Famous Page 8

  “ARE YOU OKAY, MISS GORDON?” MARIA ASKS IN WILLOW’S kitchen after Rex departs. Realizing that I’ve been staring at the camera display with my mouth agape, I jerk my head up, at the same time flipping the camera, display down, on the counter. Maria scowls.

  “Oh, yes,” I stammer. “Fine, thanks.” But a second later I pick up the camera with both hands, pressing it against my stomach, and hurry out of the kitchen. I feel like a duck at the pond who gets a big piece of bread and scurries off before the other ducks can take it away. But then I realize that if anyone sees me hurrying around holding my camera like this, they’ll know in an instant that something is up.

  To my left is a powder room, and I quickly slip inside and lock the door. I sit down and once again go through the shots that I didn’t take. There are six altogether. Badly lit, awkwardly framed, and taken from odd angles—obviously candids taken by an amateur. But the subject matter more than makes up for the technical imperfections. These shots are what the media would call explosive and ruinous. If any of them ever gets out, Willow Twine’s career is absolutely over. No questions asked. She couldn’t possibly have known someone was taking them.

  So now what? In my hands is the power to destroy one of the most famous celebrities on the planet. This is dynamite stuff. The ultimate money shot times ten. My People cover of Naomi Fine preggers would pale in comparison. I take a deep breath and try to convince myself that there is no rush. The pictures won’t go anywhere without me. I have time to think. . . .

  But all I do is stare down at the camera in my hands, questions racing through my head: Are you making too much of this? Either erase or don’t erase, right?

  Erasing is easy. Simple. Damage control completed. After all, Willow is now a friend. But if it’s so easy, why won’t my fingers move? I gaze down at the screen again and know why. In my hands, at my fingertips, is everything a paparazzo works for: the Ginormous Money Shot. Even though their quality is poor and I didn’t take them, these photos are in my camera and that makes them mine.

  My hands tremble slightly. With these shots, I would not only make news, I would be news.

  Again.

  I would be famous.

  Again.

  JUNE OF TENTH GRADE, NYC

  YOU WILL SIT ON THE BED WITH THE MACBOOK ON YOUR LAP, gazing sadly at the last recorded images of your best friend. You’ve heard people say they hated their parents, but never with the vehemence with which Avy announces it.

  You will dab the dampness from your cheeks and use the cuff of your shirt to blot the tears that have fallen onto the MacBook’s keyboard. From the hall will come the sound of Alex’s garbled voice, then a knock on your door. “Jamie?” your mother will say. “Can you come out here and help me with Alex?”

  “In a minute, Mom.” You just need to watch a little more.

  On the screen, several moments will pass while Avy sits there, silent, brooding as if once again experiencing all that anger toward his parents. Then he will shake his head as if trying to get out of that rut, and ask, “Did you ever have any doubts about a career as an actor?”

  He will brighten and pause, as if pleased at having been asked this question. After taking a sip from a glass of water on a table beside the chair, he’ll answer, “Of course I did. But that almost didn’t matter, because all I ever wanted was to be famous. I don’t mind admitting it. No one just accidentally stumbles into stardom, and anyone who says they did is just a big fat Botoxed liar. You fight, you sweat, you claw your way up. No one gets to the top without having the flesh of a thousand other actors under their fingernails. Dog eat dog, baby. And as hard as it is getting up there, staying up there is even harder. Everybody wants to take you down. Everybody wants to be the next you. The pressure is enormous.”

  Having given this answer, he will purse his lips, furrow his forehead, and nod as if satisfied, then lean forward again and ask, “What do you think set you apart from the rest?”

  You will feel a sad, wistful smile cross your lips. How poignantly ironic is this? On the MacBook screen, Avy will sit back and again prepare his answer. This time he will add gestures with his hands. “Honestly, it’s hard to say. Everyone knows it takes hard work and persistence. You always feel like the odds are against you. Luck definitely plays a part. You just have to be in the right place at the right time.”

  Again, he will appear pleased with his answer and will lean forward to ask, “Does it ever get easier?”

