Page 41 of Paparazzi

I look at him without being able to say a word. Some of the assumptions I’ve had for years begin to vanish, taking with them some of the anger and hatred that was tearing me up inside.

*

“So, she does it because she needs money?” I ask Lilly.

She’s just called me after doing the interview with Iris. At first, I was mad at her for still wanting to do it despite knowing the truth, but I finally gave in when I realized she wanted to find out why Iris was in the alley outside their house.

“Yes, she was candid with me. She is simply a girl who decided to be a paparazzo instead of becoming an escort. From what I understand, she needs a lot more money than a normal job pays, and she chose this path. She seems like a really nice girl. Imagine, during the interview, she made no reference to the Jailbirds. Luke, Martin, and Taylor are crazy about her.”

“Really?” My surprise is so evident that Lilly chuckles amusedly.

“I’m serious. She was very professional, and it was delightful to talk to her.”

The guilt that assaults me for the way I treated her almost makes me faint, forcing me to move away from the window where I’m admiring Manhattan to sit in the armchair that looks like the Space Shuttle. Iris is a paparazzo. She’s the one who sold out Michael. She’s the one who climbed a fire escape to take pictures of my friends and then sell them. I’ve always hated paparazzi. I’ve always hated what they did to Michael, whatshedid to Michael. This awareness has been tearing my heart apart for three days, trampling over any other feelings I’ve had for her. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I shouldn’t feel like a jerk for not going to see how she’s doing. I shouldn’t have felt so scared when I saw her crushed by dozens of people.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she lied to me.” I become defensive, and I hate myself for it.

Lilly inhales deeply, and I’m sure if she was here instead of on the phone, she’d have punched me already. “Thomas, think about before you found out. Do you really think she wanted to exploit you? She didn’t even give you her phone number. You followed her, remember that. And now she can’t possibly take any pictures of you because her camera is destroyed. I don’t think she has the money to buy another one. She walked out of the café crying when we spoke about it. I think that’s really the only job that keeps her alive.”

The sigh I let out expresses all the guilt invading my stomach and brain. “All you need is a cell phone to take a picture.” I continue with my idiotic defense like a kid who no longer has an argument to stand on.

“Thomas, don’t make me come over and kick your ass. Don’t be an asshole. She doesn’t deserve that.” Lilly’s voice is annoyed and amused at the same time.

“I know, I know. You don’t need to scold me.”

“Then don’t act like an idiot.”

I smile and shake my head. Since this girl entered our lives, it’s been like a breath of fresh air. “Alright, go back to Damian. We spent so much time on the phone it’s going to be him kicking my ass. And I’m sorry to say I’m a lot more scared of that.” She hates it when I tell her she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Lilly snorts and, in response, hangs up without even saying goodbye. I smile and look out the window, partly relieved, partly weighed down by guilt. On top of that, I’m worried because Lilly said Iris was in really bad shape this morning. Last night, after seeing her get trampled by all those people and then transported to the hospital unconscious, I spent the evening glued to the news for fear that she was seriously hurt or even dead. For the first time I have no idea what happened at an event—and not because I was drunk.

I turn to the kitchen and see the mountain of cookies I baked after my conversation with Michael. I’ve already decorated about fifty of them, and I haven’t even made a dent in the pile. “Claire is gonna kill me this time,” I whisper to myself thinking about the mess I’ve made.

‘Claire, I have a few dozen cookies to donate,’ I text her.

She answers right away: ‘I had to take the last ones to New Jersey because no one in Manhattan wants them anymore. Please stop! I’ll pay for your therapy but stop baking cookies!’

I burst out laughing because I can just see her, grandchildren in tow, bringing cookies to all the homeless shelters on the East Coast, muttering like a grandmother who no longer knows how to rein in her grandson.

I grab my laptop and check out the location of electronics stores in Manhattan. To my surprise, I find one not too far from here. I call Max and, when he gets here, I ask him to drive me there.

*

I walk to the door of her building, noticing one of the bars in the window has been damaged in an attempt to force it. The more I spend time in this neighborhood, the more I realize it’s a long way from the safe streets I’m used to living in.

The usual smell of urine welcomes me in the lobby, making my nose wrinkle. The blankets near the stairs where Charlie sleeps prove that he, in fact, lives here, among the cockroaches and dirt, he’s not just passing by. He’s even got a small suitcase in the corner with his stuff in it. No building with a decent property manager would have allowed such a thing. Making my way up to the third floor, I peek down the other hallways. Garbage in the corners, a bicycle without wheels resting on a wall, and an eviction notice on one of the doors. Only if you’re desperate to save money would you look for a roof over your head in this place. I’m a perfect idiot. How did I not notice? How did it not occur to me that someone who lives in a dump like this does not have any money? After all, when we were just out of prison, without a penny, we lived in places like this too.

I breathe deeply. I take courage and knock on Iris’s door. I hear the sound of the latch, then the door opens a few inches until the chain strains.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The answer dies on my lips when I see the tension on her face, like she’s not particularly happy to see me. I certainly can’t blame her. The last time I spoke to her, I was extremely rude and told her I would have her arrested. I look down at the floor, shaking my head, and exhale a disappointed sigh. The moment she closes the door, my heart sinks into my stomach. I almost turn around to leave when I hear the sound of the latch, and she appears wrapped up in a jumble of clothing. Holy cow! Her face is bruised and swollen, and her shoulder is in a sling. Lilly told me she had obvious bruises, but I had no idea the extent of her injuries until now.

“Can I come in?” I ask ashamedly.

Iris hesitates for a second, then she steps aside and lets me walk in, closing the door behind us.

Dexter catches up with me and rubs on my pants, purring. “And how are you?” I ask him, lowering and scratching his back.

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