “Actually, no… the last one was slightly worse.” His expression brightened a little, and I went back to finding him annoying. “That’s our work done for the day, now. You can go home and knit.”


Monday 17th March, 2003
Newsroom Café, West Hollywood
11:28am

“Bad news, Doug: they’ve passed a law against stupid haircuts. You’re a criminal now.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Next to your haircut, I‘d imagine not.” I took a sip of my watermelon margarita; it smelled a lot like something I once used to clear a blocked sink. Lazily casting an eye around the café, I focused on one of the LED tickertape displays across the room, which read: ‘ROBIN COOK RESIGNS FROM UK CABINET’. Hanging televisions around the room showed various cable news channels, most of them focusing on George Bush’s recent address. Ironically, I seemed to be the only patron of the Newsroom Café actually watching the news – everyone else was too wrapped up in their own lives to pay attention.

“So how does Aunt-… Ms Furler always know where to send you? …Us.” Doug paused briefly, before correcting himself. I considered taking him to task over the initial slip, but let it go.

“Tip-offs, mainly. Someone knows when and where a celebrity’s makin’ an appearance, and they’ll pass on that information to us.”

“They just phone her up, or…?”

“Some do. And there’s internet forums where people post details of celebrity sightings, etc… she’ll have someone browsing those a few times a day. They can be unreliable, though. A lot of the time, it’s just down to luck – that’s why we’re losing out to the waparazzi lately.” I took a deep gulp of the drain-cleaner. It was starting to grow on me.

“Waparazzi?

“Members of the public with camera phones. They’re everywhere, and we can only be in one place at a time. Good timing’s a lost art now… luckily most of them take such bad pictures that no one’ll buy ‘em.” There was a moment of quiet as Doug finished his fruit smoothie. “You want another one?” I asked, my tone and expression making it quite clear that he wouldn’t get one.

“No, I’m good thanks.” Another moment passed. “So, like… can anyone just go onto these forums and see where celebrities are gonna be?” I nodded.

“Anyone with an internet connection. And too much free time.”

“Isn’t that… dangerous? For the celebrities, I mean.”

“Not really. You’ll get the occasional rabid fan, but they ain’t usually a threat. Not many people have the time and money to keep showing up at expensive venues in the hope that a star’ll show up. I couldn’t, if I wasn’t expecting to get several grand outta this.” Doug shifted self-consciously in his seat.

“Well, I mean the paparazzi can be dangerous, some of the time…” I made an inclusive gesture.

“Does it look to you like we’re posing a threat to anyone?”

“Well not us here, but sometimes…” He lifted his empty glass, pretending to drink the last few drops. I could tell it was an excuse to avoid eye contact. I also knew exactly the incident he was thinking of.

“You’re still havin’ problems with this work, aren’t you?” He shook his head a little too emphatically.

“No, no, not all of it, it just seems like-”

“You’re thinking of 1997.” Doug fell silent. “Paris. Princess Diana, right?” His mute response told me I was right. I mentally rolled my eyes, then did so exaggeratedly, for his benefit.

“You think you’re the first to make that comparison? You ain’t. As soon as people hear what I do for a living, I’m somehow responsible for what those photographers did. These are two completely different situations. Completely different.”

“Well yeah, I didn’t mean to suggest that-”

“Look around you.” I gesticulated around the room. “This is a public place. Any photographs I’m takin’ here are of things anyone could see if they showed up. I ain’t threatening anybody, I ain’t using flash photography to see through tinted windows and I definitely ain’t chasing limos down the bloody Pont de l’Alma on a motorbike. So spare me the safety warning, ‘kay?” There was a cold pause in the conversation. I realised with some annoyance that I’d strayed from my advertised position of not caring what Doug thought, but he didn’t seem to have picked up on it. “It’s easy for you to come in here with your stark morality, but in the real world there’s shades of grey, alright? Lots of them.”

“I realise that, I just-”

“Think you’re too good to be one of them?” Doug was clearly becoming frustrated by my picking; the pitch of his voice rose steadily.

“That’s not what I-”

“That’s it exactly; you can’t stand the idea.”

“Would you stop putting words in my mouth!?” He emphasised his point by slamming his glass down on the table a little too firmly. The noise drew a few stares. I had him exactly where I wanted him… this kid was too easily manipulated by far.

“Well, today’s your chance to prove me wrong, ain’t it?” A waitress, obviously alarmed by Doug’s display, hurried over to our table.

“Is everything okay with you gentlemen?” She smiled anxiously, adjusting the pencil behind her ear. Doug was still staring into the depths of his non-drink, so she turned to address me.

“Yeah, everything’s fine…” I read her nametag, “…Sophie. We’ll have a menu though, please.”

