38 comments/ 78566 views/ 29 favorites Paparazzi Ch. 01 of 02 By: FrancisMacomber I hate my life. The last thing I wanted to be doing was stalking a tramp like Jinx McClure down Rodeo Drive on a pretty afternoon. Somewhere, somebody must be laughing their ass off at the joke they'd played on me. It's not as though it was hard to follow her. She'd donned huge sunglasses and wrapped her trademark bottle-blond hair in an ugly orange scarf. To top it all off, she was wearing some kind of belted jacket, even though the Beverly Hills afternoon was quite pleasant. "Maybe she's channeling Liz Taylor trying to go incognito," I thought derisively. Whatever her influences, the result wasn't working : she stood out like a pimple on a teenager's nose. I was sweating under my sports coat, and the digital camera concealed under my armpit wasn't helping. So I was heartened when she suddenly ducked into some boutique with an Italian name I didn't recognize. Maybe the air conditioning would help me cool off. I really couldn't see the attraction. Jinx was sexy enough in a fleshy, vulgar sort of way, but L.A. is filled with beautiful, sexy women. Of course most of them didn't have their own reality TV show. And, hopefully, most of them didn't waste their lives eating, drinking, dancing, cursing and screwing in front of TV cameras to the horrified fascination of millions of weekly viewers. But it's not up to me to judge other people's taste, though I do all the time. No, my curse was to document photographically the off-screen lives of people like Jinx for the titillation of fans and foes alike. What a shallow, wretched way to make a living! I casually stepped behind an androgynous mannequin so I could keep an eye on my prey. She was loitering around the jewelry counter in a manner that seemed to me either drunken or suspicious. Come to think about it, in her case it could be both. I pulled my camera out and began shooting. Sure enough, the little bitch suddenly leaned over the counter, snatched up an expensive looking watch and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. "Gotcha!" I smirked. She must have caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye because she jerked upright and turned to face me full on. I figured she'd beat a hasty retreat, but I'd misread women before and would probably do so again in the future. A look of rage came over her face, and she suddenly charged at me screaming "Stalker!" at the top of her lungs. I couldn't believe it, but I kept filming as she got closer and closer. Then, just as I started to dodge to one side, a man grabbed my arms with surprising strength and held me immobile. Shit, I hadn't even noticed the uniformed security guard! A moment later the store manager magically appeared on the scene. "Has something disturbed you, Ms. McClure?" he asked unctuously. "This creep was following me," she yelled. "I think he's some kind of pervert!" The manager turned toward me and asked for my I.D. After examining it, he said, "Very well, Mr. Cowan, what do you have to say for yourself?" I stared at him coolly. "Look in her jacket pocket," I told him. When he stared at me in confusion, I held up my camera and switched it to display. The small screen clearly showed Jinx snatching the watch. The manager deftly dipped his hand into her pocket and retrieved the watch; the price tag was still attached. He motioned to the store security man, who released my arms. Then he looked at Jinx shrewdly. "Ms. McClure, we would prefer that you do your shopping somewhere else today." I raised my camera again and resumed shooting, thinking she was going to slink off in shame, but she surprised me a second time by reaching up and shoving my camera back into my face. "Fucking paparazzi!" she screamed, and dashed for the exit while I stood there holding my bruised and bleeding eye. Sunovabitch, that hurt! The store manager wasn't fazed. He turned to me and said unsympathetically, "Mr. Cowan, we'd like you to leave as well before you bleed on the carpet." "That was cold," I thought to myself as I walked out the door, but I couldn't find the anger within me. It's about what I'd come to expect. In Hollywood, a guy in my profession doesn't get much respect. Hell, I wasn't all that impressed with me either. But despite the throbbing from my eye I'd had a successful outing so I headed back to the agency to show my boss what I'd gotten. These days most paparazzi don't work for magazines or tabloids, we contract with an agency that sells our work to the highest bidder. The bad thing about the arrangement for a guy like me is that if I ever do hit the big time -- like catching a British royal in flagrante delicto, for example -- the agency would get the lion's share of the money. On the other hand, the chances of lucking into a shot-of-a-lifetime like that are about as good as my chance of winning at Powerball. At least the agency checks keep coming during those long droughts between saleable shots, and if you do get a hot seller the bonuses are pretty nice. Anyway, I felt certain the agency would be pleased with what I had captured on my memory card, so I made a beeline for Starla's desk. Starla was the assignments editor, which made her my titular boss, but she was also my best friend at the agency. Actually, she was my best friend in L.A. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, which gave me an added incentive to see her every chance I got. Now before I give anyone the wrong idea, let me hasten to add that I'm a faithfully married man. I'm not going to say that Starla never figured in any of my fantasies, but I never, ever acted on them. Truth to tell, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Have you ever had a girl who was a friend but nothing more? That was Starla. Right from the start it was clear that we were simpatico; in no time we were cracking jokes and sharing stories about the agency, our clients and the celebrities we cover. But there was never a hint -- no veiled glances, no lingering touches, no subtle invitations -- that we were anything more than buddies. When my wife met her, Kelly wasn't the least bit jealous. Actually, that surprised me a little because there'd been times in the past when Kelly got her claws out any time she thought some woman was coming on to me. But she didn't even blink when I introduced her to Starla. I've already demonstrated that I can't predict what a woman will do, and my disability was proven again when the two of them seemed to get along famously. Anyway, I