Through the Lens

After a while, the crowd around her dissipated as other stars came in. Soon she was left with only a few people following her around and trying to speak to her. I kept my eyes firmly riveted to the doorway waiting for Jason to show up. I had forgotten about Serena when I heard her voice behind my back.

"Do they lie to me?" she asked in her heavy Russian accent. I turned to face her and I had to admit the bitch was beautiful. Whoever her surgeon was he'd done a very good job. Even with us standing face to face, I couldn't see any traces of surgery or scars. Her fucking face looked extremely natural. Her boobs did too. As she looked down at me, I almost believed that she was naturally that tall. I hated the bitch even more."

"I'm pretty sure they're all lying to you," I spat, not having a clue of what she was going on about.

"So truly, Rob will not be at this party?" she asked.

"Truly, Rob will not be at this party," I said, rudely mimicking her accent.

"Then why are you here?" she asked. Before she could even finish her nosy assed question, there was a lot of noise coming from the doorway. I turned and my mouth dropped open as Jason Hamsker stepped through it in the flesh. Jason, unlike the other guys in the room, wasn't wearing a suit. He had on a long hockey jersey with his own name on the back of it. Everyone knew that Jason was Canadian. And all Canadians love hockey, except for the ones who don't. His hockey jersey was festooned with rhinestones and it glittered and sparkled.

Jason was also wearing his trademarked low slung pants. He wore his pants like the kids in the inner city. The crotch of his pants hung down near his knees, which forced him to walk like a penguin that needed to take a shit. As he walked with his toes out and waddled from side to side, his arms and hands made all kinds of fake gang signs and he struck a lot of poses like he was Madonna or at least a model on the runway. My heart was stuck in my chest just seeing him. He pursed his lips together blowing kisses in every direction and smiling.

"Yo, ya know what Ah'm sayin' y'all," he said as he walked. Unfortunately, no one did know what he was saying because he wasn't fucking saying anything. It seemed funny that a white kid from Canada who was too small and too wimpy to play hockey spoke like an inner city black kid. But I guess he was just that damned talented.

"Oh, please," spat Serena. "Do not tell me you are fan of Jason Hamsker?"

I just nodded and she shook her head. "Do you know him?" I asked. She nodded her head.

"He tries to talk with me several times," she spat. "His people got together with my people. They thought that a romance between us might generate a lot of publicity and make us both some money."

I stared at her with my eyes bugging out of my head. "Did you and he ever hook up?" I asked.

"Of course not," she spat. "I'm like every other girl. When I fall in love I don't want Jason Hamsker, I want it to be with a man." She looked at me and smiled.

"Come on," she said. "We will wait a few moments for the photographers to move on to the next person and I will introduce you." Suddenly the bitch was my best friend. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. At least she was introducing me to Jason. That was far more than I could say about my husband.

"Serena, has Rob ever met Jason Hamsker?" I asked.

"Many times," she said. "If we had done the merger...I mean the fake romance. We would have gotten Rob to take pictures. Rob also took some of the pictures for Jason's CD cover. Wait...no, I'm wrong. Rob processed the pictures but he didn't take them. I'm sure you know about how Rob feels about Jason. He always makes fun of him. Rob has his own nickname for Jason."

"He does?" I said. "I didn't know that. They must be friends and Rob never told me."

"Rob is friends with a lot of people in the industry of entertainment," she said. "He is a very good photographer and his pictures make us look good."

"So what is Rob's nickname for Jason?" I asked.

"It is a very affectionate nickname," she said. "I wish he had a little nickname for me, but he just calls me Serena."

"So what does he call Jason?" I asked again.

"Oh," she said. "He calls him, "That little bitch." My eyes popped open in shock. I wonder if it was that English wasn't her native tongue or that I was missing something but it didn't sound like an affectionate nickname to me.

"Come on," she said. "I'll introduce you." She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. Everyone seemed to get out of our way when they saw her.

Jason was sneering at the crowd and making faces like a teen aged girl does in the mirror when we got over to him. He was making hand gestures and nodding his head as if he was dancing to a beat that only he could hear.

