by Matt Cain
*
As she felt the hot sticky meat wrapped in delicious melting cheese dance around her tongue, Mia almost felt like she was close to orgasm. The physical impact of the taste was incredible and it somehow managed to send waves of a sensation she could only think was sheer joy racing around her body. Gradually all the pressures of her life simply fell away and she regressed to a state of natural, primal bliss. Sitting there eating her burger just felt so right – it was a beautiful, beautiful feeling and one she couldn’t believe she’d deprived herself of for so long.
Before she’d finished swallowing, her mouth was already open for the next bite. She couldn’t stop herself from groaning aloud with pleasure; it was as if her entire body had been sedated by a heavy dose of pure, raw ecstasy. And she hadn’t even started on the fries yet. She took a fistful, smothered them in mayo and rammed them into her mouth.
Just as she prepared to go for the swallow she heard a familiar snapping sound coming from the bushes. She froze in terror. It couldn’t be, surely . . .
She wound down the window and poked her head outside.
The sound was there again.
Snap, snap.
Oh shit!
Shit, shit, shit!
Throwing her food onto the passenger seat, she swallowed what was in her mouth, leapt out of the car and raced over to the tangle of foliage.
She followed the sound and used her arm to clear the branches. As she drew back the leaves she saw that her worst fear was actually coming true. Standing in front of her was a pap, camera in hand.
She was still on a high from her food binge but a surge of anger added itself to the mix and she couldn’t splutter out her words fast enough. ‘Excuse me but what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The pap smiled. ‘Erm, hi Mia. I think you’ve got some mayo on your chin.’
‘What? Oh right.’ She wiped it away on her sleeve; it was a bit late to worry about her dignity now. Determined not to let him get the better of her, she folded her arms and gave him a sneer.
As she looked at him she saw every pap who’d ever screwed her over and caused her heartache. And she wasn’t going to let any pap defeat her this time.
*
‘Look, I don’t know who you are but I need you to give me that camera,’ Mia Sinclair growled at him.
As she looked him in the eye, Leo could feel his tough front start to crumble. Sure, he’d been shouted at by celebrities before but as soon as they engaged with him he found it difficult to pretend they weren’t real people. And there was another thing disconcerting him right now; he’d never been shouted at by a celebrity as beautiful as Mia Sinclair. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone as beautiful as Mia Sinclair.
Just then he felt a twinge right in the middle of his heart. He told himself that it must be where he’d been poked and prodded in that skip. He began to rub it and tried to pull himself together. You’re a paparazzo, remember? Now try to focus on the job!
‘No way am I handing this over,’ he said. ‘This camera’s my livelihood.’
‘Well OK, just give me the pictures. You can keep your lousy camera.’
‘Well that’s very nice of you but those pictures are worth a lot of money.’
‘Money you wouldn’t have earned if it weren’t for me – which means if you were any kind of gentleman you’d hand them over.’
Was he imagining this or was the energy between them tipping over into something else?
‘Nah, you see it doesn’t work like that,’ he couldn’t help teasing. ‘Some of us paparazzi actually have a strong sense of moral duty.’
‘Oh yeah, to do what?’
‘To show the public what stars like you really get up to when you’re not on show.’
He flashed her a cocky grin but the joke had obviously missed the mark; Mia returned it with a scowl.
‘Look, I’m starting to get major pissed now. Just give me the pictures, asshole.’
‘The name’s Leo actually. And it’s very nice to meet you, Mia.’
He held out his hand for her to shake. She turned up her nose and kept her arms firmly folded.
‘OK, how much do you want for them?’
He shook his head mischievously. ‘They’re not for sale, sorry.’
‘Hmpf! You expect me to believe that? You guys are only in this game to screw as much money as you can out of people like me.’
‘Look, I told you, Mia – I do this job to provide a public service.’
‘Public service my ass!’
Leo had never seen someone usually as composed and together as Mia get so angry and he was surprised to find it actually quite sexy. He reminded himself that he’d only just broken up with Eden and wasn’t ready to start flirting with other girls. And that flirting with one of the biggest stars on the planet had to represent the greatest possible collision of business and pleasure. What on earth am I doing?
