Page 14 of A Crazy Kind of Love
I double-blinked, searching for an appropriately flirty, casual reply, but someone approached us and usurped his attention, saving me from navigating the land mines of ambiguity.
When it became clear he’d been sucked into that conversation, despite the apologetic glances he shot me, I excused myself and slunk into the shadows, invisible and unimportant.
Time passed, and people came and went. The volume increased as the alcohol flowed, and I became transparent to the naked eye. It always amazed me how quickly people forgot to notice someone recording their lives. And so I moved around the party, fading into the periphery, forgotten—but the camera remembered everything.
Near two a.m., Eden caught up to me and pulled me upstairs into the kitchen. I hadn’t been out of the basement except to use the bathroom in hours. I saw Adrianna LaRue, a ridiculously famous pop star, in the kitchen, huddled with Adam. She flashed brilliant white teeth my way, and I stopped to snap pictures, but Eden grabbed my arm and tugged as the shutter clicked. Those pictures would end up blurred and useless.
Eden led me to a small office and shut the door. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
I flipped the settings on the camera to the viewer and handed it over. “There are a lot of pictures on here.” It was going to take me hours to figure out which ones Andy might like to see. He’d go through them all in any case, but I’d want to make sure he saw the best ones.
“These are really great.” She rolled through the pictures I’d taken of Victoria. “You have an interesting perspective on the world, don’t you?”
I blushed. “I just like to watch people. I mean, to see how they tick.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”
As I expected, she slowed down when she got to the pictures of her with Adam. She forwarded through the shots of them talking, kissing, gazing into each other’s eyes and then stopped. “Delete these.”
She scrolled through five pictures of Adam touching and talking to her belly. “And I know I can’t ask it, but I’m asking. Could you please not mention any of this. To anyone?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. It had to be awful to trust her secret to someone paid to spill the beans. But she’d luckily crossed paths with the world’s most reluctant pap. “Yeah. I didn’t see anything.”
She appraised me for a minute, searching the truth through the windows to my soul. I hardly blinked for fear of failing the analysis. Her features relaxed. “Micah might have been right about you. Maybe you’re not so bad.”
She flipped through the rest of the pictures, with ahmmand anahhh.Finally, she handed me the camera. “Do you think you could do some work on the side? Unlike Micah, I’d pay you. I’d love to get some shots of one of my shows. I loathe the pictures up on my website now. They make me look like a 1960s folk singer.”
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”
“Excellent. Do you have a card?”
I fished one out of my wallet, then hesitated. What if she’d somehow forgotten who I worked for? I still didn’t know the story there, but I didn’t want to accidentally blow this tentative trust with her. She pursed her lips, so I went ahead and extended the card to her. “Look, I don’t know what went down with Andy, but I just work for him.”
She studied the card. “Try not to learn anything from him if you can. He’s concentrated evil as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’ll do my best. As it is, he thinks I’m not long for this job.”
She snorted. “You do good work. I’m sure you’ll make a name for yourself eventually. Keep at it.” She paused. “The photography that is. Not the stalkerazzi.”
As she stood to leave, I reached out and touched her arm. “Not that I know anything, but congratulations. You both look very happy.”
Her expression moved through a complex series of acrobatics—fear, suspicion, appraisal, acceptance, relief, and finally honest guileless joy. “Thank you. But really—not even Micah knows yet. It’s way too early. But thank you.”
She slipped out of the room, and I felt like I’d made a tentative friend. Hervé was right. She’d been a lot sweeter to me once she dropped her guard. She seemed like someone I’d really love to get to know in a different world, one where I didn’t live on another plane of existence. One where celebrity didn’t create a caste system. I took out my phone to turn on the hot spot and began the process of submitting my photos.
The door clicked open, and Micah stepped through. “Hey there. I was going to head out. Can I give you a ride? Do you live around here?”
“I live in Williamsburg.”
“That’s not exactly on my way home, but not too far out of the way. I could give you a lift if you like.”
“And where do you live?”
“Brooklyn.”
I tilted my head. “Right. Where exactly?”
He shrugged, defeated. “Park Slope.”