breezed into Starla's office with a hearty, "Hey, Starla, you're going to love what I've got for you today!" She looked up with a warm smile when she heard my voice, but when she saw my face she gasped, "Oh my God, David, what happened to your eye? It's bleeding!" She made me lie down on the sofa in her office and rushed out, only to return moments later with a bag of ice which she carefully applied to the wounded area. As I recounted my adventure with Jinx, Starla became more and more upset. "That little tramp!" she exclaimed. "She could have blinded you! You should have her arrested!" "Yeah," I thought, "in Hollywood? Sure, that'll happen." So I just lay there nursing my throbbing eye and wondering not for the first time how I had managed to wind up like this. Paparazzi Ch. 01 of 02 When I got into the agency, Starla took one look at me and got a big grin on her face. "It looks to me like somebody got a lot of sympathy for his bruised face last night," she said with a smirk. I blushed in spite of myself. "Damn, how could she know?" I wondered. But I didn't try to deny it, and I think Starla was genuinely happy for me. I'd shared some of my frustrations with her about how things had been going with Kelly, and she was glad to see any signs of improvement. We spent the morning reviewing the shots I'd taken of Jinx the other day. There were some we couldn't use for various reasons, but I'd managed to capture one that showed both Jinx's face and her hand shoplifting the watch, and another where she was charging at me with her hand upraised. "These are going to be dynamite," Starla said. "Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't heard from her agent trying to buy up the lot." In this twisted town, you don't even have to publish pictures to make money off them. It's not uncommon for publicists or agents to buy up all rights to a set of embarrassing photos so they don't tarnish the reputations of the pampered personalities they represent. Of course there are some shots that are so hot that they're worth more on the open market than any one source can afford; likewise there are some personalities that no one will pay to protect. You can tell a lot about any individual performer's stock in this town by what actually gets into the media. It would be interesting to see if anybody stepped forward to protect Jinx. It was another beautiful day in Los Angeles -- the city averages over three hundred days of sunshine a year -- so Starla and I decided to eat lunch in the park. We managed to find a bench that wasn't overtaken by tourists or seagulls and unwrapped our food. I was still feeling good about last night and I guess that was what prompted me to get so personal with Starla. "So why is it that someone as hot as you hasn't found that white knight you're always talking about to take you away from all this ugliness?" I asked, gesturing ironically at the beautiful lake, palm trees and green grass before us. She snickered at my little joke, but then her face took on a serious expression. "I could give you a smart-ass answer, David, but the truth is I don't really know what I'm looking for. I try not to show it, but I'm a pretty messed up girl." I was embarrassed about my clumsy prying and tried to apologize, but she waved me off. "No, it's okay. I feel like I can trust you. To be honest, I feel more comfortable talking with you than just about anybody else I know." I didn't know where that was coming from. I couldn't think of anything I'd ever done that merited her confidences -- except maybe not hit on her all the time. "I don't have any shortage of opportunities to go out with guys," she went on, "but none of them has ever struck a chord with me. They're all so into themselves, trying to impress me with their credentials or their money or the size of their dicks. It's such a joke -- I haven't found a hero in the whole lot!" She tried to smile at that, but I could tell that she was unhappy at the direction her life was going. Damn, who would think that someone as bright, talented and beautiful as Starla would be so unhappy with her life? I didn't know what to say to try to make her feel better so I tried to change the topic back to work. Soon we were swapping disparaging remarks about Jinx McClure (Starla called her Jinx Mc-Clueless), and that seemed to lighten her mood. When we got back to the office, Starla went to check her email and I went back to reviewing the shots we wanted, when the front door opened and a man in a cheap suit entered. He spoke to one of the secretaries and then came up to me. "Are you David Cowan?" he asked, and when I acknowledged that I was, he simply handed me a sheaf of papers and said, "Then you've been served." Starla had come up behind me, and she put her hand on my shoulder. I sat there stupidly. "Served? Served with what?" The guy rolled his eyes. "It's not really any of my business, pal, but off hand I'd say you've just been served with a divorce petition." I gaped at him. "There must be some mistake," I sputtered. "My wife loves me. Last night . . ." My voice tailed off -- that might be too much information. The guy looked at me like I was a specimen pinned to a plate in a lab. "David Cowan, right?" All I could do was nod. "Sorry, pal, no mistake," he said, and with that he turned and walked out the door. As I sat there stunned, Starla grabbed my arm and half dragged me into her office, away from the prying eyes outside. I glanced at the document in front of me, and the words "dissolution of marriage" seemed to jump off the page. I looked up at Starla. "I don't understand. Last night it was just like when we first got married. She was so loving and giving -- and now this?" Starla looked at me sympathetically. "It was a farewell fuck," she said quietly. "It was her way of saying 'Sorry for dumping you.'" As I sat there uncomprehending, Starla leafed through the papers. "There's a note from Kelly clipped on the back," she told me. When I took it, she made a point of turning back to her computer so I could read the note in private, but I read it out loud anyway. Paparazzi Ch. 01 of 02 "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. Paparazzi Ch. 01 of 02 I grinned. "So what do we do next -- send some samples to Sal's boss?" "Oh, no," she said, "now we sit and bide our time. We want to let Sal's phony break-up/make-up story about Micki run its course. But don't get impatient," she added as she saw the scowl on my face, "when the time is right there won't be any escape for him."