“Of course.” As she turned to leave, Doug glanced up from the table and she smiled warmly at him. His ears turned a deeper shade of pink.

“Ooh… I think she might like you, mate! Get in there!” The flush spread down his neck, the guy obviously wasn’t much of a ladies’ man.

“I doubt it.”

“Whyever not? Strapping young lad like yourself…” I looked up and down Doug’s weedy frame, wondering why all his clothes were a couple of sizes too large. Obviously keen to change the subject, he returned to the initial discussion.

“What is it you want me to do?” I reached across the table and handed him the soft leather case containing my camera.

“There’s a lens cloth in the side-pocket… the equipment can get dusty in there.” He looked at me in confusion.

“You want me to clean your camera?”

“No, Doug, I want you to use it.”

“Oh.” Realisation washed over him. “Oh. Are… are you sure? I mean, I’ve never… with the actual-”

“You’re a photographer, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Then let’s see it.” I enjoyed his air of panic as he gingerly opened the case and began polishing meticulously. I normally didn’t bother cleaning the camera too thoroughly; at the resolution the photos would be printed, artefacts were barely visible anyway. Our waitress returned, handing us each a menu. I browsed mine idly. Doug’s lay untouched on the table, while he continued his frantic wiping. I started to worry that he might damage the camera.

“That’s enough there, Doug,” I warned, inwardly congratulating myself that on the fourth day since his initiation, I had broken all his ethical reservations. The kid might just have potential after all.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became electrified, as people on surrounding tables whispered urgently. I saw our waitress scurrying over to the entrance, where a large black man was holding the door. I smiled; this morning’s lead had paid off.

“Kia’s here.” Doug looked up from studying my camera, staring at the slim, red-headed woman entering the café. She looked to be in her late twenties.

“She looks… different. To in the wedding pictures, I mean.” I shot him a pitying glance, while keeping my eyes focused on the entrance.

“That’s her personal assistant.” A younger, heavily pregnant woman walked through the door. She looked weary, and anxious to sit down. “There’s Kia.”

“She’s pregnant?” The expression of concern on Doug’s face intensified again; he clearly had more moral concerns over pregnant mothers than ordinary actresses. “You never mentioned she was pregnant.” I sighed deeply.

“Oh, right. She’s pregnant.” Everyone knew Kia Yates was pregnant. ‘Entertainment Tonight’ had a segment on it almost every day; there were websites with countdown clocks to the due date; a mention of it was crawling across the LED panel on the wall right at that moment. How could this kid be so shut off from the world? Doug seemed uncertain, watching as the café staff bustled around making certain that Kia was seated comfortably. I looked him straight in the eye. “You still think you’ve got what it takes to do this?”

“Yeah, I suppose I… I mean I think I can.” He was steeling himself. “Are we the only ones here? Paparazzi photographers…” I glanced around the room. “Cause that man there’s acting kinda odd.” I followed Doug’s gaze to a pale, muscular man sitting at the table behind Kia’s. He alternated between watching her and scanning the room, as if searching for someone or something.

“I don’t see anywhere he could conceal a camera. Probably more private security.” I watched as his eyes focused on the starlet once again. “Maybe one of her creepier fans. No, there’s our real competition.” I indicated Roy Clement, sitting in a corner booth with his bulky camera concealed beneath the table. Damnit – I’d really hoped this would be an exclusive. I sighed in annoyance. “That’s just cut the amount these pictures’ll be worth.”

“Unique photos are worth more money?”

“Obviously. That’s why you get all the photographers climbing trees and hiding in people’s shrubs… it pays better.”

“Yeah… I mean, I understand why they’d do it, I just don’t see how… cause that’s just…”

“Do me a favour, Doug: spare me the ‘man’s inhumanity to man’ crap. When a person gets famous, they forgo their right to privacy. Part of wanting to be put on a pedestal should be accepting that there’s nowhere up there to hide. You become public property.” He shook his head.

“Just ‘cause that’s their career doesn’t mean they should have to give up their privacy… no other profession demands that.” The simplistic ignorance of his statement got under my skin. I was wearily preparing to explain about consequences of decisions when someone walked over to our table. Looking up, I smiled cheerily at Kia’s assistant.

“Hey, Larry!” Her face showed no amusement.

“Lori… but you already knew that, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t wait for a response. “Don’t you have anywhere better to be?” I ignored her attack, deciding instead to make Doug even more uncomfortable.

“I’d like you to meet my new colleague! Doug, this is Kia’s P.A. Unfortunately, you’ll be seeing a lot of her in the months to come.” The redhead stared witheringly at him for a few seconds, before returning her attention to me. Doug wilted under the scrutiny, blushing furiously.

