Page 68 of Paparazzi

When Peter, one of our drivers, opens the door for me, I realize I’m in front of a cottage in the middle of nowhere. It’s probably one that Evan rented at the last minute to avoid paparazzi.

“This way,” he points me to a side door from which I can see Evan and Damian with Lilly.

I go into the house without taking too much notice of my surroundings. I reach the kitchen and, when I meet Lilly’s gaze, I see she’s been crying, though she tries to give me a comforting smile that actually never reaches her eyes. I inhale thoroughly to not freak out and approach the small wine refrigerator next to the counter.

“I had the pantry filled as soon as I booked this place two hours ago. I don’t know what they have, but I hope you can find something you like,” Evan suggests in a calm tone.

Michael and Simon have yet to arrive, and the atmosphere is much more peaceful. It almost seems like the negative energy melted away the moment we left Manhattan. The anger didn’t last, because it wasn’t the worst of it. I feel betrayed, emptied, terrified of what will happen; the anger left a void in my chest that is almost suffocating.

In the fridge are cheeses, fruit, and sliced bread, as well as eggs. I don’t want to cook. The last time I did was this morning, now yesterday morning, for Iris, in a completely different world when I thought I might have a future with her. What’s so ironic is that I was always hesitant about what I wanted from her when there was no threat of losing her. Now that I don’t have her anymore, I realize there was really nothing to be undecided about. In the corner of my brain, very far from my reason, I had already established that she might be my future.

I start laughing out of the blue. A laugh that makes me bend in two and slump on the floor, hysterical, out-of-control laughter. Damian reaches out. Lilly clings to his arm. She doesn’t know whether to stop him or to hide behind him for protection. No one touches me. No one dares to get closer. They just stare, not knowing what to do.

I laugh until the tears come, until I almost stop breathing. I laugh until I sob, until I can’t hold back anymore. I tighten my knees close to my chest, wrap them with my arms and sink my head between them to hide. Only I can’t hide from the others. My crying is so raw, so desperate that I couldn’t disguise it if I tried. I miss my father, my mother, my sister. This story brought back memories that pierce my heart like that first day I got out of prison. I can’t push them to the corner of my heart anymore, the heart I managed to seal shut in order to survive.

I feel Damian’s sturdy body sitting down next to me, wrapping his arms around me and drawing my head against his chest. I let myself be taken into my friend’s embrace. I let myself be held together by his strength, because this time I don’t know if I can keep from falling apart.

*

We’re all sitting on the deckchairs on the back porch—I’ve got a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I’m not crying anymore, but my eyes are still swollen. I don’t care. My friends have seen the worst of me; crying certainly won’t change their opinion of me.

“What do you think they’re going to say at tomorrow’s meeting? Do you think they’re going to dump us?” Simon breaks the silence with a question we’ve all asked ourselves.

The record company has called an emergency meeting. They know our situation, of course, but I don’t know how they’re going to react to the wave of criticism they’re getting right now. Some of it for keeping quiet, some for making criminals famous. There are too many ways this could end up, and we don’t come out well in most of them. We still can’t quantify the damage. It will take time. We’ll find out with the next album just how badly this shit has affected our career.

“I don’t know, I don’t think they can let go of a band with millions in sales and a new album ready to come out because of a scandal that could actually be to their advantage,” explains Damian.

“Especially knowing that every small record company would go into debt to offer us a contract,” adds Michael.

I don’t know whether the silence that follows is good or bad. It’s too dark to read their expressions to see if they really believe these things or if they’re just trying to bolster themselves for the morning ahead in a few hours. It’s the bitter cold of winter and you can see our breath in the air, but the icy cold that fills my chest is not because of the season. What if this is really the end of our career? I could never forgive myself for ruining the lives of these four.

“In case they decide to drop us, I’m leaving the band. I don’t want to drag you into this shit. At the end of the day, it’s just me under attack. They don’t know anything about you yet,” I say and I mean it. They can stay afloat and keep what’s theirs.

I get a punch from Damian on my shoulder as he laughs. “Do you really think our bullshit isn’t going to come out? It’s only a matter of time. And by the way, we were together in that prison, we got out together, and we’re going to face this together, too. Don’t even think about getting rid of us,” he reassures me.

A chorus of “yep” and “exactly, well-said” comes from Michael and Simon, and I don’t need to see their faces to hear the sincerity in their voices. That’s what has always united us, and got us through everything, until now.

Never before had I thought my job could ruin my life. The photos I’ve taken of celebrities have always been to earn money. I knew they would create problems for people, but I always thought that a well-paid press office could fix them. I never dwelled on what the people in the photos might be going through because of me: they were strangers, and I never saw the direct consequences of my actions on their lives. At least not until now. Because of me, my carelessness, I have a front-row seat to how much damage those magazines can do. They are doing it to Thomas—he’s completely crushed by this news and media attack—and also to me. I’ve lost the only man who has ever loved me, in spite of the lies I told him and the weight of my family obligation. A fantastic man who does not deserve to be lynched in a public square for what happened in the past. Gossip magazines, media, the fans, even parents’ associations are lashing out at him and the band.

“Hey, you have to eat something.” Emily pushes the plate in front of the computer I’ve been obsessively checking since last night.

She came to my house as soon as she got the call, and she never left, not even when I didn’t mention going to sleep and stayed up all night searching for a way to stem the damage.

“I’m not hungry.” Right now, I couldn’t get even the head of a pin in my stomach without vomiting.

“I know, but you also threw up the only thing you ate yesterday morning. You have to make an effort.”

“He hates me.” It’s a simple observation that comes out in a desperate whisper.

“Probably.” Her sincerity is what I appreciate most about her, even if it sometimes hurts like hell. Right now, though, I deserve to feel sick. I deserve to suffer, even if it will never be as much as he’s suffering right now.

“I don’t know how to clean up the shitstorm I’ve created. I don’t know how to help him.”

The despair in my voice reflects what I feel in the middle of my chest. I’ve been thinking all night about what I could do, but I’m nobody. I don’t have a reputation big enough to overshadow voices from all over the world. I’m a tiny drop in the middle of the ocean.

“I don’t know either. I don’t think anything can be done at this point. But you have to go tell him it wasn’t you that sold the information.”

“What difference does it make?” I look up and find her looking as tired and worried as I feel.

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