PAPARAZZI - h.s.

2

“Harry I swear you are a freaking gift sent from the almighty himself! These are absolutely perfect. Us Weekly, The Sun, OK! Magazine. Everybody wants them. Every-fucking-one. I’ve been on the phone non stop all morning man - they keep trying to outbid one another. This is even wilder than that time you got the shot of Rihanna picking her nose!” Fred’s voice bellowed through the phone with a scattering sound. I groaned lightly as I poured my coffee into my fifth cup today. The Rihanna shot had not exactly been gracious, but I had been able to buy my car with the prize Fred got for that set of photos.

 

“Of course I’ll get the best price for you -,” he stated in a matter of fact tone, that had me chuckling. I grabbed the phone from the kitchen counter and headed to the sofa still with no shirt on only in the black jeans.

 

“Yeah of course you do Fred. Of course - just like always eh?” He was in an awfully good mood today. Which he was ought to be anyway since he got 35% of the earnings. After getting the shot, watching how Naomi had been picked up in a Hummer with toned windows I had driven back home and slept for three hours straight. Not even caring to take off my trousers.

 

“You’re one sassy little mother fucker Styles, but as long as you keep these kind of shots coming I wouldn’t mind if you were the son of satan! I’ll hopefully have the deal in house before tonight - do yourself a favor and drink a glass of bubbles for me, yeah? This one is definitely worth celebrating! A weeping Naomi Fay! You’re one hell of a pap Styles you son of a bitch!”

 

I chuckled again, as I searched for the remote control in between the red sofa pillows. It was a nice place I got. With raw brick walls, huge flat screen, black leather couch, modern white kitchen (though I could care less about that part), big light window section in a true Brooklyn style uplit the place. It was perfect. The bedroom huge and white with a double bed. I could hardly believe the crap I had lived in just three years ago - if I had knew how much you could earn being a pap back then …

 

Finally I got hold of the remote, as Fred kept babbling on about his love for my talent - mixing it with several swear words as usual. I shook my head smiling at him.

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine Fred. Thanks mate - I have to get some sleep was up all night to get that bloody set of shots for you man. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

 

I hung up before he could babble more in his suffocating joy. I knew I was supposed to feel just as happy, just as thrilled, just as high on the reward those shots would bring. But I just couldn’t. As I had driven home and had parked in the usual spot near my place, I had sat there in the car for a little while in the silence of the dead engine. Watching that last picture I had taken of her - how her eyes were not yet quite puffy, but still glistening with the fresh tears. How devastated she had looked. How broken.

 

There had been no Hollywood glamour, no make up covering up the dark circles under her eyes, which had spoken of her sleepless night. No Chanel dress to make her figure appear in the most attractive way possible. No she had just been Naomi. Just been human.

 

I took a deep breath and threw my head back, leaning it against the edge of the sofa, as I watched the ceiling. The scent of my coffee on the sofa table filling the room. Why did I care?

 

It was an unspoken agreement between the media and the stars. It was a way of earning cash. All of us. Magazines were sold because of those pictures. On the other hand the stars got free promotion - promotion for their newest movie, or album or whatever the hell they tried selling. It was all just a game. All about the money.

 

Pressing in the numbers on my phone, while holding it high above my face I felt that flicker of quilt dissolve into nothing. Replacing it with a smirk and the thought of what I should use the money for. Maybe a new camera for the studio? I had gotten the shot. I pressed the green button and moved the phone to my ear, as I led a hand through the tangle of hair.

 

“Yeah?” The familiar voice greeted me, and a smirk grew into place.

 

“I got the damn shot. Drinks on me tonight.” The smile on my lips grew wider with every word.

 

They had all praised me like a king the entire night - maybe because Fred made the money transfer to my account and I was now able to pay for their champagne - but on the paper it was because I had finally gotten a good shot of Naomi Fay crying her heart out. In the dark exclusive club my blood intoxicated with the alcohol I laughed out loud with the others. Drowning yet another of the icy blue shots, the room was spining, hot wet kisses were placed on my neck by some girl I didn't knew the name off.

I had no feeling of the time, but I guessed it had been about 22 hours since my victory shot, which now paid for all I could see around me. On the other couch sat the friend I had called in the afternoon, with his brown friendly eyes which were clearly swimming at the moment.

He sent me a wide grin, as the blonde girl by my side let her tongue run lightly over my jawline, "sorry babe." I managed to utter and got up replying his grin, as I gently pushed off the girl. The blonde pouted slightly but went on to one of the other guests in here.

"Styles - the man of the hour!" My friend replied with a slurred voice as I dropped down beside him on the couch. I put my feet up on the glass table, while the sensual music with that dance beat clouded my thoughts. The club was absolutely stucked and the air filled with smoke and toxic cravings.

"It even beat your set of Emma Stone from last week didn't it Payne?" I yelled over the music, as my eyes for a moment rested on one of the dancers in the middle of the room. A smirk playing over my lips - high on the reward and glory from this morning's hunt, as I watched her exposed female figures.

"I'm afraid I have to admit they sure did Styles. But I can't complain - you needed this. How's that studio going for you anyway mate?" Liam Payne reached out and grabbed the cigarette packet from the sticky glass table. In the spilt liquid the flickering club lights were reflected.

“I got that place I had been looking at. The one with the view to the Brooklyn bridge I told you about remember?” He stuck me one of the slender white smokes, ignited his own and handed me the lighter. I took a drag and felt the smoke filling my lungs, as he nodded.

I let out the air and watched the smoke pour out in a steady stream - imagining photographing it, “yeah so I got it painted last week. I just need a few more equipment then I can start it up. Thinking of using the money on a new camera for that place.” 

I held the smoke between my thumb and pointing finger, rolling around and around as the world spun around. Liam said something about that being a pussy idea. That there was no money in that business, but I had dozed off into a strange state while watching the exotic dancer and listening to his words. To my fear the dancer transformed into her. With puffy, red eyes from the tears. With her judging eyes looking at me.

I shook my head and everything was back to normal. Liam handed me another shot and I drowned it gladly, trying to wash away her sad tear filled eyes.

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