Page 144 of Lovestruck at Sundown
Aaron didn’t reply, but I didn’t need him to. I knew he loved me, too.
PART 2
October 8, 2011
One would’ve thoughtthat the media and the general public wouldn’t be too curious about our relationship, what with William living in Los Angeles and me in New York. But that wasn’t the case. If anything, it only fueled people’s curiosity even further. A magnifying glass was placed over me, as if they were eager to see if I would mess up so they would have something—haveanything—to report on us.
The media was desperate for a story, anything juicy on our relationship. And since our long-distance relationship didn’t generate any content, that irritated them. So they resorted to making stories up and harassing me everywhere I went to photograph me and shout inappropriate questions to provoke me. But even if I knew better than to engage with them, as I’d been advised and coached by Naomi not to do on an almost everyday basis, there were days when I desperately wanted to shout something back and punch someone in the face.
Today was one of those days. It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The weather was perfect. Not too cold, not too hot. Clear skies. Naturally, I wanted to go out for a run. But man, I regretted it the moment I got to Central Park. I didn’t knowhow they did it, but I quickly spotted this particular paparazzi because he would never fail to appear wherever I went. He was short and scrawny with black-framed glasses and the agility of a Central Park squirrel.
The latest report going around the tabloids claimed that I was pregnant and William was cheating on me with one of the film crew members, Aria Martinez, since they were photographed leaving the studio together. Aria was in a serious relationship with someone else and had been for the past six years. William had worked with her previously on another film, so they had known each other for a while, but the media wanted a story to sell.
It was becoming a familiar routine for my conversations with William to include a segment where he would explain who everyone was that he was seen hanging out with or photographed with, just so I wouldn’t get any wrong ideas. The funniest part was Inevergot any wrong ideas. I trusted William blindly, and he was allowed to have female friends in the same way I was allowed to have male friends and hang out with them. Some of them weren’t even his friends. Just people he worked with.
The annoying part was we couldn’t have any privacy, and every little thing we did was documented by the press to be scrutinized by the general public. William was used to it, but I certainly was not. Things were quickly getting out of hand, and as much as Naomi was working overtime to try to stifle their attempts to keep pestering us, they had become an unstoppable beast.
Short, scrawny guy, whom Aaron and I baptized as Ronnie to make it easier to reference him whenever we mentioned him, had his electric scooter ready to follow us on our run.
I was fuming.
Going out for my outdoor runs was a sacred part of my day, and it helped me clear my head and rinse off the stress. But now,they were becoming the main stress generator. It was unfair and unacceptable for this type of behavior to be allowed.
William told me Agent Hawthorne had been providing extra security for my outings, but it was impossible for me to spot him. He was the stealthiest man alive. Aaron confirmed it, arguing with a certain sense of pride that Agent Hawthorne wasn’t as invisible to him, as he claimed to have spotted him a few times already.
Ronnie, the annoying paparazzi, scootered behind us a discreet distance away for the entire duration of our run.
Once we were done, Aaron and I headed to my favorite coffee shop, as we always did. I was determined not to let these people bully me into giving up the little things I loved. Going for a run and a coffee afterward made me feel happy and free. So fuck them. That’s why I had security, and Aaron was more than capable of keeping me safe. All I had to do was ignore the paparazzi and pretend they were not even there. They hated it.
When we stepped out of Deja Brew’s newest location with our coffees in our hands, Ronnie started shooting his questions at me. We were only a five-minute aggressive walk away from my apartment building, so it wouldn’t be too hard to pretend he didn’t exist.
“Billie!” he shouted to get my attention. It was hard not to react to someone yelling your name. It’s almost instinct to turn toward the person calling you. But I didn’t. I sipped my coffee and kept walking as Aaron placed a protective hand on my back.
“You think it’s safe for you to run when you’re pregnant?” he shouted again as I listened to the hum of his electric scooter behind us. I ignored him with a snort and kept walking. “How far along are you? You are beginning to show!”
With a gasp, I looked down at my belly, which was flat under my tight running leggings, and I heard a wicked snickerbehind me. I was annoyed at myself for falling into his trap. Clearly, I was doing a terrible job at pretending Ronnie existed in a different dimension where his presence was undetectable.
We stopped at a crossing, hoping the light wouldn’t be slow to change as Ronnie kept at it. “Is William the father?” he asked. “He rarely comes to New York, and you seem to spend most of your time with your bodyguard. And since you two have a history, well …” Aaron’s hand stiffened on my back. It was so hard for me not to react, to tell Ronnie to fuck off, and I’m sure Aaron felt the same way.
Whatever you do, don’t react. Naomi’s voice echoed inside my head as I took a deep breath and internally sangLarger Than Lifeto have something else to focus on and keep ignoring him.
The walk sign lit up, and when we crossed the street, I caught a glimpse of a familiar tall man wearing all black from head to toe. Black cargo pants, a black long-sleeved t-shirt rolled up to his elbows, a black cap and sunglasses, and black boots. Once he walked past us, I heard a sharp yelp from behind. Ronnie.
“Fucking idiot!” Ronnie yelled. “You burned my hands!” I looked over my shoulder, and Ronnie had coffee all over him and dripping over his scooter, which had come to a complete stop mid-street. His camera was drenched as well. The tall man ignored him and kept walking.
“That was Hawthorne,” Aaron said with a laugh, picking up the pace. “Let’s go. We can lose Ronnie. Although I doubt he’ll follow us.”
I’d only seen Agent Hawthorne once, and today, his face had been hidden behind his cap and sunglasses, so I didn’t get a good look at him. The only thing I remembered about him was his body’s strong-looking silhouette and masculine features. He was quiet too. And a very efficient and valuable asset.
November 17, 2011
“We’re doing apiece on reflective anti-paparazzi clothing,” Becca, my direct boss at the magazine, said as she dropped a simple white scarf on my desk next to my laptop. “They sent us a few samples, and I thought you’d like to try it out and let us know how it goes?” She tossed her long platinum hair behind her shoulder and anchored her hands on my desk, staring at me with her head tipped to the side. Her thick lips curled into a conspiratorial smile.
I would gladly use this innovative clothing item as a shield. The paparazzi situation wasn’t improving. Becca knew that. Everyone who knew me knew that. And since I had promised Nolan and a few other friends from Parsons that we would meet for drinks after school, I was excited to try it out.
“How does it work?” I picked up the delicate white scarf and tossed it around my neck.
“The fabric incorporates thousands of microscopic glass beads that work like retroreflectors. When a flash hits the fabric, the beads reflect the light directly back to the camera, creating a glare obscuring the person’s face,” Becca explained. “This effect can make it challenging for photographers tocapture clear and recognizable images.”