  He will answer, “Maybe when you go mega like Depp or Clooney. But for every Brad Pitt there are a ton of guys who had it in the palm of their hands and let it slip through their fingers. They had that one big hit. They made the cover of People. Maybe even an Oscar nomination for best supporting actor. But two flops later they were done. Gone. Not bankable. That’s the scariest part.”

  You will pause the interview and wonder who Avy was practicing this for. Clearly someone had prepared questions ahead of time for him. But why ask Avy these questions? How would he know if it ever got any easier?

  MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, THIRD DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA

  N,

  So good to get a reply!!! You’re right. You did tell me you’d be visiting friends of your parents’ yesterday. Sorry I forgot. Too much going on! Glad you had a nice time with them.

  So listen, what I’m going to tell you is top, Top, TOP secret. You can’t tell anyone. I know you don’t really care, which is why I can trust you ;-)

  Yesterday Willow and I had breakfast (at 2 in the afternoon!). Just the two of us at a table beside the pool with fresh fruit and croissants! Willow’s totally jazzed about getting the role in The Pretenders. Everyone says it’s a phenomenal script. There’s going to be a soundtrack CD, but it’s not another bunch of her bubble-gum songs. She’ll sing three serious love ballads. The rest are songs from other bands. The movie is supposed to start shooting next month. Because of Willow’s visit to rehab, the film’s producers forced her manager, Aaron Ives, to renegotiate her deal. Any hint of drugs or alcohol and she’s gone. No ifs, ands, or buts. The producers can’t afford to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on this movie and then have Willow destroy it with bad publicity.

  N, she told me all of this herself! She really took me into her confidence! She said she hates going clubbing and not being able to have a drink, but all her friends have been totally supportive and won’t drink in front of her. The movie company actually has spies! They’ll know if she does anything she’s not supposed to do. She said that in just about every restaurant and club she goes to there’s someone being paid by the movie company to keep an eye on her. And plenty of actresses praying that she messes up so they can get her role.

  And the one she’s the most worried about? Alicia Howard. N, the things she said about Alicia, and how she got this far in her career, would make your face burn! Willow made me swear not to tell anyone. It would look really bad if people found out she was spreading rumors (even though she swears they’re true!) about Alicia.

  N, I know she has lots of friends she’s known much longer than me, but I wonder if they understand the “business” side of her life the way I do. I think that’s why she confided in me.

  She said she was glad I was there because I seemed like a nice person who wouldn’t stick a knife in her back. Not like so many other people who only want to be her friend because they think they can gain from it. She told me the pressure on her is huge. If The Pretenders is a success, she’ll be back on top. If it’s a flop, her career is toast. Then we talked about my photo assignment. She said it’s really hard to be perfect for a whole week, and she hopes I’ll understand. I guess she means that if I get a shot of her picking her nose or checking to make sure her pits don’t smell, that I won’t try to sell it on the side just to make a few extra bucks. I agreed, of course. It’s not like selling a shot like that would further my career as a celebrity photographer, and it’s not going to further her career as an actress, right? In the long term, neither of us would benefit.


  After breakfast, Willow had all kinds of appointments, including costume fittings for The Pretenders and a script reading at the studio (I got to meet her co-star, Cody Patrick! He’s gorgeous! Be very, very jealous, N!). So I took lots of shots for the exclusive.

  Then guess where we had dinner? A cookout at Cody Patrick’s beach house! Right on the Pacific Ocean! There were about fifty aspiring actresses and models there, and a bunch of Cody’s guy friends. (The female to male ratio was at least 3:1. The guys were loving it.)

  But we didn’t stay that long. Willow was tired. We came back, and she went to bed. In the guesthouse I stayed up and watched Once. Did you ever see it, N? OMG! It’s the most romantic movie ever! We have to watch it together when I get back.

  So here’s the top secret. This morning I went into the kitchen, and the unfamiliar scent of cigarette smoke was in the air. Someone was sitting at the kitchen counter, a thin plume of smoke rising and spreading above him. He was bare-chested and had disheveled black hair, and on his back was a tattoo of a huge green dragon with a bright red tongue. On the other side of the kitchen, Maria wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. The smoke was pretty gross.