“Kia’s tired, she doesn’t want you people harassing her with your cameras while she’s trying to eat.” It was clear from the emphasis she placed on the word ‘people’ that she barely considered us members of the same species. I smiled quietly to myself – self-righteous, snobby assistants were a league apart from even the pettiest of celebrities.

“I think what Ms Yates needs right now is publicity, and plenty of it.”

“No, what she needs is some peace and quiet while she’s having her meal!” Her voice was becoming louder. I’d dealt with the woman often before, and found her to be unusually disagreeable. She was the type to assume that everyone would jump at her command because she worked for a celebrity. “So how ‘bout you pack up your little camera and leave quietly before Kia decides to have you kicked out?” She pointed to the large black bodyguard, then folded her arms with a superior smirk. I really hated her.

“Why don’t you go bother one of the other photographers, hmm?” From the way her eyes darted around the room, I could tell she hadn’t spotted Roy hidden behind a newspaper in his booth. I gave him a conspicuous wave and a thumbs-up. Seeing his camera, Lori theatrically threw up her hands.

“Oh my GOD!” she shrieked, signalling to the bodyguard, “What is WRONG with you people?” Doug didn’t seem to be enjoying the pantomime as much as I was; he sank steadily lower in his seat. The bodyguard began to rise, but Kia put a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave them alone, Lori…” she called, her voice travelling clearly across the awkwardly silent café. “They’re just… doing their job…” It was obvious that she went through this often. Like most of the people I followed, she seemed to prefer not making a scene. With this in mind, she could probably have made a better choice of assistant. Spitting with rage, Lori stalked back to Kia’s table, where she began patting the starlet comfortingly on the arm like some ape grooming the alpha female. It was a pitiful display to watch. I redirected my attention to my anxious protégé.

“Somethin’ the matter, Doug? I ain’t seen you blush like that in… well, about five minutes. Should Sophie the waitress be jealous?”

“Did you…” He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “Did you really have to bait her like that? I don’t want to get in trouble for this…” The whole incident seemed to have genuinely disturbed him.

“Nah, it’s fine – that bitch is always spoiling for a fight. Just givin’ her what she wants.” I glanced across the café to where Lori was shooting daggers at me with her eyes. Behind her, the waitress was giggling as she served Kia her fruit smoothie. I’d have expected an employee of the Newsroom Café to be less overwhelmed by celebrities – they usually got at least a couple dining out there each month, being central to the playground of the rich and famous. I’d spent many nights taking snapshots of people entering or leaving the infamous Ivy across the street, and even longer following wealthy socialites around the overpriced stores along Beverly Drive.

A guy in a tight pink T-shirt and eyeliner was pushing his way past the pale man to reach Kia’s table. I watched the seated man’s irritation with some amusement. Kia’s table was too far across the room to hear what was being said, but from the effeminate hand-fluttering and other body language, I gathered that he wanted her to sign his iPod. She did so graciously, probably welcoming the distraction, whilst chatting to him with what appeared to be a genuine smile. As it became apparent that Kia was willing to sign autographs, three or four other people from across the restaurant hurried over to her table, her assistant organizing them unnecessarily into a queue. Doug seemed as mystified as ever.

“Everyone here knows who she is?”

“Everyone everywhere knows who she is. Except you, apparently. You really never saw ‘Salvation’?”

“No, I don’t really watch much television.”

“You might wanna start, or you’ll spend most of your career going ‘who the hell?’” My use of the word ‘career’ seemed to make him uncomfortable. This kid still thought he was doing a temp job; I’d have to break him of that.

“Should I get a picture of…?” He gestured at the group of fans huddled around her. I expected most of them would sell the autographs on eBay. Her bodyguard seemed uncomfortable allowing so many people around his charge, but Kia just carried on smiling and shaking people’s hands. She may not have been the eighth wonder that Renée liked to paint her as, but she did know good P.R.

“Wait ‘til they’re gone, they’d just clutter the frame. We may only get one shot at this.” Doug lowered the camera into his lap, anxious to avoid further controversy. Over the next few minutes, the fans scurried back to their tables one by one, chattering excitedly with their friends and showing off their autographed accessories and napkins. As her assistant shooed the last few members of the public away, Kia rose slowly, her weight leaning on the table in front of her. Pregnancy looked like torture… I was grateful I’d never have to go through it. Lori stood up as well, but Kia lifted a hand, signalling that she didn’t need help.

“They’re leaving already?” Doug asked, readying the camera again.

