Page 6 of A Crazy Kind of Love
He grumbled, “If you want to get something I can use, stake out the townhouse of Hervé Diaz in Brooklyn Friday night.”
“Friday night?” Ugh. I looked from Andy to Zion, trying to make sense of the assignment. “Who’s Hervé Diaz?”
Zion said, “She wouldn’t know.” He turned to me. “Hervé’s the drummer for Adam Copeland’s band, Walking Disaster.”
Andy rolled his eyes. “Youhaveheard of them, right?”
“Of course.” I’d heard their music to death, and Adam Copeland’s image graced the covers of legitimate big-time magazines.
“Hervé always throws huge parties before their band goes on tour, and his shindigs have become a magnet for all kinds of interesting people. Your new friend Micah will probably show up there, too. See if you can catch his eye. He’s been known to bring the wolves right into the pen.”
“Micah Sinclair is friends with Adam Copeland?”
Andy exhaled his exasperation. “You could say that. Adam Copeland’s engaged to Micah’s sister. Eden Sinclair?”
Of course. I should have made the connection myself. “You want me to use Micah to gain access to his sister?”
I regretted it as soon as Andy’s eyes took on that gleam of zealous self-righteousness he got whenever I talked about the marks like they were people. He loved to hear himself wax prolific on the subject of our holy mission. “Look, Jo. It’s business, and they’re the commodity. If you wanna get paid, you’re gonna have to change your mind-set. You can’t befriend them. They won’t befriend you if there’s nothing in it for them. And without publicity, they cease to exist. Really, by doing your job well, you’re doing them a favor.”
“Right. Thanks for the assignment. I won’t let you down.”
Andy pointed his finger at me. “No, you won’t. Jo, a lot of people would kill for your position. Don’t blow it.” He glared at me, reminding me again of the unblinking eye of the dark lord. “The marks don’t care about you, so don’t you start worrying about them. Okay?”
When Andy used the wordmark,he intended to turn the celebrities into an impersonal product. I repeated his words in my head, trying to learn to approach this job with the same ruthless instinct. But when I looked at the picture of Micah laughing while carrying me like an old friend, he seemed so guileless and sweet.
Then again, he’d only approached me because of the camera.
I straightened my back and nodded to Andy. “Okay.”
Chapter 3
Friday night, I sat alone on the bottom step of a quiet Brooklyn brownstone and settled in for a long wait. I’d arrived early, before any other photographers had staked out a spot, long before the first guests had begun to arrive. A muscle-bound bouncer type peeked out the front door and eyed me a couple of times, filing me away in hisyou-shall-not-passmental database of creepy stalkers. Nights like this, I felt like a loser two times over, uninvited and unwanted.
I thought Andy was delusional for suggesting Micah might invite me in, but what could it hurt to give the plan a chance? I’d even dressed a little nicer just in case. Not so nice as to feel stupid when Micah inevitably snubbed me—just a flattering scoop-neck T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. I still wore comfy tennis shoes, but I’d taken a little more time on my hair and makeup.
If Andy was wrong, at least I’d be in a great position to get clean shots of any other big-name celebrities as they entered. And if he was right . . . My heart beat a little faster, in fear and anticipation.
After twenty minutes of inactivity, I rummaged in my backpack and unearthed my emergency reserve of SpongeBob fruity snacks. I chewed on a gummy Squidward and opened Facebook on my phone to check the comments on the video I’d shared on my wall, the one of me riding Micah like a mechanical bull. I’d already watched it so many times I had all the subtle changes in Micah’s facial expressions memorized, from his wide goofball smile to the round “oh” of surprise when I toppled forward and grabbed his hair.
My mom cracked me up with her naughty comment:Ooh, does he have a father?
Mom’s obnoxious neighbor Marisa Bennet, mother of perfection-incarnate Kelsey Bennet, wasted no time posting a link to an article titled “Lothario Rocker Micah Sinclair Confirms Split with Girlfriend.” Marisa added,Are you aware of this guy’s reputation, Annie?
My mom never appreciated unsolicited parenting advice and replied,Thanks for the article, Marisa. I’m sure Josie can make her own decisions.
I clicked through and frowned as I read the article. “Ever reluctant to settle down, Micah Sinclair has dropped his latest in a string of groupie-turned-lover girlfriends in record time.”
The reporter had somehow gotten a quote from Micah. “We simply agreed to go our separate ways.”
The editorial judgment was predictably harsh. “Going separate ways seems to be a recurring habit for Micah, forever on the prowl. When his tours come to an end, so do his short-lived relationships.”
The rest of the article veered off into related gossip with click-bait links to companion articles. “Fear of commitment must run in the family. Micah’s sister, Eden Sinclair, and her fiancé of two years, Adam Copeland, have yet to set a wedding date. Will they ever get married?”
I couldn’t understand why people obsessed over the marital status of engaged celebrities, as if anyone else had a chance with Adam Copeland as long as he didn’t say “I do.”
Likewise, I couldn’t understand why the gossip surrounding Micah bothered me at all. It wasn’t as ifIstood a chance with him, even if he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Not that I wanted to be “the latest in a string of girlfriends.” I was still holding out for my happily-ever-after, despite how that hadn’t worked out for my mom.
Knowing the way tabloids took a concept and stuck to it, I couldn’t help wonder if there might be more to Micah’s story, and I wasn’t going to find the truth in the judge-jury-and-executioner gossip pages. I caught myself wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt even though I barely knew him. Maybe I was already under Micah’s spell.
