Paparazzi Ch. 01 of 02

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"He knows there's no long-term future with Micki," Starla answered, "but I'd guess the chance to tap both her and Kelly at the same time would be a huge rush for a lecher like Sal."

"Well, he may have balls, but now I've got them right in my hands," I crowed vengefully.

"Don't be too sure," she replied. "The photos you've got here would probably be enough to cause trouble between Kelly and Sal, but they might not be sufficient to convince other people that Sal is doing something this reckless. Sal could probably explain those pictures away as just an expression of appreciation from his grateful client."

"I know what I saw," I said hotly, "and there was a lot more than just appreciation being exchanged between those two."

"I believe you, David," Starla replied quickly, "but it's not me you have to convince. If you could get something more -- a second set like these -- you'd have something we could really work with."

"Great!" I said glumly, "how am I going to do that?"

"Don't be discouraged," she told me. "If Manucci is stupid enough to start an affair with a client and brazen enough to carry it on right under people's noses, he's likely he'll make another mistake somewhere down the road. Now that you know, you can be watching. I'll bet you'll get what you need, and when you do, I know just how to help you make the most of it."

It was disappointing to think that what I had wasn't enough, but I appreciated Starla's pep talk and vowed to keep after Manucci. At least now I knew he was vulnerable; I'd just have to keep looking for my chance. In the meantime, it felt good to have Starla as my co-conspirator.

When I lay down that night, I had a hard time getting to sleep because so many different emotions kept running through my mind. Kelly's betrayal continued to eat away at me like acid, and being forced to work with the guy who had cuckolded me only added insult to injury. Yet the discovery that Kelly's lover was cheating on her and the idea that I might get a chance for some payback on both of them was encouraging. The fact that Starla and I now shared a little secret also made me feel better.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I was out shooting some routine shots when my cell phone went off. When I answered, I was surprised to hear Kelly's voice, and she was not in a friendly mood. "Why haven't you signed those papers?" she demanded. "Do you even have a lawyer yet?"

It gave me a little perverse pleasure to learn I had ticked her off, even in a small way, so I casually told her I hadn't gotten around to addressing the matter. That really got her going. "What are you waiting for? There's nothing to argue about, no alimony, no property settlement. Just sign the damned agreement and send it back," she yelled.

"I'm sorry, Kelly, but what's urgent to you is no longer a concern of mine," I told her nastily and then broke the connection. I was going to take my own sweet time, and if Kelly didn't like it, she could lump it.

Over lunch in her office, I told Starla about the call, and she got a nasty smile on her face. "Sounds like Kelly doesn't want any more delay than necessary. I bet she's afraid that if things drag on too long, Sal will lose interest in her. Of course she doesn't know Sal's already found another diversion," she said with a smirk.

I just grinned back. It looked like Kelly's best laid plans might be about to skitter off course.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After the shock of Kelly's betrayal, I'd pretty much kept to myself, socially speaking. The idea of looking for feminine companionship just wasn't very appealing to me. But now that the pain had worn off a little, I found my attitude starting to change. It was time to get back in the game, I decided.

Once I made that decision, I knew that the person I'd most like to start a relationship with was Starla. Now that I was unattached, I hoped that she and I might begin to see each other on a personal rather than just professional basis.

But approaching her was easier said than done. Once you've settled into a friendship with a woman, it's a scary thing to try to change the nature of that relationship. If she doesn't have feelings for you, not only are you going to get rejected but you also run the risk of screwing up the friendship as well. It would almost be easier, I thought, if I had only just met Starla rather than working with her for so long.

The end result of all this approach/avoidance behavior was that I decided to try to ease into the situation. If I could get a read on how she felt about me, I figured I could move forward or back off without irreparably harming our friendship -- I hoped.

We were having lunch in her office one day when I introduced the subject in what I hoped was a roundabout way. "So is there a man in your life these days, Starla?" I asked. "I never hear you talk about dating or anything."

She sat there so long without speaking that I thought I'd made a terrible blunder. When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were red, and I mentally kicked myself for my clumsiness.

