A Picture Says A Thousand Words

I go through racks of excessively expensive clothes, occasionally pulling clothes from the rack to examine closer only to find it was pricier that the previous. My eye occasionally goes the pop star being interview by E! and think that this whole thing is becoming really fucked up. He stayed the whole night to watch House and ruined it for me. I didn’t feel comfortable to be myself or quote previous Houseisms during commercial breaks.

Yes, thank you very much, I did make up a new word. If anyone wants to use it they should send a quarter every time the brilliant new word is uttered to Paige Jenkins.

“Having fun?”

I jump, realizing that during my little pep talk to myself he finished with his interview and had made his way over here without me noticing, “Oh yeah, there is nothing like looking at clothes you’ll never be able to afford.”

He lets out a laugh, “Our demographic can afford to spend this on clothes.”

“If one of them is available send them my way,” I kid, looking at a cocktail dress priced at a little above three thousand dollars.

“Why, are you looking?” he says, giving me his winning smile.

“No,” I say, handing him my pass that I used to get in.

He takes it and flips it over into a corner for his assistant to get, “What do you say we go somewhere.”

“What?” I ask, scoffing at the idea.

“You’re job is to follow celebrities, I offered to walk somewhere with you. Shouldn’t your response be more along the line of “Jeez, thank you so much. I kiss the ground you walk upon.”

“You ruined House.”

He readjusts the hat on his head so it looks just a little cooler than it did a minute ago, “How did I do that?”

I hate that stupid sincere look on his face. Kinda makes me want to hit him just so that I would be more comfortable with his anger than his sincerity, “You stayed for the whole thing.”

“And?” he asks questioningly.

“And I like to watch it away from work and quotes things. It was like bringing my work home with me.”

“I asked you if it was okay. If it wasn’t you could have just said something.”

My fingers reach into my pocket and shut the tape recorder off, “I didn’t want to be rude and tell you that interrupting my favorite show is grounds for photoshopping your head onto a Chippendale’s body.”

“I thought the idea was supposed to make me look worse,” he kids, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to disrupt your TV viewing time.”

God, now I feel like an ass, “It’s not you, I just don’t trust anyone to feel comfortable even watching TV with them.”

“That is apparent,” he says in a tone that makes me feel like a grade A nutcase.

“Well, see you on the streets.”

He grabs my arm, “Don’t you want to go for a walk?”

“Are you going to come out of the closet for me?”

He looks confused, “I’m not gay.”

“Then there is really nothing you could say to me that would be prolific enough to make me walk with you.”

“I’ll buy you an ice cream cone,” he adds, trying to sweeten the deal, no pun intended.

My eyes roll as I relent, “Well I guess I could spare a few minutes.”

“Good, come on,” he says, leading me out the door and onto the sidewalk.”

For every stride he takes I have to take two and I’m thankful I didn’t get caught up in this whole thing to not be practical and wore sneakers. Justin sticks his hands in his pockets, “So, how’s life treating you?”

“Fine,” I say simply.

“How are you and Scott?”

“You really hate him huh?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He cracks a smile, almost defiantly, “Yes.”

“Then I’m doing the same.”

Justin nods, “I have a question for you actually.”

I turn my face to him rather than staring at my feet which isn’t half as amusing, “What?”

“When are those pictures of me going to print?”

Justin stops walking abruptly, looking at my face as I try to brush it off that this guy is just one more celeb and doing what I do is not a crime, “Next issue, three weeks from yesterday.”

He nods and starts to move again. I jog for a second until I reach his side, returning to my original pace, “It won’t ruin your career.”

“Yeah, just embarrass me in front of the whole fucking world.”

“You were on a public beach,” I add, try to make myself feel better.

“I don’t care if I was fucking in the middle of a stage. Those are private moments and some asshole feels like they have the right to take those moments of insanity and freedom and turn them against me.”

It’s my turn to stop short and it takes him a few strides to realize it, “You okay?”

“I took those pictures.”

________________________________________________________________________

Shock hits me like a ton of bricks, “You’re a writer.”

“I’m an amateur photographer too. It’s what puts me over the edge, the ability to get the money shot and then write about it.”

My breathing becomes labored. I mean I have thought about what I would do to that fucker when I finally met him, fantasized about beating his ass only to find out that it’s her. She nervously picks at her nails, “I’m just going to go.”

Shit yes, “No, I promised you an ice cream,” I say, reasoning that I’ll get her back later.

She looks hesitant so I take a step back and reach out for her arm, “Come on.”

“This must be some damn ice cream,” Paige says, changing the subject.”

“Yeah,” I mutter quietly.

We arrive at the window and turn to Paige, “What do you want?”

“Vanilla soft served in a cone please.”

Generic, “I’ll have the same.”

