I ate a total of two angel cakes today. That didn't include the Big Mac and large order of fries. Of course, I had to wash down the food with a large refreshing coke. So, this has become my life daily, sweets and fast foods. Can't forget to mention I practically live out of my car, chasing down the famous, and gaining an extra few pounds along the way, well, that's my glamorous life as paparazzi.
A drop of ketchup falls onto the lens of my camera. I swipe it off with my thumb, and lick the rest of the yummy residue with my tongue. The smear won't create good pictures, so I give it a final wipe with my t-shirt.
"You always drip food everywhere," says Sam, sitting in the passenger seat. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe you still own that piece of crap, anyway."
I examine my Nikon. "It works just as well as it did when I took photography in high school five years ago."
"Seriously?" he says, smiling.
Rolling my eyes, I say, "Sorry I haven't officially joined the paparazzi ranks of godly! I'm going to land the best pictures real soon. Then, I will get a new camera. Sound like a deal?"
"Damien Wolfe," he says with a straight face.
"Excuse me?" I say in mid chew, dropping a hot pickle onto my chin. "Ouch! Gosh, I do that all the time. I should just become rich and sue them for putting too hot of pickles on my Big Mac."
Sam laughs, "I love you, gorgeous."
I pinch his cheek. "Love you too, Snoopy."
"Hell no, not that name, Amber."
"Snoooopy," I tease.
He throws his hands up into the air. "Fine! I surrender!"
I giggle, taking a big bite of my oh-so-delicious cheeseburger.
"Now that you've had a mac-attack, hopefully not a heart attack, back to Damien Wolfe."
I raise an eyebrow. "The super gorgeous, super arrogant, famous dude that has a bad reputation with paparazzi? What about him?"
"That's your new target," he says point-blank. "None of the paparazzi have gotten a clear picture of this guy! You, my dear, could be the goddess amongst the paparazzi!"
I snort. "Excuse me? Aren't we being a tad bit dramatic, Sam?"
He shakes his head, not saying a word.
I grab his iPhone from his lap, typing in his password. His brown eyes grow wide. He knows I'm about to text his new girlfriend. He lunges for me, but I stick the cell out the window, waving it around through the air.
"Stop! Just you stop right there," I say. "I will tell her why your nickname is Snoopy."
He frowns. "You wouldn't."
I nod. "Oh, I would."
Sam throws his head back against the seat. "Alright, I won't mention Damien Wolfe ever again." He looks over at me, giving me the sweetest puppy eyes. I cave in and toss him back his phone. "You're a doll," he says.
I watch Sam slide his finger through his text messages. He's cute in a conventional way. His thicker framed glasses make him look like he should be a creator of some billion dollar software company. His collared shirt never misses a button. Today, he's wearing a salmon colored top. The shade looks nice against his sun-kissed skin. Our friendship over the last two years has only ever, and will forever be plutonic.
He ruffles his shaggy hair. "She wants to go all the way tonight."
"What?" I choke on a fry. "I mean...that's great, Sam! Wow."
His face turns the color of his shirt. "I'm not ready to be honest."
"Of course you are," I say. "Buy some really strong alcohol and play some soft, romantic music."
Sam furrows his brows. "Don't tell me you've seduced a guy like that before."
This time my face turns a shade of pink. "Of course...not! I was only suggesting."
Just before he could say more, a swarm of paparazzi cross the busy city street.
"It's game time." I take one last sip of coke and hang my camera around my neck. "Let's make some dollars."
Sam prepares his camera and looks over at me. "If we do, then buy me a drink. I'm going to need it before the end of the night."
"Deal," I say, giving him a high five.
We rush out of the car and make our way toward the crowd of people and flashing cameras. I elbow my way through the mass of shouting nut jobs like myself, raising my camera into the air to snap a couple of photos.
"Damien! Over here! Smile for me, man!" a paparazzi says next to me.
Damien Wolfe?
My pulse quickens. I'm too short. I can't see over the giant people blocking my view of the man notorious of escaping paparazzi! I take my chance and shove my head forward, bulldozing through five other people.
"What the hell?" someones says next to me. "Stop that girl!"
I burst out of the crowd and bump into what I assume is one of Damien's bodyguards. He has muscle the size of boulders. His shiny bald head is so clean, it almost hurts my eyes. I wink at him, smiling.
"Hey, big guy," I say, trying my best at flirting. He grunts, crossing his huge arms over his chest. I try to look past him at Damien, who by the way, is completely covered up!
"Get back," the bodyguard says, his chest shifting up and down.