"I haven't told you about this before," she said in a quiet, tightly controlled voice, "but when I was in college, I was raped. I'd been at a campus party and someone must have slipped something into my drink. I don't remember anything else until my roommate found me lying bruised and naked on the floor outside my room. She got me to the student clinic, and when they found evidence of rape, they called the police."

"Oh, God, Starla, I'm so sorry!" I gasped.

She went on as though she hadn't heard me. "They performed a D&C on me that morning, and I had to take medication for a while to protect against venereal disease. It was pretty horrible." Tears began running down her cheeks.

"As best they were able to tell," she went on, "there must have been four of them who took turns with me. In some ways, it was a blessing that I couldn't remember anything about what happened. But afterwards, every time I ran into a guy on campus I would wonder if he was one of the men who assaulted me. Eventually I couldn't take it any more and wound up dropping out of college."

I felt lower than I'd ever felt in my life. I wanted to put my arm around Starla and comfort her, but after what she'd just told me, I was afraid that would be the worst thing I could do. Eventually, all I could think of was to bring her some tissues.

She gave me a grateful nod and blew her nose. "Anyway, ever since then I've had a hard time with men. I guess that's why I'm waiting for that white knight. I'm looking for someone I can trust not to hurt me."

She'd stopped crying now, but I could see she was still pretty emotional, and it was all my fault. I desperately cast about for some way to make things better -- then inspiration struck. "Listen," I said forcefully, "let's blow off work this afternoon. I know you love art and I saw where a new exhibit just opened at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Let's give it a look."

She hesitated a moment, then got a look of resolution on her face. "Okay, David, let's play hooky."

We caught the Metro Purple Line to the Civic Center Station and then walked a couple of blocks to MOCA. As we strolled through the exhibition, I kept thinking about what I had learned today. It was no wonder Starla never talked about men in her life -- there weren't any. After going through the ordeal she'd experienced, I could understand if she never trusted a man again. Still, I thought, she hadn't said she never wanted to have anything to do with the male sex, so maybe there was still a chance for me. But I knew for sure that I'd have to tread slowly and lightly not to scare her away.

After we finished the exhibition, I led her a couple of blocks to the Walt Disney Concert Hall. It was one of my favorite places to photograph. Gehry's metal walls created fantastic, complex shapes that made flowing surfaces and backdrops. The whole building seemed more like abstract art than a center for the performing arts.

After we'd had coffee at the Café, Starla took my hands. "Thank you, David," she said, kissing me on my cheek, "I really needed to get away today. I'm glad you're my friend."

As she left, I thought about what she said. I was glad I'd done something right after reopening such a deep wound, and her words about my being her friend were encouraging. But I had to wonder if I could ever be anything more than that to her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

For people in our profession, the calendar of the entertainment world is the biggest influence on our working lives. The next big event coming up was the announcement of nominations for the Emmy Awards. I didn't have to worry about the nomination event itself -- everyone and his brother would be there covering the show. My assignment was to cover the after-parties, when those who had been nominated would celebrate until they passed out, and those who were overlooked would drown their sorrows until they did the same thing. You could always count on some celebrities being caught in unflattering positions, all of which were fair game to the paparazzi.

There wasn't a chance in hell of my getting invited to one of those parties, of course, but they couldn't stop me from lurking outside and shooting candids whenever the opportunity presented itself. I'd also learned from experience that the real action didn't start with the arrival of the guests. It was when the party was winding down that the best shots could often be had.

The big producer whose party I'd been assigned to cover had security out in force, so I had no choice but to hang around the periphery of his Beverly Hills mansion and make wisecracks with the other paparazzi about the valet parkers. It's quite a sight to watch some of the most expensive vehicles ever made being driven by post-adolescents with dubious driving skills.

But I had an advantage that none of my competitors shared: I wasn't afraid to climb. There was a royal palm across the street that looked sturdy enough to hold me, so I shinnied up using a telephone repairman's belt I'd brought. The tree rocked perilously as I carefully ascended, but once I reached the foliage and quit climbing it stabilized, giving me a good platform for shooting. The leaves tended to hide me quite well, making me almost invisible from the ground, and best of all, the elevation enabled me to look over the high wall surrounding the producer's estate.