But for some reason, he just couldn’t help himself.
He was suddenly hit by a crazy – but possibly brilliant – idea.
‘OK,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll do you a deal.’
*
‘Go on,’ she snorted, ‘I’m listening.’
‘You come out for dinner with me and I’ll hand over the pictures at the end of the night.’
Mia burst out laughing. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Me? Go out for dinner with you?’
‘Yeah. You might even enjoy it.’
‘Oh I’m sure that plenty of others have,’ she mocked, ‘but maybe I’m not like the kind of girl you usually date. I know all about your sort. And I stay well away.’
‘So I see. Which is why I’m intrigued.’
Mia raised her eyebrows in disbelief. She had to hand it to him – this guy really did have some front. She pursed her lips as she reminded herself of all the trouble the paparazzi had caused her.
‘Listen, Liam, there’s no way—’
‘Erm, it’s Leo actually.’
‘Whatever. Liam/Leo, there’s no way I’m going out on a date with some ass-wipe paparazzo.’
‘Well in that case, there’s no way I’m handing over the pictures.’
Mia stood still for a moment and looked him over.
He held her gaze and for a split second she couldn’t help feeling just a frisson of attraction. If he weren’t a paparazzo, she’d happily admit this guy was a major hottie. He was tall, well-built, with sun-kissed fair hair, sparkling eyes and dimples so deep you could swim in them. And she could just imagine the effect that wonky grin had on most girls. But I’m not most girls, she reminded herself. And I don’t go anywhere near this kind of guy. Paparazzo or not, Leo had trouble written all over him. He was obviously just the kind of bad boy she tried her best to avoid. But what choice did she have if she wanted the pictures back?
‘OK,’ she sighed, as if defeated. ‘I’ll go for dinner with you.’
‘Hurray!’
‘But only to get the pictures back.’
‘Yeah? Well it sounds like you’ve got yourself a deal.’
‘Fine. Oh and there’s one condition.’
‘Mm-hmm? What’s that?’
‘You take care of the paparazzi. This is one date that I really don’t want splashed all over the papers.’
‘Done!’
Their eyes lingered on each other for a little too long. Mia tried her best to stop it but she could feel a smile begin to spread its way across her face. Just then she felt her heart flutter. She told herself that it must be a touch of heartburn from stuffing that burger down so quickly. Or was it? Uh-oh, she thought. What am I getting myself into?
‘Oh and by the way,’ she snapped, keen to show that she wasn’t warming to him.
‘Yeah?’
‘You might want to take a shower before we go out.’
Leo looked at her, confused. ‘Oh yeah, why?’
‘Because I don’t know if you realize, but you totally stink of fish.’
4
It was the
first day of reshoots on the set of War of Words and Billy Spencer was sitting in the make-up chair being prepared for his big death scene. He was having war wounds applied by a make-up artist called Dominique, who’d recently come to work in the US from Paris and was proving to be unusually chatty.
‘So how does it feel to be back on set?’ she asked in a thick French accent.
‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Real good. I can’t wait to see Mia later.’
‘Oh, are you two . . . dating?’
‘No, no. I mean, no. We’re just good friends.’
‘Aha.’ Dominique looked reassured.
If Billy wasn’t mistaken, she wasn’t just chatting but flirting with him, too. And most men would probably welcome her advances; she was a stunning brunette with full, pouty lips and sky-high cheekbones. He couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t wearing a bra and her ample, natural breasts were jangling around as she worked, directly in his eye line. But Billy wasn’t most men and she just wasn’t his type. Don’t waste your time on me, sugar, he wanted to say. Instead, he took a sip of his chai latte and kept quiet.
‘So, have you always lived in LA?’ she cooed.
‘No, I only pitched up here seven years ago. I was born and raised in Mississippi in the South. Do you know it?’
‘Of course! Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Oh Billy, how adorable!’