  Can you guess who it was? Rex Dobro! In Willow’s kitchen!!!! Bent over a coffee and cigarette. I froze until he turned, smiled soulfully at me, and said, “Hey.” N, I’ve never heard anyone stretch out a one-syllable word the way he can. The word poured out of his throat so slowly, most people could have completed an entire sentence in the same time. He rubbed a puffy eye. “You’re the kid photographer?”

  Ouch! I felt a little like I’d just been dissed. I mean, maybe I am a kid photographer, but did he have to say it? Anyway, I came back with, “So I’ve been told.”

  “Where’s your camera?” he asked.

  “It was amputated last night. You know those surgeons. They just love to cut.” (N, wasn’t I, like, just sooooo clever? Kid photographer, my foot!)

  “Hmm.” Rex took a drag and snorted on the exhale. “Funny,” he said without a smile.

  Maria brought me a cup of coffee. She shot her eyes at Rex, then gave me a quick sour look. I had a feeling it was more than just the cigarette smoke that she disapproved of.

  So guess who trudged in next? Willow! Wrapped in a black silk robe, her hair as disheveled as Rex’s. She draped her arm over his shoulder and pressed her face into his for a long kiss. Morning breath, cigarettes, and coffee didn’t seem to bother her one bit.

  She slid onto the stool between Rex and me. “No photos?”

  “No camera.” I raised my hands to show that they were empty.

  “You’re the best.” Willow put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a hug, then turned back to Rex and gently nudged him with her elbow. “How you doin’?”

  “Not bad, you?” Rex drawled.

  “Happy, I think.”

  Rex raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

  “No, I know,” Willow corrected herself, and kissed him on the cheek.

  It was definitely time to leave the love puppies alone, so I left. But N, you realize how amazing this is? Rexlow is back together! It’s HUGE!

  But don’t forget. This is TOP SECRET!

  XOXOXO!!! Hit me back!

  MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, SEVENTH DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA

  I’M SITTING IN THE PINK POWDER ROOM IN WILLOW’S MANSION—a digital gold mine in my hands—hearing voices in my head.

  Me: “Can I really do this? Destroy Willow’s career in order to advance mine?”

  Carla: “Darling, are you crazy? This is your ticket. Everything you’ve dreamed of since day one. People would kill for this kind of opportunity. You think if it was the other way around—if Willow Twine needed to wreck your career to advance her own—she’d hesitate for a second?”

  “But Willow and I are friends.”

  “Oh, please! You’ve known her for exactly one week.”

  “You don’t know. You haven’t been out here with us.”

  “My dear, they were calling me an old-timer in this business back when you were still in Pampers. I’ve seen and heard it all. Believe me, I know.”

  My BlackBerry vibrates. I slide it out of my pocket and check the number. Speak of the devil. It’s Carla. I almost answer, but something stops me. We spoke yesterday. She said we’d speak again when I got back to New York. So why is she suddenly calling?

  Instead of answering, I let the phone take a message and then listen to it. “Jamie, sweetheart. Wuzzup, girl? So listen, there’s a rumor going around that Willow was partying with old Rexxy last night. Any truth to that? You wouldn’t happen to have any shots, would you? Let me know, because those shots could be worth their weight in gold.”

  Huh? I stare at the BlackBerry, seriously puzzled. This is totally beyond strange. How in the world could Carla know that Willow and Rex were partying last night? That was supposed to be top top secret.

  The BlackBerry rings again. This time it’s Edie McGovern, one of the editors from the Weekly Dish website. Again I don’t answer and wait instead to listen to the message. “Hey, Jamie, s’up, babe? Heard you’re out in LA hanging with Willow. Any truth to the rumor she was out with Rex last night? We’d give any pix you’ve got big money and big play. Here’s my direct line in case you don’t have it.”