He looked up as Serena came over to him and smiled. Serena hadn't let go of my hand and I felt electricity as we approached Jason. The spotlight was on us. I was so nervous that I almost forgot to breathe.

"Sheeeiittt, gurl. Ah knew you couldn't stay away from me," he said. Up close, he was a lot shorter than I expected. He was also a lot more delicate. He looked like the kind of kid who was constantly getting his ass kicked. He looked like the kind of kid who got his ass kicked in the suburbs, around nerds. If he ever went to the hood where his videos were shot, he'd probably get his ass kicked by elementary school children.

As the crowd around us wandered off, Serena threw me in front of Jason. "Here's your greatest fan," she said. As she flung me in front of him, I felt like one of those scenes from the zoo, where the animal handler opens the door to the cage and throws a big chunk of meat to the hungry lions. I wasn't the animal handler, I wasn't the lion either. For some reason, I felt like the chunk of meat. The second thing I noticed was that Serena was gone.

"So, Babe," he said, talking to my chest. No he wasn't being rude. That was how tall he was.

"Let's talk about you," he said. "What is YOUR favorite thing about ME?"

I felt that electricity again and noticed that Jason was holding onto my arm. A couple of photographers took pictures of us.

"I like to try to get in touch with my fans," he said. Before I knew it, he had led me out of the party room and into one of the rooms off to the side. His huge hulking body guards were following us at a discrete distance. The room we were in was nice. I remembered Rob telling me about the interview rooms they had at certain events. They used them when a star had promised an exclusive interview to one reporter or writer. Sometimes they had a photographer along too.

Then I noticed that even the body guards weren't in the room with us. It was only Jason and me. He kept talking to me even as he sat me down on the elegant couch in the room. He was sitting really close to me too. He kept rubbing my arm and the next thing I knew he was rubbing my shoulder. He kept talking to me and told me about how tough life was for him and how no one really understood him as an artist.

He told me how he wanted to transcend the limitations of his art form and make music that would be considered the next generation of classic music. He told me that he wanted to do things so that two hundred years from now, people would remember Bach, Beethoven and Hamsker. I never noticed it but sometime during his talk his hand had slipped from my shoulder to my breast. I knew that it was wrong to let him touch me, but it was Jason Hamsker. Shit, he could do whatever he wanted to me. I was sure that Rob would understand.

Jason eased his hand under my dress and strangely enough there were no tingles. I didn't dream about my husband like I did about Jason, but if Rob put his hand on my tit or even on my leg, I was ready to fuck his brains out. I knew then that I should stop him but I didn't. Ron would never find out anyway.

He started talking about his newest song, "I'm thinking about you while making love to her," and even sang a little bit of it while he eased my legs apart. I was in a swoon. I couldn't believe that it was happening to me. The funny thing about it was that I don't remember ever being sexually aroused. I think that in actuality, I was just so star struck by Jason that I never had the chance to say, "No."

The thought of saying, "No," never occurred to me. In fact, I didn't even realize that he was in me until he was out of me. It probably only lasted for about a minute. Maybe that should be the title of his new CD, "Minute Man."

"Damn, gurl," he said. "Dat was some good pussy." It was then that I realized that I had fucked Jason Hamsker. All kinds of things went through my mind. I was a fool. I hadn't thought about it while he was doing it because I was so star struck. I wouldn't be able to describe what it was like for Jessica or my children when I had some.

"Shit," I thought. Maybe I could get him to do it again. I looked down and almost laughed when I saw how tiny his dick was. Then I noticed that his thin watery semen had leaked out of me and stained my little black dress.

I remembered then that I hadn't actually felt anything. His dick was about the size of one of my fingers and even when I masturbated, I used two fingers. I thought about it again and wondered to myself if what he'd done to me could come anywhere near close to what Jason gave me four or five times a week. On a purely sexual scale, this was nothing. The only thing that made it vaguely interesting was the fact that I'd just been fucked by Jason Hamsker.

"Can I git dem digits, gurl?" he asked. I was starting to become annoyed by the sound of his voice. His voice was too high pitched and nasal sounding.

"What?" I asked.

"Can I git yo number so I can call you. You can be my little hoe in Michigan. What's yo name, baby?" he asked.