Although he usually lapped up admiration, this was starting to get embarrassing. Billy hoped no one else in the trailer could hear their conversation. She moved in even closer to continue painting a trickle of blood onto his face, just below a wound on his cheekbone where his character had supposedly been grazed by a bullet. Her close proximity meant that she could easily look him in the eye and, judging by the flirtatious fluttering of her eyelashes, there was no question now that she was hitting on him – big time. He took another sip of his hot drink and hoped this wouldn’t take long.
‘So what was it like growing up in Mississippi?’ she purred.
‘Oh you know, the typical American thing. Lots of apple pie and Little League.’
‘Oh Billy, that’s so cute!’ She jumped around on the spot, her breasts bouncing up and down in front of him.
He tried not to squirm. ‘Yeah, it was kind of cool, I guess.’
He didn’t like to tell Dominique the truth about his unhappy childhood – or how hard it had been growing up knowing that he was different to other boys and that, once they found out, his parents were only going to hate him for it. And man, had they hated him.
He shuddered as he thought back to the aversion therapy they’d forced him to endure at the clinic in Arizona. Over and over again he’d been made to look at pictures of handsome men in swimwear while Church leaders had called out insults and spat in his face.
You dirty fag!
You disgusting queer!
The idea was that he’d associate gay desire with negative emotions and his sexuality would be ‘reprogrammed’. He’d even had to wear a tight rubber band around his wrist and snap it hard whenever he’d had sexual thoughts about a man – sometimes until his skin bled. Dominique reminded him of a photo of a big-busted brunette in a bikini which the Church leaders had repeatedly thrust in front of him as they tried to ‘pray out the gay’. It had made him feel sick with shame and self-loathing but however hard he tried, he just couldn’t find women attractive. And despite all the treatment, he still felt the same now.
‘So,’ breathed Dominique, oblivious to his discomfort, ‘do you have a girlfriend back in Mississippi or are you dating anyone here?’
He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. If she were parading her charms in front of any other leading man in LA, she’d probably have received an invitation to dinner by now. And who could blame her for coming to LA and wanting to date a film star? Wasn’t that everyone’s romantic dream? It wasn’t her fault that she’d chosen a dud target this time. He decided he’d do his best to let her down gently.
‘Erm, no,’ he muttered, ‘I don’t really have time for dating right now.’ It was the official line he trotted out whenever he was asked in public about his love life.
‘But you should always make time for love!’ gushed Dominique, clearly undeterred. ‘Being in love is the most beautiful thing in the world!’
Billy smiled at her awkwardly. She was leaning in so close that he could taste her cloying perfume at the back of his throat. He didn’t want to be impolite but this was starting to become difficult. If only she’d get the message!
He suddenly felt a shiver of suspicion and wondered if he’d misjudged the situation. He was used to girls getting gooey around him but there was something aggressive about Dominique that was starting to ring warning bells. Is she only flirting with me because she’s digging for dirt? Is she looking for a story to sell to the press? Or am I just being paranoid? Whatever was going on, he was getting nervous and wished it would all stop.
‘Come on, you can tell me . . .’ she cooed conspiratorially. ‘You must have some little secrets hidden away somewhere?’
In an instant he was back in gay rehab, being probed by a team of so-called therapists trying to work out why he’d developed what they termed ‘perverted’ sexual urges. Had he been abused as a child? Had his father neglected him, forcing him to empathize with women? Just who was to blame for his sick diversion from God’s ‘natural design’?
All Billy knew was that to him, being attracted to men seemed like the most natural thing in the world. But no matter how much he tried to hold onto that, the sustained attack of anti-gay therapy had ended up contaminating his self-respect and eating away at his soul. Even now, all these years later, he couldn’t imagine ever being able to enter into any kind of healthy, loving relationship. His heart felt shot through.
‘Honestly, Dominique,’ he said emphatically, ‘I don’t have any secrets. There really is no one special in my life right now – and that’s just how I like it.’
‘Quel dommage!’ she sighed, sticking out her bottom lip in an exaggerated sulk.
