Page 101 of A Crazy Kind of Love
“Never better. Thanks for all your help.”
I laughed. “All I did was get fired. Y’all were amazing.”
“Yeah, we were.”
Zion said, “Guys, you’ve got to look atThe Watch Dog.”
The headline read “How Far Is Too Far?”
The now viral story of an established tabloid journalist mistaking the making of a music video for an actual wedding raises important questions about the entertainment news industry. The incestuous nature of celebrities with the paparazzi often clouds . . .
My eyes glazed over. “Too wonky.”
Zion tapped my foot with his. “Oh! Read this one!”
My Facebook dinged, and a message popped up from Zion with a link to an article atInside Scoop.
Inside Scoophas followed up on earlier stories posted in theDaily Feedand has made a shocking discovery.
Weeks ago, Derek Peterman of theDaily Feedshotthis videoof tabloid journalist Josephine Wilder passed out in front of Micah Sinclair’s apartment. In the video, Mr. Peterman mocks Ms. Wilder for being drunk. Since this incident, Ms. Wilder, who was also a reporter for the Daily Feed, has been terminated for this unseemly behavior.
However, Ms. Wilder’s medical records were released to us earlier this afternoon. Ms. Wilder is a diabetic. Sources say she was not intoxicated, but suffered from hypoglycemia, brought on by extremely low blood sugar.
Asked for a comment, Mr. Peterman said, ‘But she didn’t look like she was sick. How could I have known?’
Coworker Zion Knight toldInside Scoopthat Ms. Wilder had been under stress after her boss Andy Dickson released a story she’d negotiated to run at a later date. Mr. Knight gave no further details about this story.
We were unable to reach Mr. Dickson for further comment.
I held my hand up for the high five. “Zion, way to turn the story in on itself.”
Zion beamed. “Hey, you use the weapons at your disposal.”
On Monday morning, reporters dug up Adam and Eden’s marriage license and began to raise questions about intent. Before a counter story could emerge to vindicate Andy’s misinterpretation of events, Eden stopped on the street to answer the questions lobbed at her. Nobody bothered to ask her why she’d started talking to the reporters—although Andy would have surely noticed this deviation in character. The hardworking reporters were just happy to have a quote to turn in to their editors—especially the long-sought-after announcement of Adam and Eden’s wedding date, set to coincide with the two-year anniversary of their engagement in October. “We’ve already booked the hall, and invitations were sent out ages ago.” This was true. But she’d also only invited trusted family and friends.
Other articles about Andy would follow. And they’d fade into the background. I didn’t think anything would change, except that Andy Dickson would know what it felt like to be on that side of the story.
But with his name now a part of the cultural debate, his life became fair game to the kind of reporting he’d perfected. Over the next several days, reporters followed him around with cameras, peppering him with questions and egging him on for a reaction. If Andy had learned anything over the years, he should have known not to engage. But whether due to his own vanity or blind ignorance of his situation, his responses were often ugly, and the public wasn’t on his side.
Celebrities he’d burned in the past joined in, and soon stories about his behavior came out. Accusations of blatant harassment or misleading claims piled up, and when the investigative reporters began to dig into Andy’s personal life, more than one embarrassing skeleton fell out of his closet. I guess he figured nobody would ever have any reason to wonder what he charged on his credit cards, but apparently America loves to point and mock a certifiable villain with an eHarmony subscription.
Honestly, I almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.
Epilogue
Concert photographer. It sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it? Too cool to be an actual job, right? Think again.
A month after I lost my job, Lars Cambridge followed up with me about doing some work for his magazine. He’d also forwarded my photos to Stuart Michaels with my permission. I’d worked it out with Stuart to display the photo of Micah in one of his upcoming shows. As a settlement in the wrongful termination suit against theDaily Feed,I’d gotten all my pictures back. It thrilled Micah to become an actual work of art. Stuart said he’d be happy to consider future work. Maybe one day, I’d be able to put together a show of my own.
I’d been a professional photographer for years, but for the first time I felt legitimized—like I might finally get the blessing of my dad. But of course, I no longer needed it. I had all the approval I needed from industry professionals, my boyfriend, my best friend, and of course my oversharing mom.
Still, I sent photos and articles to Dad. I liked to think he was secretly proud of his legacy.
Lars had offered me an open-ended freelance gig. I’d have to get my own medical insurance through the state’s marketplace exchange, but it beat being unemployed. I’d already covered a couple of huge acts, wearing my credentials into the press pit and working with incredible equipment. My art degree hadn’t been a complete waste of time and money after all. Of course the pay was uneven, but good when I got the right jobs.
Tonight I had the best job.
Positioned where I stood, I could get great shots of the entire band plus the faces of the people floating on their backs, carried across the top of the crowd. They laughed as hands pushed them like a living conveyor belt to the back of the theater. Where the human surfboards went from there remained a mystery.