"Connie Delgado," I said. Even as I spoke, I started to realize that he wasn't at all the way I'd imagined him. I also didn't like being called a "hoe." I guess that was some slang version of a whore.

"Did you say Delgado?" he said sitting up. My eyes popped open as he said it because every trace of his accent was gone.

"Did you say Delgado?" he asked again. "Are you related to Robin Delgado, the photographer?"

"I'm his wife," I mumbled.

"Oh fuck," he said. His English was perfect. Every trace of the hood in him was gone.

"You probably shouldn't say anything to him about this," he said. "Oh fuck", he repeated. "Rob is a friend of mine. He's taken the cover pictures for every CD that I have that's gone platinum. Having him pissed at me would not be a good thing. Some of the concepts he designed for my covers are like art. We need to keep this covered up. Why the hell would you even do this?" he asked. Then he slapped his head as if a light bulb had just gone on.

"It was that tall assed Russian giraffe chick wasn't it? I knew that bitch didn't like me. Those Russian women just don't like black men at all," he said.

"But, uhm, Jason..." I said cautiously. "You're not black."

"Whatever," he spat.

He reached down in his pocket and pulled out a phone. He pushed one button and the two big burly bodyguards opened the door.

"Get me the fuck out of here," he said. The body guards looked at each other strangely.

"Ah mean, yo dog, git me outta this bitch," he said. "We got ta head fo the crib, befo dis shit git serious."

The hulking men grabbed him by one arm each and pulled him out of the room. They looked at me as if I was somehow a threat to him. I pulled my panties up and tried to cover the stain on my dress.

As I went back into the main room where the party was still going strong, I looked for the exit. Before I got halfway across the room, Serena stood in front of me.

"How was it?" she asked.

"I...I... nothing happened," I spat. She smirked and nodded her head.

"You just spilled milk on your dress, right?" she asked.

"Did you ever..." I began. She looked at me as if I was stupid.

"I'm a virgin," she said. "There's no way I wanted my first time to be with that troll. When I do give it up, it will be for someone worth it. Someone I love."

"I'll bet you'll go running home and have your manager call Rob and tell him, huh?" I said. "But what you don't know is that this won't matter. Rob and I have an agreement. If he ever met Eva Mendes he could have sex with her. And I could have sex with Jason Hamsker."

"Rob has met Eva Mendes several times," she said. "I'm pretty sure he probably told her the same thing he told me."

"What did he tell you?" I asked.

"He told me that he was married to the most beautiful, most special woman in the world," she said. "He told me that all of this showbiz stuff was an illusion and he needed to have something real with a real woman. Not just something to get a few lines in print in the newspaper."

"My God," I said. "I'm such a fool."

"I need to go home now so I can tell him my side of it before you get to him," I said. I tried to push past her and found her blocking my path.

"You don't have to run off on my account," she said. "Maybe you can fuck a couple of more famous people. Besides, I'm not going to tell him. I can't afford to for a couple of reasons."

I just looked at her. "My manager is the Frenchman, Friederick Bontemps. He saw the test shots that we took today and told me that I have never looked better in my life. I need to have Rob continue to photograph me. Even the Frenchman says that he brings something out in me that none of the other photographers do. People tend to...shoot the messenger. So, if I were to tell Rob about what you have done, I might lose a photographer. You have nothing to worry about from me. I cannot vouch for everyone else here. Nor can I vouch for the photos of you and Jason that were taken when I introduced you. Good luck. You will need it."

I looked around the room as she turned and walked away. The party was in full swing and would probably go on until after midnight. It was barely ten. I left the building and drove home. Once I got home, for some reason, guilt perhaps, I started drinking.

This was all the fault of that Russian whore. I started the day out hating her. She had flounced into the shoot that morning as if she was some kind of Russian princess. She had ignored all of the stylists who'd been waiting for her and sat down to start talking to Rob. I guess that she thought that I was one of Rob's assistants because she never paid me any attention until she tried to send me out for coffee.

Then Rob had told her who I was. Every time she changed outfits, she ignored the stylists and the designers and went over and asked Rob what he thought of how she looked. Finally, when they were done shooting, she waltzed over and draped herself bodily over my husband with me sitting right there. She knew who I was and just draped herself over him anyway. It was like watching a cat in heat.

