Page 99 of A Crazy Kind of Love
Zion sent us all a video showing Derek picking up the wedding invitation and reading it. Derek’s eyes bugged out of his head, and he looked over his shoulder at the entrance to the office. Then he disappeared. I wondered if he photocopied it or took it straight to Andy. Zion said that the invitation sat on his desk when he returned.
Would Andy print the wedding invitation and run a story leaking the date, or would he go for the bigger story? Would he try to get exclusive photographs of a private wedding?
We got our first hint later that night when Eden’s parents called to find out why a reporter was asking about a secret wedding. Confused by the question, they’d told the reporter they had no idea what he was talking about. Eden would have told them to say exactly that if she’d wanted to loop them in any sooner. She said they’d more likely screw it up if they had a script to follow.
For the next two weeks Eden worked behind the scenes to organize everything else while I waited for time to pass. She called to let me know she’d taken a walk to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens where she conspicuously spoke to directors at the all-glass Palm House. She’d already booked the hall after calling around and finding a venue that could accommodate her needs at short notice, but she wanted to make sure Andy’s sleuths would have something to work with.
Adam and Adrianna were busy writing music and filming on location. Micah had performances, and reporters hounded him for a comment about the breakup with the girl he’d recently been linked to—me—but he charmed his way around them. His picture still showed up in the gossip pages, but mostly “seen out and about.”
It killed me that I had to stay away from him all this time. He called every day and occasionally sent me text messages, likeWould you rather go to Bali or Scotland? This is not a hypothetical question.But I missed seeing him. I second-guessed my involvement in this prank every time I had to resist an urge to show up on his doorstep.
Meanwhile, I saw Zion off to work in the morning, shuffled around the apartment, and went running. In the afternoon, I wandered the streets observing people. At night, I shot pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge. And every day, I watched my bank account dwindle.
Once my connection to Micah appeared to be severed, my phone quickly stopped ringing, and the reporters cleared off the sidewalk outside my apartment. Even when I saw paps I knew out on the street, they looked right past me. Without Micah beside me, my value to them dried up. Once again, I became a footnote to someone else’s celebrity. A historical anecdote. As it turned out, that didn’t bother me one bit.
After a week of near solitude and anonymity, my phone rang with an unknown incoming number. I almost ignored it, but curiosity got the best of me.
I hit Answer and hesitantly said, “Hello?”
“Josephine? Hi. This is Lars Cambridge of theRock Paper.”
I sat up. “Lars?”
“Yeah, hey. I’m glad I caught you. Listen, Micah sent me a link to the article your paper posted about you.”
A top editor at a huge magazine was calling to talk to me, but he only wanted to talk about a tired personal scandal. I sighed. “I’m not commenting on that story, Lars.”
“No, of course not. I’m not interested in the story. But I really liked the photographs credited to you. The one of Micah is stunning. Like something that should hang in the Louvre, not on the gossip pages.”
“Thankyou.” I said it as a vindication for what I’d thought and quickly added, “That was exactly what I was thinking when I shot it. It’s impossible to take a bad picture with a subject who already looks like a work of art.”
He laughed. “Yes. But I also saw your breathtaking photo of Victoria Sedgwick. I’ve seen her many times before, but I’d never noticed how poignant a figure she cuts. You are way too talented for a second-rate newspaper.”
“That means a lot, Lars. I didn’t mean for either of those pictures to post in the paper. It was—an unfortunate confluence of events.”
“I’m glad they did, or I might have missed seeing them. Look, I can’t promise you anything, but I’d like to take a look at your other work. I have an idea for you, but I need you to send me whatever you can.”
I slumped. “Most of my work is owned by theDaily Feed.” I combed through my mind and tried to think what I had on hand. “But I have been building a portfolio. I can send you all of that. It might not be much.”
“Great. I look forward to it.” He gave me his email address, and I promised to get it to him right away.
Before he hung up, he said, “I hope things are good with Micah.”
“You know the papers distorted what happened.” Even as I said it, I caught the poetic justice of the situation.
Lars kindly left the obvious lesson aside. “Micah told me.”
“What did he say about me?” I could hear Micah saying, “Positively shameless fishing, Wilder.” But I was desperate for any glimmer of Micah. I missed him so much.
“He said you were a talented photographer and far too ethical to be working for Andy Dickson. And he said you were too good for him.”
“I think we both know that’s not true. Micah’s a gem.”
“Like I said, I hope things work out for you both.”
I buried myself in the task of putting together a collection of photos that would show Lars my best work: the little girl with her face painted, the monks at Times Square, the chess players, the girl chasing her dog, paparazzi harassing Micah, Eden and Micah performing together, Micah floating like a god across the top of the crowd. Micah’s beautiful, beautiful face as the spotlight lit him from above and hands reached for him from below.
I couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed my phone. I texted,Where are you? I’m coming to find you.