In a short time I was able to identify and photograph a number of a-list stars, some of whom were acting in a most uninhibited manner as the night wore on. Then I noticed something strange. I'd been keeping my eye on the large heated swimming pool when I spotted a figure in a skimpy bikini climb out and walk around to the side of the house. "That's Micki Morningstar," I realized. "What is she doing? There's nothing over there but the air conditioner unit."

Only a minute later I got my answer. Another figure began sneaking furtively around the house from the other direction. My telephoto lens confirmed what I already suspected: it was Sal Manucci. No sooner had the two of them converged than the top of her bikini came off and Sal was eagerly fondling the young star's perky breasts. After a few minutes she sank to her knees and proceeded to give him a very proficient blowjob while he leaned back against the side of the mansion in obvious ecstasy.

I snapped away with glee. "I've got you now, you bastard!" I chortled to myself. Then, after securing my camera, I carefully descended from the palm with my precious photos. Things were definitely looking up.

I had just stowed my camera bag in my car and was getting ready to head home when I noticed a familiar figure stagger out of the producer's mansion and make her way unsteadily to the valet stand. "Get my fucking car, you pimple-faced punk," screamed a belligerent Jinx McClure at the hapless kid. She was obviously drunk or stoned or both.

The valet's lips curled in a sneer at Jinx's words and drunken demeanor, but he nevertheless ran off to retrieve her car. While he was doing so, Jinx was staggering back and forth on the lawn outside the fence, barely able to stay on her feet.

When the valet brought her gleaming white Ferrari FF around, she tripped in her high heels and fell on her rump, revealing to everyone in sight that she wasn't wearing panties. She paused to pull her shoes off and throw them toward the hapless youth, then barely managed to stand up.

I had no love for Jinx McClure, but my conscience just wouldn't permit me to stand there and watch her kill herself or someone else. I stepped up to the kid and grabbed his arm. "Hey, you can't give her the keys, man. She's drunk out of her mind -- there's no way she can drive!"

He eyed me uncertainly. At that moment Jinx yelled, "Give me the keys, you fucking little half-wit! Don't you know who I am?"

With that the valet turned to me and said coldly, "Ms. McClure does not appear to be impaired to me," and he held out the keys to her.

"You're signing her death warrant," I yelled at him. When he left the keys extended, I snatched them out of his hand before Jinx could reach them. "Get in the car," I yelled at her, and steered her toward the passenger door. She was so out of it that she docilely allowed me to buckle her into her seat.

I went around to the driver's side of the car and got in. The valet looked on bemused. "What about my tip?" he asked. "Don't drink and drive," I yelled, and rolled up the window in his face. He flipped me the bird as I started the engine and the Ferrari lurched out onto the street. I'd never driven a car with that kind of power; I knew I'd have to be cautious.

Jinx slumped laxly in her seat, her head lolling around drunkenly. "Hey," she said after a while, "I know you. You're that photographer."

"That's right," I said tightly, "David Cowan at your service."

"You were at the store when they got me for shoplifting," she mumbled.

"That's right," I told her, "that was me."

"That's OK," she said, "that was good publicity. My agent told me so."

I didn't see any point in carrying on a conversation with a drunk so I concentrated on driving through the streets of Beverly Hills. I didn't need a map to find Jinx's home; any paparazzo worth his salt knows the location of the homes of the stars.

"You're a pretty nice guy," she said drunkenly. Then she flopped over in my direction and began fumbling with my zipper.

"Hey, cut it out, Jinx" I yelled, "I'm trying to drive."

"I'm just gonna give you a little blow job," she mumbled.

Great, that was all I needed, I thought. I pushed her away and concentrated on navigating the streets. We were almost to her place.

After pulling over to the curb in front of her ornate home, I ran around to help her out of the car. But when I opened the passenger door, I saw that she had passed out with her head slumped on her ample chest. As I unbuckled her seatbelt, I suddenly realized that she wasn't breathing!