Then when I got to this fucking party, she introduced me to Jason Hamsker. Since she had a history with him, I'm pretty sure she knew what an asshole he was. That feeling I had of being thrown to the lions was more than a little bit true. I really believe that she did it on purpose.

The vodka seemed to make me understand Russians better. Serena had told me that there were a couple of reasons that she wouldn't rat me out. But she'd only given me one of them. The vodka made it all clear. Serena hadn't been lying to me but she'd hid the most important reason. She couldn't afford to tell Rob but it wasn't because she was afraid to lose a photographer. The bitch didn't want to lose Rob. It had been staring at me in the face all the time. Serena was in love with my fucking husband. She didn't want to tell him about me because if he reacted the way she'd said, he wouldn't want to have anything to do with her. And she wanted to swoop in and pick of the pieces after my fuck up.

It was all as clear as day. The reason that Rob supposedly brought out things in her that no other photographer did was because whether he knew it or not, he put them there. The light in her eyes came from the fact that the bitch loved him. That was also why she constantly flounced her ass over to him to see if he liked the clothes she wore in the pictures.

As I sat there drinking, I thought about all of the things I'd done wrong during the day. I'd heard for most of the time that Rob and I had been together how spoiled and childish famous people could be. He'd told me time after time that their attitudes were fucked up and they weren't like normal people. He also told me that they weren't real people, there was usually something missing in them. They were more like caricatures than real people.

I wondered then about a lot of things. Rob had met Eva Mendes several times according to Serena. Serena had been sure that Rob had never done anything with her if the chance had come up. The biggest slap in my face was that Rob had turned Serena herself down. It shocked me to think that he'd turned down one of the most beautiful women in the world and told her about how beautiful he thought I was instead.

He loved me that much and I just spread my legs and fucked Jason Hamsker without giving him a thought. Jason Hamsker had fucked me and called me a whore and then practically ran from the room when he found out that I was married to Rob. He was more afraid of losing Rob as a photographer than he was about hurting my feelings. He never gave me a moment's thought. It was as if I was nothing.

Despite all of those fucking songs he mumbled about true love and sacrifice, Jason Hamsker was an asshole. Rob was so much better in every sense of the word than Jason Hamsker would ever be. Jessica had been right all along. I don't know if I ever actually got drunk. But I passed out.

* * * * * *

Rob

The emergency call from Ed made a terrible night worse. Ed's wife was pregnant and just before the party he was shooting got started, his wife had gone into labor. He called me and I told him to leave the guys in position and that as soon as all of the guests had arrived for the party I was shooting, I'd hop in my Mustang and come over there and grab a few special shots of all of the most important guests at the party he was covering. He thanked me and ran off to meet his wife and her parents at the hospital.

Ed was a good guy. If I'd been working for someone and Connie had gone into labor, I'd have been out of there like a bat out of hell. I'd have told my colleagues on the scene what was going on and after that, I'd have let the chips fall. If I got fired for trying to be present for the birth of my child, then whoever I was working for didn't deserve me.

What I hated the most about the situation though, was the need to split my focus. The two parties, though separated by only three miles in actual distance, couldn't have been farther away in tone or impact.

On one hand, you have a bunch of overgrown publicity seeking actors, models and musicians who are the public's total focus at the moment. On the other hand, you have politicians and movers and shakers who can affect all of our lives in reality and will continue to do so for decades with the laws and policies they support. One group represents youth, vigor and fun, while the other group represents experience, wealth and responsibility.

As I jumped into my deep purple 2012 Mustang GT, I wasn't thinking about the difference between the two groups, I was thinking about their similarities. Both groups loved publicity and having their pictures in the papers and magazines. One group did it because publicity meant album sales or movie seats filled. The other group did it because publicity got them closer to election or being re-elected. In the end I guess they're the same.

As I pulled up in front of the second hotel, I realized that I'd left my photographers pass for this event at home. I called Polly who worked with Ed and had her borrow one from one of the guys who was already inside. As long as he didn't leave and need to get back in, I'd be fine.