TMZ.”
“I've got a front yard full of reporters.”
“Oh man, I'm sorry.” He rubbed his face. “How long?”
“Since at least eight this morning.”
“So they're being persistent. They been knocking and ringing the doorbell?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I am so sorry. I should've gotten Jen or someone to give you a ride.”
“No, it was nice of you to drive me. You didn't do this.”
“Not on purpose. Glamorous life I have, huh?”
“Strange life. Why do people care so much?”
“I'm not sure care is the right word. Feel entitled? And I don't know.”
“This must be awful for you, to get this all the time.”
“It's my career. It comes with the territory. You on the other hand, didn't do anything to ask for this.”
“They'll go away eventually, right?”
“Right. Yeah. And how many are there? In Albuquerque , you don't usually get a crowd unless they followed someone big into town.”
“Four.”
“Yeah, okay... that's kind of a crowd... They'll leave when they figure out you're not going to give them a picture or a soundbyte, or when someone else does something that interests them more.”
“What lovely people they are.”
“Aren't they, though? You know the type. We all went to high school with them.”
I chuckled at that. “I'll just stay indoors then. There's nowhere I have to go.”
“Well, that's good, I guess. Anyway, I've gotta hit the gym. I just wanted to call and see if everything was okay, and again, I'm sorry.”
I waved that away and we signed off.
By four, our front yard was empty. I stole out to my car and had my key in the lock, when someone said, “Miss?”
I pivoted on my heel and looked towards the house. Standing right next to the wall was a short, blond guy. He had a camera around his neck, which was all I needed to know. I unlocked my car.
“No, I'm not trying to interview you. Can I just tell you something?”
I paused and wondered if that were a ploy.
“You've got some guy driving past your house every hour or so. Goes real slow, looks at your front door. You know what that's about?”
There was no way I'd utter a single word. Who knew how this guy would use anything I said?
“He's in a little sedan. Driver's wearing sunglasses, has a buzz cut. Brown hair. That ring any bells?”
Sure, I thought, brown hair. That's so distinctive. My guess was that this guy was lying to make me talk to him.
“I just wanted to let you know, in case you didn't. It just doesn't look good. But enough about that. I don't suppose you'd let me-” He reached for his camera.
I ducked into my car, slammed the door, and started the engine. When I saw the guy again in my rearview mirror, it looked to me like he was laughing.
The drive to Matthew's was short. Soon I pulled into a space in his building's parking lot. It didn't look like the photographer had followed me, but I darted across to the stairs anyway. Seconds later I was at the top landing and knocking on Matthew's door.
He tugged it open, a microwaved Evol burrito in his free hand. “Hey,” he said to me.
“Hey,” I said.
His face fell. “What's wrong?”
“You don't read tabloids do you?”
“Oh no, what? Come in.”
His apartment was a studio, a futon in one corner and a television in the other. The kitchen was just a little square of tiled area with some cabinets, a microwave, and a couple of electric burners. The refrigerator had more storage space than the rest of the apartment put together. The whole place smelled like freon and old carpet, and right then, a chicken, cilantro, and lime burrito.
His futon was folded into a couch and his blankets and things were piled at one end.
“Sorry 'bout the mess,” he said.
“No, sorry to just barge in.”
“You can always come here. I don't mind.”
I plopped down on the futon. “You remember that picture of me and Jason in the paper?”
“Yeah.” He bit into his burrito.
“Well, now there's another one of us on TMZ. I hugged him and
“I've got a front yard full of reporters.”
“Oh man, I'm sorry.” He rubbed his face. “How long?”
“Since at least eight this morning.”
“So they're being persistent. They been knocking and ringing the doorbell?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I am so sorry. I should've gotten Jen or someone to give you a ride.”
“No, it was nice of you to drive me. You didn't do this.”
“Not on purpose. Glamorous life I have, huh?”
“Strange life. Why do people care so much?”
“I'm not sure care is the right word. Feel entitled? And I don't know.”
“This must be awful for you, to get this all the time.”
“It's my career. It comes with the territory. You on the other hand, didn't do anything to ask for this.”
“They'll go away eventually, right?”
“Right. Yeah. And how many are there? In Albuquerque , you don't usually get a crowd unless they followed someone big into town.”
“Four.”
“Yeah, okay... that's kind of a crowd... They'll leave when they figure out you're not going to give them a picture or a soundbyte, or when someone else does something that interests them more.”
“What lovely people they are.”
“Aren't they, though? You know the type. We all went to high school with them.”
I chuckled at that. “I'll just stay indoors then. There's nowhere I have to go.”
“Well, that's good, I guess. Anyway, I've gotta hit the gym. I just wanted to call and see if everything was okay, and again, I'm sorry.”
I waved that away and we signed off.
By four, our front yard was empty. I stole out to my car and had my key in the lock, when someone said, “Miss?”
I pivoted on my heel and looked towards the house. Standing right next to the wall was a short, blond guy. He had a camera around his neck, which was all I needed to know. I unlocked my car.
“No, I'm not trying to interview you. Can I just tell you something?”
I paused and wondered if that were a ploy.
“You've got some guy driving past your house every hour or so. Goes real slow, looks at your front door. You know what that's about?”
There was no way I'd utter a single word. Who knew how this guy would use anything I said?
“He's in a little sedan. Driver's wearing sunglasses, has a buzz cut. Brown hair. That ring any bells?”
Sure, I thought, brown hair. That's so distinctive. My guess was that this guy was lying to make me talk to him.
“I just wanted to let you know, in case you didn't. It just doesn't look good. But enough about that. I don't suppose you'd let me-” He reached for his camera.
I ducked into my car, slammed the door, and started the engine. When I saw the guy again in my rearview mirror, it looked to me like he was laughing.
The drive to Matthew's was short. Soon I pulled into a space in his building's parking lot. It didn't look like the photographer had followed me, but I darted across to the stairs anyway. Seconds later I was at the top landing and knocking on Matthew's door.
He tugged it open, a microwaved Evol burrito in his free hand. “Hey,” he said to me.
“Hey,” I said.
His face fell. “What's wrong?”
“You don't read tabloids do you?”
“Oh no, what? Come in.”
His apartment was a studio, a futon in one corner and a television in the other. The kitchen was just a little square of tiled area with some cabinets, a microwave, and a couple of electric burners. The refrigerator had more storage space than the rest of the apartment put together. The whole place smelled like freon and old carpet, and right then, a chicken, cilantro, and lime burrito.
His futon was folded into a couch and his blankets and things were piled at one end.
“Sorry 'bout the mess,” he said.
“No, sorry to just barge in.”
“You can always come here. I don't mind.”
I plopped down on the futon. “You remember that picture of me and Jason in the paper?”
“Yeah.” He bit into his burrito.
“Well, now there's another one of us on TMZ. I hugged him and
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