"Oh, shit!" I cursed, "Don't do this to me, Jinx!"

Quickly I pulled her out of the car and sprawled her on her back on the lawn. I slapped her face, hoping the shock would wake her, but it had no effect.

I vaguely remembered my Boy Scout training in CPR. Of course that was years ago, but I figured that anything was better than doing nothing, so I began the chest compressions, pausing periodically to pinch her nose and blow air into her mouth.

As I continued the procedure, I began yelling at the top of my lungs for help. A light went on and an older woman I didn't recognize came out on the porch in a robe. "What's going on?" she called.

"Call 9-1-1," I yelled. "She's not breathing!"

The woman scurried inside while I continued to alternate a series of compressions with artificial respiration. I had just forced another lungful of air into Jinx's open mouth when I felt her convulse. Suddenly she vomited straight into my mouth, and I twisted away and began to puke violently. Fortunately, I still had enough presence of mind to roll her over so that her own vomit could clear her airway.

As we both lay there heaving on the grass, I heard a siren behind me. The EMTs got to us quickly, and once they'd ascertained that I was not the one in trouble, they concentrated on Jinx. In no time they had her bundled into the ambulance and were wailing away to a hospital. I lay there on my hands and knees, my stomach sore from retching and my mouth tasting of stomach acid and Thai cuisine. As the adrenaline washed out of my system, I began to shiver.

The woman came back out and stood over me. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm nobody," I said, "just a guy who drove her home."

She bent down and picked up the keys to the Ferrari, then started to walk back to the house. "Wait," I yelled after her, "I need those to get back to my car."

She stared at me like I was an insect. "Get a cab," she said as she climbed back up on the porch.

That pissed me off. "Are you her mother?" I yelled, and she nodded at me curtly. "Well, you've obviously done well with your daughter," I said sarcastically. "I know you must be very proud."

She just sniffed and slammed the door behind her.

I reached for my cell phone to call a cab, only to find my phone was missing. I looked all around Jinx's yard as well as the sidewalk and curb, but couldn't find it anywhere. So much for a cab, I thought resignedly. With a sigh I started walking back toward the party. At least I still had my car keys.

Dawn was breaking when I finally reached my apartment and let myself inside. I was exhausted, my feet were sore and my clothes smelled like vomit. I stripped them off and threw them in the trashcan, then fell into bed.

The next thing I heard was the phone ringing and Starla's voice saying, "David, where are you? Everyone is looking for your Emmy pictures!"

Groggily I sat up. "Sorry I'm late. You wouldn't believe the night I've had," I said. "But I did get some good shots. Just give me a few minutes and I'll be right there."

I showered as quickly as I could, got dressed and headed to the office. As I drove, I thought about everything that had happened at the post-party. My adventure with Jinx had been pretty unpleasant and had cost me a cell phone and a night's sleep, but at least I felt like I'd done the right thing. Besides, I reminded myself, the shots I'd gotten of Micki and Sal made everything else worth it.

Starla was really pleased when she saw the photos I'd managed to take at the party. When the beautiful people think they're safe behind walls, they let down their guard and act just as stupidly as the rest of us, as many of my shots demonstrated. "The shots of guests arriving at the party are fine, but these high-angle pix will be the real money-makers," Starla felt.

She pulled up a shot of Jinx McClure arriving in her white Ferrari. "I see your old girlfriend showed up," she said with a wink. "Did you hear the news about her?" When I shook my head, she went on, "Her agent announced this morning that she's checked into a rehab center. They've suspended shooting on her show indefinitely."

I felt a sense of relief: at least she'd survived. I looked at Starla blandly. "I'm glad to hear it. That girl has been out of control for a long time. Maybe this will be just what she needs."

"Yeah, maybe," Starla replied cynically, "unless it's just another publicity stunt."

I shook my head. She was right: in this town it was hard to know what was real and what was just acting.

Then I showed Starla the piece de resistance: my shots of Micki giving Sal head. She looked at me with a mixture of admiration and excitement. "I knew you could do it! You've got him where you want him now, David. We're going to make him squeal like a pig!"