Billy felt bad about upsetting her but knew that he had to see this through. There was just no way he could risk revealing his sexuality to someone he’d just met like the bra-less Dominique. For all he knew, she could be a journalist recording the entire conversation on a secret camera. Worse things had been known to happen in Hollywood. And yeah, over the last few years a handful of emerging indie actors had come out of the closet and Jodie Foster had made her famous ‘coming out’ speech when she won the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Golden Globes. But none of it made any difference to the attitudes of studio bosses, who still refused to believe that mainstream audiences would accept a young, openly gay actor playing a straight romantic lead. As his agent insisted on telling him at every opportunity, if the press or paps ever found out Billy was gay, his career would be over. Which was why he was becoming increasingly paranoid, even when talking to make-up girls.
‘To tell you the truth,’ he said, just to cover himself in case she was digging for a story, ‘there hasn’t been anyone special in my life since I came to LA. And I’m pretty sure it’s going to stay that way.’
Dominique nodded as if she’d finally got the message. She fell silent and topped up her brush with fake blood.
Before he had time to fight it, the sight of the blood transported Billy back to the most distressing episodes in his anti-gay therapy. On three or four occasions he’d been taken to a church hall where several pastors had surrounded him, thrown him onto the floor and then beaten him as they tried to exorcize the homosexual ‘demon’ which they were convinced was inside him. Each exorcism could last for hours and by the time it had finished Billy would be lying on the floor exhausted, often in horrendous pain and usually covered in vomit and blood. As he looked at the fake blood now he could still hear the pastors chanting in his ears.
Come out in the name of Jesus!
Foul queer be not here!
/> He started to feel sick and could feel a sense of panic taking hold of him. He needed to get out of the trailer quickly and breathe some air. But he didn’t want to arouse Dominique’s suspicions – or let her see that anything was wrong.
‘So how am I looking?’ he struggled. ‘Beat up and bruised?’
‘Oui oui,’ she stated matter-of-factly, as if to blot out her earlier flirtation. ‘You’re quite the injured soldier. Just a few more minutes and you’ll be ready for battle.’
He breathed a sigh of relief and couldn’t help smiling to himself.
If only she knew.
*
Leo and Ronnie were in the offices of their agency Shooting Stars on the top floor of a skyscraper in downtown LA. Having caught up on paperwork and serviced their camera gear, they’d spent an hour flicking through celebrity magazines researching new targets and keeping abreast of who was dating who. Now they were sipping Starbucks cappuccinos and being briefed on possible jobs for the day.
Over the last few years, paparazzi around the world had come under increasing pressure to come up with dynamite pictures. The rise in popularity of camera phones meant that anyone could now take a photo of a star, particularly in a city like LA. It was up to the professionals to deliver something extra special – and Leo and Ronnie were all too aware of this.
Shooting Stars was run by Chip and Biff Mahoney, a pair of wise-cracking wide boys from Chicago who, although they were brothers, managed to look nothing like each other. Chip was skinny with spiky hair and a pock-marked face that made him look a bit like a pineapple. He constantly chewed gum, was always fidgeting or pacing the room and had a permanent build-up of white foam in the corners of his mouth. His younger brother Biff on the other hand was bald, immensely overweight and a dead ringer for Jabba the Hutt. As usual he was leaning back in his reinforced swivel chair wearing a Chicago Cubs baseball cap, stinking of last night’s weed and scratching the hairy muffin top that hung out over the stretched-to-breaking-point waistband of his already baggy jeans.
‘OK,’ began Chip, chewing furiously. ‘First up we have Cooper Kelly laid up in the Sickbay to the Stars.’ He explained that ageing movie legend Cooper was in LA’s famous Cedars-Sinai Medical Center recovering from an operation for the rather unglamorous condition of gout. Despite the actor’s strenuous efforts for his condition to go unreported, a hospital porter working for Shooting Stars had confirmed that the patient was due for an X-ray at precisely ten twenty that morning and would be transferred from one building to another just beforehand, conveniently passing a spot from where paps could take a clear shot. ‘What do you reckon, guys?’ chirped Chip. ‘Are you in or out?’