I raise my pointer finger. "Come on, one picture? I'm completely harmless!"
"I said, get back!"
His ginormous arms hurl toward me, latching onto my shoulders to nudge me backward. I almost lose my footing when Sam stumbles next to me, steadying me. I quickly take notice of the nice shiner on his left eye.
"Sam? What the hell?"
He shrugs coolly. "It's a mosh pit over there."
I look back up at the bodyguard, then over at Damien, who sneakily slips inside his Lamborghini with grace. My heart sinks. I'm a failure.
Double, humungous, quadruple, failure!
Sam grabs my hand. "Let's go."
"Ugh, I'm hungry, again, Snoops," I say in my whiny voice.
"Ice cream? You know...your favorite...butter pecan."
We walk hand in hand back to the car.
"You sure do know your way to a girl's heart, Snoopy."
He let's go of my hand and stomps away. "God, save me from that horrible nickname!"
I smile, knowing I can still come out on top.
~*~
I lick my vanilla ice cream vigorously, before more of it drips down my chin and onto my cleavage. Sam stares at me in awe, unaware that his cookies n' cream dripped all over the crotch of his pants.
"You got a little dripping issue down below," I say, pointing down at his manly part.
He jumps out of his reverie, dropping the last scoop of his ice cream from his cone, onto his lap. "Shit!"
I giggle. "Don't you know how to use that tongue of yours?"
He looks over at me with a smirk. "Why, you curious?"
"No!" This time my melting ice cream falls off the cone and in-between my breasts. "Why do our lives suck, Sam?" I dig the clump of ice cream out with my sticky fingers.
He wipes the ice cream off his pants, licking his fingertips. "It doesn't suck, Amber. We've just accepted that we're both social rejects."
"And that's better how?"
Sam tosses his cone outside the window, laughing at the pigeons going berserk on the sugary crust. I pinch his arm to get his attention.
He lets out a long sigh and says, "You need to go on a date, Amb's."
"Huh? How is this helping my sticky situation?" I say, pointing down at my twins.
His eyes light up. I can imagine a bulb switch on, floating above his pretty little head. "Go out with Tucker Banks!"
I wave my finger in the air. "No, no. That is definitely never, ever, going to happen, my friend."
"Just think," he says, pausing to gather his thoughts. "Tucker is on top of the paparazzi world right now. If you're out and about with him, no doubt you'll land some famous pictures."
"So..."
"So? Are you serious? You get laid and get paid!" His smile nearly covers the lower half of his face.
I furrow my brows. "Is that code for prostitution?"
Sam lets out a belly-deep laugh. "Amber, just call him!" He looks through his phone contacts and texts me Tucker Bank's phone number. Sam's eyes flicker toward the digital clock, noticing the time. He quickly swings open the car door. "I gotta' jet, there's a pretty lady waiting for me."
I lean over the center console, looking up at Sam standing outside the car door. "Want me to fix that shiner of yours before the girlfriend sees it?"
He waves his hand at me in dismissal. "She loves a little bad boy. Well, so she says. I guess this will prove it once and for all." A smile spreads across his perfectly portioned face.
I stick my finger in my mouth, pretending to gag.
"Call him!" Sam says and shuts the car door.
Self-loathing, I watch him walk away until he's out of view. My breasts are still stuck together. I'm left without ice cream, and I've landed no pictures today. Staring down at my phone, I seriously contemplate calling Tucker.
He is stupidly gorgeous...
"Damien Wolfe..." I say out loud. "I'm going to get a picture of you even if it means I must wear a pair of stiletto heels tonight!" I dial Tucker's number. He picks up on the fifth ring, that's never good.
"Hello...?" he says.
I clear my throat. "Tucker Banks! Hey, it's Amber from the magazine Hot Shot."
"Amber..." His voice trails off.
Rolling my eyes, I say, "We interned together at Photo Opt."
He finally says, "Amber! You're the cute brunette, short, with a bit of a temper, Amber...right?"
My face grows hot with embarrassment. "Yaaa-up. That's the Amber."
"How's it goin'? Get any juicy pictures as of late?" he speaks as if we've been friends for years. Truth is? I can barely stand the guy. His ego is bigger than the Big Apple.
"Well...we could talk about it over some drinks?"
A lot of drinks, I'm guessing.
Tucker says, "I'd love to. How about nine p.m. at The Fox downtown?"
"Perfect," I say. "See you then."
I hang up the phone and silently curse to myself. The things I'm willing to do in order to make it big in my world. I need, I want, I must have...
...pictures of the famous Damien Wolfe.