“They haven’t paid. I expect she just needs to use the restroom.” Another oddity; I seldom saw a female celebrity use public bathrooms - at least not without having them cleared for private use first. Smoothing out the creases in her designer maternity dress, Kia began slowly walking in our direction. I realised that, being pregnant, she was heading for the disabled bathroom behind us. “Quick, be ready with the camera!” I nudged Doug, who charged the flash, lifting the bulky equipment to his eye.

The starlet’s face bore an expression of dejected resignation as her eyes fell on the camera. She stopped walking for a moment, then slowly limped towards the bathroom, hand pressed against her lower back in discomfort, as she avoided looking as us. Passing us by, she reached for the handle of the bathroom door. I became suddenly aware of the lack of flashing.

“Doug, that’s your cue to TAKE PICTURES!” I hissed. He was lowering the camera.

“We’ll get kicked out”

“It’ll be worth it. Go! NOW!” I could tell his nerve had failed him.

“I was just… I mean, when she’s coming out again, she’ll be facing this way, right? Tha-” He was interrupted by a gasp of pain behind us. Turning my head, I saw Kia’s face distorted with pain, her body slowly sinking as she leant in the doorframe for support. She gave a second howl of agony, clutching her abdomen as her bodyguard and assistant rushed across the room to support her. The large man lowered her gently to the floor. Lori seemed even more alarmed by the turn of events than the woman in pain.

“She’s… oh God, it’s contractions, she’s having contractions! DIAL 911! It’s all okay… Kia, it’s going to be okay… God, please let everything be okay… just focus on the sound of my voice… it’s okay, just breathe… just… breathe…” It seemed doubtful that Kia could hear any of what was being said. I suspected that Lori was talking largely to comfort herself. After a few moments of being transfixed by the scene, I focused my attention and turned to Doug.

“Take pictures! Now! NOW, you bastard!” He recoiled, staring at me as if I was crazy.

“She’s…”

“Give me the camera!” I snapped, seething with rage and trying to snatch it from his hand, as he stumbled backwards out of his seat. I was stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw Kia’s huge black bodyguard towering over me. He was even more massive up close – I would have been intimidated if I weren’t so blinded by rage.

“Excuse me sir, but you and your accomplice are going to leave, now.” His voice rumbled with controlled aggression. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Let go of me, you piece of shit!” I thrashed about violently, trying to escape his grip. He was far too massive to overpower, but struggling gave me some sense of satisfaction anyway. Moments later, Lori was in my face, her eyes glittering with righteous anger and malice.

“You’re scum, both of you!” Striding over to Doug, who was standing frozen in panic and confusion, she snatched the camera from his hands. “How many photographs did you take, asshole? HUH? How much do you get paid for these? Fifty grand? A HUNDRED? This woman is giving birth, LOOK AT HER! This is…” Her voice dropped in volume, to little more than a menacing whisper, “this is the most… terrifying, painful and sacred moment of the woman’s life and you’re just gonna… Jesus Christ, you people are the filthiest, lowest…” She appeared to have run out of steam. I noted with interest that she was more concerned with her little tirade than paying attention to Kia, who was still groaning in pain on the floor. It’s true what they say: everyone in Hollywood wants to do drama. She pried open the back of the camera, spoiling the blank roll of film, then tore it out with a manicured hand. “You… ‘Douglas’, was it? How many photos did you take, huh? Is this the only camera?” Doug blanched. I felt even more fury toward the kid for allowing himself to be intimidated by her.

“I didn’t… you said, I… I’d never…”

“Whatever.” She thrust my still-open camera back into his hands and turned to the bodyguard. “Get them out of here.” His grip on my shoulder strengthened, as he reached for Doug’s arm. From the edge of my vision, I saw a figure running towards us. Three blinding flashes lit the room, and I turned to see Roy bolting out of the front door, camera swinging wildly around his neck. Perfect. God-damned perfect. The grip on my shoulder released as the bodyguard dived after him. I doubted he’d catch Roy in time, the streets were crowded and his enormous frame wasn’t exactly nimble. I looked across at Doug. His shaken face stared back at me, wide-eyed like a terrified rodent. Obviously feeling that he needed justification, he began stammering an explanation.

“I’m… I didn’t….” I could have throttled him. He still wasn’t getting it. Well, I was about to make things very clear.

“Come with me, now,” I said quietly, taking out a crumpled twenty dollar bill and leaving it on our table. My voice rang out much louder in the silence than I had intended. Looking over my shoulder as we walked hurriedly out of the front door, I could see the indecent curiosity on the faces of the patrons, whilst Sophie the waitress talked animatedly to the 911 operator and the pale man remained calmly in his seat, scanning the room with his dead eyes. Roy’s brown van roared past the café and disappeared from view. I was livid.