I hand the woman a few bills and we each take our cones, sitting down in the plastic chairs to the right put out for customers. Paige licks hers until she finally looks at me, “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“What were you trying to do?” I ask slightly defensive.

“Trying to prove I’m the best.”

We sit silently for a few minutes, watching the bustles of people walk around the city, “Did you?”

Paige looks at me, “I don’t know.”

“Then it must have been worthwhile.”

Her eyes dart away, scoping out the scenery, “Do you know how rare it is for the magazine to actually have a writer to take the pictures? We normally have to buy photos off of photographers for hundreds of thousands of dollars if not more.”

“How much are you making off me?”

“Seventy five thousand.”

I feel my blood boil, “I’m worth a lot more than that.”

She hands me a napkin as the ice cream dribbles over the side of the cone and onto my hand, “I’m sure you are but I gave them a discount on account of my disgust of actually taking them.”

A car pulls up to the side of the road and I ignore the comment, pointing to it, “That’s my ride. Don’t want to be caught in public by a photographer or something.”

Paige bites her lip gently, “Funny.”

I walk to the car and extract a bag, “Paige.”

She turns around from the garbage, having thrown away the dirty napkins, “Yeah?”

“Here,” I say, handing her a bag.

She takes it and looks inside to see the dress she was drooling over earlier. Her face freezes and I can’t read her anymore, “Why are you giving me this?”

I shrug, “I though you might like it. See you later PJ.”

“PJ? I hate PJ,” she calls out as I get in the SUV.

“Love you too doll.” I say, shutting the door. I watch as she walks away, shaking her head. Her blonde hair whips in the air and I allow myself to take a good long look.

Trace turns around in the front seat, “Three weeks man, that’s all you have left.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him, “I’m getting closer.”

_______________________________________________________________________

I open the door to the house, setting my package down. That dress was so expensive and he gave it to me. No matter how much he does though I can see through him. All he wants is those photos pulled from the publication and I won’t do it. Not for him and not for anyone else.

“Where were you?”

I look up to see Scott sitting in the chair, “How did you get in here?” I ask angrily.

“You have had a spare key to Brooke’s for years. I know where you keep it remember?”

“Great,” I reply sarcastically, ignoring his presence.

“I wanted to know when you were going to move back in with me.”

My eyes divert from the job of watching the coffeemaker drip to his face to see if he’s joking, “Yeah right,” I snort.

“Paige I want to help us here,” he pleads, only half convincingly.

“I don’t need help, you need help.”

“That’s why I thought that maybe we could go see a couple’s therapist.”

I can’t help but laugh out loud at the thought, “You’ve lost what little brain cells you did have.”

“Well I don’t know what to do for us. Maybe we should just call it quits now.”

“Wait, let’s not be hasty,” I say, trying to backtrack before I’m over my head.

Scott holds his hands on top of the table, “I need you to tell me the truth Paige, do you really want to work this out or are you just trying to save your ass?”

My heart tells me to just tell him the truth and move on but my head and more logical part of me tells my heart to screw it, after all that is what he did to me, “I want to work things out but I’m just not ready.”

“So give me another chance Paige. Why don’t you let me book us a vacation to the Bahamas in the next few weeks?”

“Will that get me out of couple’s therapy?” I ask sweetly.

He looks up at me annoyed, “Yes.”

I grab a mug from the clean dishwasher, “Sign me up.”

He glances at the bag I dropped at the door and frowns, “What did you buy?”

“Nothing,” I say, anxiously waiting for the dripping to stop.

“Then where did you get the bag from?” he says, examining the logo on the front.

I pour myself the coffee, “From Justin Timberlake’s clothing launch.”

He takes out the dress, inspecting it, “I thought you said you didn’t buy anything?”

I have to focus to hear him over the brewing noise, “I didn’t, he gave it to me.”

Scott looks it over and grabs at the price tag, “Three thousand dollars!”

I go over and grab the garment from his hands, “Like I said, I didn’t pay for it.”

“Look, a guy like that does not give away something like this without expecting something in return.”

“Well I’m not pulling the photos and he knows it,” I say to myself more than him.

“Maybe you should work on another celebrity for a while.”

I focus on my coffee and I drink it after putting the milk in, “He’s the hottest celebrity right now and I’m not going to give him up just because you hate him.”

“He’s an ass,” Scott quips. He’s not the only one dick.

“You’re the one who did that horrendous interview with him. I still can’t believe you asked him what sex acts he preformed on what women.”

Scott leans back in the chair, “That’s because I’m one of the greats,” he brags.

I could argue with him but that would keep him here longer, “Whatever. I’ll see you.”

“I’ll call with the details on the Bahamas later,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. I wait until he leaves to wipe my lips off. Ugh.

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