  Even as I listen to this message, another call is coming in, and I listen to that message next. It’s from Suzie Feld at the gossip website Hear It Here First. “Jamie, darling, listen, there’s word on the street that you may have hit the mother lode. Whatever you do, talk to me before you sell those shots to anyone else. I could make this huge for you. Call me as soon as you get this message. I’m giving you my personal cell phone number, the one I never give out.”

  I’ve hardly finished listening to that message when the phone vibrates again. It’s Carla. “Jamie, what’s going on out there? I’m swamped with calls about these photos you’re supposed to have. They’re going nuts. I’m getting offers sight unseen. You have to call me immediately.”

  The phone keeps vibrating, but I stop paying attention. How do all these people on the other side of the country know about Rex and Willow? Why do they think I have photos when I only found out about all this a few minutes ago? It’s as if they knew about it before I did. How is that possible?

  Rapid footsteps are approaching in the hall outside the powder room. I hear Willow’s personal assistant, Doris Remlee, urgently asking, “Zach, have you seen Jamie Gordon this morning?”

  “Yeah, uh—” Zach begins.

  “Where?” Doris impatiently cuts him short.

  “Out by the pool.”

  “When?”

  “A little while ago. She went into the kitchen. I guess she was getting coffee or something. Oh, and she asked me if I’d seen her camera.”

  “Oh, God! Did you?”

  “Well, yeah, I told her I thought I saw it on the kitchen counter. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Go out to the front gate and make sure it stays closed. No one is to come in or go out, understand? No one. Then get over to the guesthouse. See if she’s there. If she is, grab her and don’t let go. Under any circumstances. You hold on to her and her camera. If she’s not there, search her things. I want every camera she has.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Zach asks.

  “Just do it!” Doris shouts.

  Footsteps slap as Zach leaves. This is crazy. Obviously Doris knows about the photos. But how? How can she know about them when I just found them on my camera? Now other footsteps approach at a run and a voice high and tight with panic asks, “Does anyone know where she is?”

  It’s Willow. And she’s hysterical.

  “No, but she can’t have gone far,” Doris answers. “Zach says she was here just a moment ago.”

  “We have to find her,” Willow gasps. “Oh, my God, we have to! Have you checked the guesthouse?”

  “Zach’s doing that right now,” Doris says. When another set of footsteps approaches she commands, “Daphne, I want you to disa
ble the Internet connection immediately. Wireless and hardwire.”

  “That’ll disconnect the television and phone,” Daphne counters.

  “I don’t care if it disconnects the plumbing, just do it!” snaps Doris. “And make sure that includes the guesthouse.”

  “Wait, Daphne.” It’s Willow’s voice. “Is it possible to transfer photos from a camera to a BlackBerry and transmit them?”

  “If you had the right software. But it’s not a common thing to do. So it sounds like we think Jamie has some pictures we don’t want to get out?”

  “That’s exactly what it sounds like,” says Doris. “Go disable the Internet. And if you see Jamie, grab her and call me immediately.”

  From the other side of the powder room door I hear footsteps depart and assume that’s Daphne leaving. Which means Doris and Willow are still out in the hall.

  “Don’t worry,” Doris says as soothingly as possible. “Stay calm. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “When I find that little bitch,” Willow growls under her breath, “I will shove that camera down her pudgy little throat.”

  Her words make me wince. So much for being friends.

  “Where’s Sam?” she asks.

  “Haven’t seen him this morning,” Doris answers.

  “For God’s sake!” Willow blurts.

  Faint electronic beeps follow. “Sam? It’s Doris. Get over here immediately. We need you now. I’ll explain when you get here. And if by any chance you spot Jamie Gordon on the way, grab her and don’t let go.”

  Another beep.

  “I’m going out to look for her,” Doris announces. “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be better when this is over,” Willow answers in a quavering voice.

  A moment passes. Then Doris says, “I’ll take care of this, darling. In the meantime, there’s someone else you need to deal with.”

  Footsteps leave. But only one set. I assume they’re Doris’s, which means Willow’s still out there in the hall. Why? What’s she doing? Is she staring at the powder room door right now? Is she about to reach for the knob and open it?