Page 20 of Paparazzi

I roll my eyes because Dexter is everything but those things. Sometimes I get the distinct impression he wants to kill me in my sleep. “I’m almost sure he loves you more than me. The only contact we have is in the morning when he puts his paws on my face to be fed,” I admit with some disappointment mixed with humor.

*

There are only five of us here in front of the restaurant. This time Ron got the tip from someone well connected, someone who knows the magazines that will run the story. In most cases, this type of information comes straight from the star’s manager or from his press office, especially when the fame around his client is fading. In Alicia’s case, she had the misfortune of being dumped by her husband for a man. The news was spiced up with a sex scandal that surfaced on the movie’s set they were filming together. It was a nasty blow. She was the victim in that situation, but that was irrelevant compared to the fact that her husband—a two-generation sex symbol—turned out to be a gay man who never came out. Unfortunately, in modern, progressive Hollywood, it’s more scandalous to be gay and come out than to betray the wife you’ve been with for more than fifteen years.

The excuse I give myself for being out here making money off someone else’s misfortune is that most likely that same person is paying me to be here. Our wait doesn’t last long. After not even twenty minutes, Alicia comes out walking hand in hand with Peter Rayan, a young actor who has made more news for his dating life than for his high-profile roles. But he’s only twenty-three years old and has a life ahead of him to prove his worth in Hollywood.

The flashes of five cameras go wild as they try to cover their faces, even if they’re not putting much effort into it, confirming my theory that it was them who called us. The noise is like a round of machine guns. It takes forever to call their driver, who arrives five minutes later, despite coming from the garage of this same place. When they finally get into the car, I wave to my colleagues who are already walking toward the subway. It was a quick, painless job that will earn me a few hundred dollars. It could have been worse.

I put the camera in my bag and walk to the alley behind the restaurant that cuts through the entire block to Fifth Avenue. I’ll have to walk down it to get home. As soon as I turn the corner, my heart stops: Thomas is there, smoking his cigarette, his gaze fixed on the asphalt. He’s within walking distance, and as soon as he hears me, he looks up, and his eyes go wide. Did he see me in front of the restaurant?

“I swear I didn’t follow you this time!” He raises his hands and shakes his head.

I smile, but I’m nervous. If he’d seen me in front of the restaurant, he wouldn’t try to justify himself for our meeting, but I can’t be sure. “I believe it, but what the hell are you doing out here in the dark?”

He shows me the cigarette he’s holding. “I had to walk out the back door because there are jackals with cameras in front of the restaurant.”

It hurts to be called that, but it’s not his fault. That’s who we really are. “Are you here for dinner?” I try to move the topic away from the paparazzi.

“Yes, I’m with Damian, Lilly, and Michael. But what are you doing around here?”

Good question. “I came to see a friend. I’m on my way home.” It feels like the nervousness is palpable in my words.

“Can I walk you home?”

“Aren’t you having dinner with your friends?” I laugh.

Thomas shrugs and puts out the cigarette, stepping on it. “They’ll survive without me.”

“Okay.”

We walk silently side by side until we reach Fifth Avenue, where a cascade of light from a shop window decorated for Christmas showers us. Behind the glass, a sleigh pulled by white horses makes its way through the snow and trees adorned with red ornaments. Every year, the shops compete for the most beautiful and dramatic decorations. Elves, Christmas trees, ice sculptures, and real-looking snowfall take turns showing off during one of the most beautiful seasons of the year. Millions of tourists trample over these sidewalks, filling their eyes and hearts with the magic that these windows, and this city as a whole, manage to convey. And every year at this time, I remember how lonely I am in a place where millions of people gather to celebrate.

“Are you going to spend Christmas with someone?” he asks, as if reading my mind, when we have been walking silently for five minutes.

“With my mother, as usual. You?”

“I think we’ll all be at Lilly and Damian’s house. Since they started living together, those two have become more domestic than a retired old couple.”

I laugh and feel a little honored. It’s not everyone who gets this kind of inside information about their favorite band, which makes me realize how comfortable he is with me. His barriers are slowly collapsing, and mine are starting to creak, too.

We don’t even notice when we arrive at my apartment, alternating moments of silence and small conversations about our daily life.

“I blew your dinner.”

Thomas shrugs and smiles, his hands shoved into his pockets. “It’s not like you get fed enough in that place. It’s the classic upscale restaurant where portions are tiny and cost a ridiculous amount of money. Did you already eat?”

“No. I haven’t had time yet.” And I don’t have much in the fridge to put on the table.

“Shall we order a pizza and have it delivered to your place? Or is that too brazen of a proposal?” His question is almost timid.

My heart goes crazy in my chest, shouting yes, while my brain tells me I should end the evening here. “Okay, but I warn you, I have nothing to offer you upstairs, apart from tap water... I haven’t had time to shop these days.”

“Okay, you go up and order the pizza you like. I’ll go to the store down the street and buy something to drink.”

As I climb the stairs to my apartment, my heart explodes in my chest and agitation grips my stomach. As soon as I enter, I pull out my camera and computer and, before ordering pizza, send the photos to Ron. A sense of unease fills me when I think of Thomas being here in a few minutes, and I’m hiding the real reason I crossed paths with him in that alley.

A slight knock on the door almost makes me drop the camera I’m putting in the closet. Dexter precedes me, and when I open the door to let Thomas in, my cat rubs between his legs as if he’s known him for a lifetime. Thomas seems pleasantly surprised by the meeting.

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