I wrote down my digits and handed her the paper.
She tucked it into an inside pocket in her purse, beaming at me. “I’m totally calling you, and Sparky McDoodle and I are going to take you out. You have no idea. This dog is my soulmate. He is the love of my life.”
Then her eyes shifted, and she seemed to notice something or someone down the street. She tipped her forehead to the end of the next block. “Say cheese,” she whispered to me, and then she wrapped an arm around me. “That girl always gets my picture. Can you cheat to the right?”
I angled myself slightly as a girl in the distance with long red hair fastened in a tight braid snapped several shots from a long-lensed camera. It was Flash, or so I called her. Another young paparazzo, she must have been staking out Riley too, and I was about to become the subject of a celebrity photo spread, something I dreaded. My only hope was I would be identified merely as the “good samaritan” and not as a celebrity photographer.
In two seconds, Flash bolted, probably on her way to file the photo, and Riley turned back to me. “Thank you. My right side is so much better than my left side.”
I nodded. “Totally understand. I don’t like my left side for what it’s worth. Even though no one takes my pic.”
Riley nodded. “See? You understand. Everyone else also tries to placate me and blow nonsense out their mouths and say ‘Oh, Riley, you look good from every side’ but that’s crap. Everyone has one side that’s better than the other.”
Riley said goodbye, and I figured it was the last time we’d exchange words, so I didn’t waste one ounce of emotion on the guilt that slithered into me over the fact that I’d be taking her pictures tonight. I shed that feeling, as I slinked off, trying to make myself unnoticeable, even as a few people stopped to say I was brave, that I was awesome, that I was fast as hell to save a dog like that. I just nodded and smiled without showing my teeth, wishing I could pull out my camera and grab a shot of Riley walking into the boutique. But I didn’t want to show my hand. I couldn’t chance it. I didn’t want anyone to snap a picture of me taking a picture of Riley. Besides, now I’d have to be extra careful tonight because she knew who I was. As she walked into the boutique, I ached to take just one shot of her entering the shop with Sparky McDoodle safely in her arms.
But I resisted.
I looked away, focusing on tonight and earning the other half of the $10,000, not the missed opportunity of a bridesmaid fitting. I pushed my bangs off my forehead, and shook my head, as if I could shake off the whole bizarre encounter. Then I saw a too-familiar face across the street. Decked out in jeans, and a blue faded T-shirt,William was reading a paper while sitting on a green slatted bench. His camera was slung around his neck, resting against his stomach. He wasn’t even trying to hide his camera. He waved to me, and grinned broadly, and I wanted to smack him.
Because he wasn’t here for Riley this time.
The bastard had followed me. Red smoke billowed out of my eyes. Flames of anger licked my chest. I marched across the street and right up to him. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said through pursed lips.
“Seems J.P. keeps sending us on the same stakeouts. Riley this time.”
I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. “Wrong answer,” I hissed.
His eyes widened, and he gulped. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t actually here on a Riley stakeout. I was here for another reason. J.P. didn’t send me on this assignment. I sent myself, based on a tip I got myself. Ergo, you weren’t sent here by JP. Ergo, you’re following me.”
“Or, I’m working for another agency now?” he offered up meekly.
I shook my head. “What’s your story? What’s your real story? Because you’re not really a paparazzo.”
Chapter Seventeen
William
I could have spun a new lie. I could have concocted some sort of fable, pretended I didn’t see her, or stalked off to my bike.
But she’d busted me, and it was time to man up.
Her arms were crossed and I swore I could see smoke pouring forth from her nostrils. She was going to walk away when she heard. But she deserved the truth. She didn’t deserve, though, to have everyone nearby witness our conversation. A throng of onlookers across the street watched Jess. Some even had their cell phones poised, ready to capture her.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I said quietly.
She looked around, glancing up and down the sidewalk. “The street is fine with me.”
“Right, and me too. But you still have crowds of people checking you out.” I pointed to the other side of the street as surreptitiously as I could. She stole a look. “You’re the girl who saved the star’s dog.”
She huffed, grabbed me by the camera strap and dragged me around the corner to a quieter block, then pulled me into a long entryway that led into a store selling polka-dotted dresses for toddlers that would become stained with organic ketchup or fair-trade-harvested chocolate syrup the first day they were worn.
“You’re not a paparazzo,” she repeated. “You didn’t recognize Lolanna, you didn’t go for the shot of the LGO ladies at the salon, you barely even tried to get Riley’s and Miles’ picture at Venice Beach, and on top of that, I know J.P. didn’t send you here because J.P. didn’t send me here. Who are you?”
I swallowed, then took a deep breath. I didn’t try to curl up my lips or sling a zingy comeback. Instead, I answered her without sarcasm or a smirk. “You’re right. I’m not here on assignment. J.P. told me earlier today he won’t have any more work for me because I only got one shot–Monica. I don’t recognize celebrities, Jess,” I said, and it felt like a confessional, and I was glad I no longer had to lie about my terrible inability to spot famous faces. Telling her I’d lied wasn’t going to win her over, but I still had to come clean. “I’ve been moonlighting for a private detective agency in the hopes of finding a permanent job so I can stay in the States after I graduate.”