Page 55 of Paparazzi

His voice has no particular tone, impassive. He’s in bargaining mode.

The laugh that escapes my lips is so genuine it surprises him. “Honey, Agatha offered seven thousand. And you know she’s stingy, too. Go ahead, call her,” I challenge, because I know he’s quivering with curiosity to see if what I told him is true.

After five seconds of hesitation, he sends a text. The reply doesn’t give him much pleasure because his face looks like he’s just swallowed a sour lemon. “Eight.”

“She would’ve offered me at least ten if I hadn’t mentioned coming to you.”

“Eleven.”

“You can do better than that,” I venture, knowing he desperately wants them.

“Twelve. I’m never going to get to fifteen, and you know that.”

I smile and nod. I know fifteen would make him look weak. I’m okay with twelve thousand dollars for twenty photos. With that money, I can breathe for a couple of months and pay the bills I owe.

“I’ll upload them to the site. As soon as I get the money, you can automatically download them,” I remind him, because if I don’t charge him in advance, he “forgets” to pay.

His bitter laugh is almost gruesome. “What’s this? Now that you’re fucking the drummer, you snub your nose at me and don’t trust old friends anymore?”

I decide not to go into the details of my relationship with Thomas. “You’ve already screwed me enough times when I was a naïve little girl. I just learned who my friends really are and who I can’t trust.” My voice is calm, as I’d hoped, despite the anger mounting inside me.

Ron gets up and looks at me with his usual arrogance before moving closer, icily whispering to me: “Remember that you are still a whore. You sold yourself to the drummer to get close to them and take these photos. You just earned twelve thousand dollars sleeping with him.”

“Look, these photos exist because of your phone call to Thomas that detonated a bomb in the band. Don’t blame me for something I didn’t do,” I hiss between my teeth.

“Exactly. My phone call revealed that you opened your legs to get something in return...in this case, twelve thousand dollars. How does it feel selling yourself to get what you want? Are you really different from a street whore? At least they’re honest about their profession,” he shoots at me before walking out the door.

He would’ve almost convinced me if I didn’t remember that Thomas helped me plan this whole thing. If there’s one thing Ron can do right, it’s get into your head and use your insecurities to get what he wants. But not this time.

Not even five minutes after he leaves, I get a notification that the money has been sent. I immediately transfer it to my personal account and breathe a huge sigh of relief. I’ll be able to pay the hospital bill, the monthly fee I owe at my mother’s clinic, and maybe even start paying back the thousand dollars Emily lent me almost a year ago. For once in my life, I leave this café with a smile on my lips and the prospect of a bright future ahead of me.

*

I enter the small restaurant in the Tribeca area, and with its rustic wooden coffee tables and red and white checked tablecloths, I feel like I’m in a parallel world, outside the glittering, modern buildings of Manhattan’s financial district. The clientele amazes me: casually dressed customers sitting next to businessmen poured into ridiculously expensive suits. No bulky backpacks or Macy’s bags scattered everywhere. These are no tourists.

I spot Thomas at one of the tables near the back, under a pergola of fake bougainvillea next to a red brick wall. I’ve never been to Tuscany, but the rustic wood, flowers, and other outdoor décor mimic a farmhouse in the hills, and it makes me smile. When Thomas sees me, his face opens up in a sincere smile that illuminates his face in a way that makes me almost faint. He stands up, kisses me on the cheek, and with his hand lightly touching my lower back, seats me across from him at the small table. A bottle of red wine is already open and has been poured into two glasses.

“How long have you been waiting?” I ask him.

Thomas smiles and shakes his head. “Not long, but the waiter suggested I pour the wine because it has to ‘breathe.’ I have no idea what that means,” he chuckles as he sniffs the contents and furrows his forehead.

“Don’t ask me,” I say, shaking my head.

Thomas studies me for a few seconds, then inhales deeply and, while he hands me the menu, asks me the question that is obviously nagging at him “So? Did you sell the photos?” There’s no scolding in his voice.

“Twelve thousand dollars,” I answer as I smile behind my glass of wine.

Thomas’s eyes widen, surprised, then his forehead creases, as though he’s puzzled. “I just realized I have no idea if that’s a good price or not,” he chuckles amusedly, and I echo him.

“I’m happy with it. Ron has never paid me that much,” I admit, ashamed of it. After all, those pictures aren’t even genuine.

“I’m glad. Lilly will be thrilled by the news.” He smiles amusedly but his expression shows his tenderness. She must really be special to him. I noticed it last night when the three of them were so in sync they finished each other’s sentences.

“That girl is crazy. Who would’ve thought of a fake fight?” I admit with a laugh.

Thomas nods vigorously. “She must be. Otherwise, she couldn’t be with someone like Damian. As much as I love him like a brother, you’d have to have an infinite amount of patience and madness to put up with him.”

I’d like to ask him more, how they met, what they did before they became famous, but fear of sounding like I’m investigating holds me back. I’m always afraid he’ll think I’m with him just to get a story, rather than the pleasure of spending time together.

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