Page 21 of A Crazy Kind of Love
“And then all the pictures are completely useless.” I held the phone out so Zion could hear the tinny insults barreling out my speaker. “People standing around mugging for the camera. Who wants to see that?”
“I know, but everyone was hyper aware of the camera, Andy.”
“So that’s when you turn it off and mingle. Did you get any story at all?”
I thought about Eden and her secret. “No, Andy.”
“The really funny part is, the biggest scoop of the night was captured outside the townhouse by another paper.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Well, I could have sworn I saw a picture of you leaving the party and getting into a car with Micah Sinclair. I must be looking at someotherJosephine Wilder on Page Six of theNew York Post.”
I mouthed “Oh, shit!” at Zion. I pointed frantically at the laptop, rolling my hand in a circular fishing motion. He opened it up and slid it to me.
“What do you mean?” I was stalling. I knew I was dead, but I had to see. I pulled up the website and clicked the links to get to the gossip page. And there I was, right beside Micah Sinclair. I should have expected that. A dozen flashing cameras had surrounded us as I’d climbed into that town car with Micah. The caption did me in:Micah Sinclair leaves party with paparazzi photog Anika Jo Wilder, daughter of famed photographer Chandra Namputiri.
“Oh.” I felt the blood drain from my face. It was worse than I could have imagined. I hated that they’d printed my name like that and felt the cruel irony of getting pissed at a tabloid journalist for digging into my life. “I can explain.”
“Did you at least get any kind of statement from Micah?”
“Andy, he went off the record.”
“And so what? Am I paying you to party with these people?”
“He was just giving me a ride home. It wasn’t like that.”
“Listen, Scout. You’ve given me nothing I can work with all week. Do I have to remind you what your job is?”
“No.”
“Then understand that you can’t befriend these people. You have to make a choice between work and play. If I see you hanging out with celebrities, I’m going to expect something I can actually print. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Andy.” It wasn’t like I’d be hobnobbing at another party any time soon.
“You take great photos, Jo, but we’re not in the business of flattering people. And I need you to step up your game.” His tone relaxed, and I knew the storm had blown over. “You know, I do hear the complaints from human resources, so I am well aware you guys think I’m too hard on my staff.” I held my breath. I didn’t know how to respond to that. “But it’s only because I want you to be your best, right?”
I gave a noncommittal grunt.
He paused as though waiting for a vindication that would never come. After a beat, he went on. “Okay, then. I’m going to comb through these pictures. Maybe I’ll find something I can use. Maybe someone brought a date instead of a wife to the party.” He hung up.
My eggs were cold, now. I pushed them away and said to Zion, “How have you managed to work for him for so long?”
The notification ringtone dinged on my phone, reminding me I needed to get on my computer and catch up with emails and social media. Since my mom had discovered Facebook, it was the only way she communicated. If she did call, she’d say, “Did you see what I posted on Facebook?” I’d have to log in and read it even though she had me on the phone. And then she’d ask to talk to Zion because he’d actually tell her what was going on with me.
Today’s ding resulted from a mention when my mom posted a link to the article about me.My daughterJosie Wilderout on the town with a celebrity!
She was the worst name dropper. She still bragged about knowing that guy who hosted all those reality competitions because they went to the same high school. Didn’t matter that she was eight years older than him and would have already graduated by the time he even started. And this despite her connections to an artist whose name meant something in some circles. They say familiarity breeds contempt. Apparently, so does emotional desertion.
I typed,Mom, I was just working,and then surfed the rest of my usual points of contact. Why everyone couldn’t agree to reach me the same way, I couldn’t understand. Mom Face-booked, Zion texted, and my dad still emailed.
Speaking of Dad, an unread message from him sat in my queue.
“Oh, no.”
Zion snuck up behind me and leaned over the sofa. “What?”
“My dad.”
