Standing Naked in Public

God I hate doing this. Why do I subject myself to this torture? Kate asked herself. This was Kate’s least favorite thing to do—photographing celebrities at their phoniest. She wasn’t like the other photographers. The other photographers, or rather, the “paparazzi”, loved the Academy Awards so much you’d think they were having an orgasm every time they clicked their cameras. Kate felt a world apart from her colleagues. She was probably the only celebrity photographer who hated the Academy Awards—and every other red carpet event. As she approached the rear of the press corps, Kate reminded herself of the large sum of money she’d get for today’s photos. It was a tight race for Best Actress and photographs of any of the five nominees would fetch a high bid. Photo editors salivated over the opportunity to purchase Kate’s photos. She possessed a talent for capturing celebrities’ better sides on print. Some celebrities were beautiful in person and on film, but appeared mediocre on print. Mediocre photos didn’t sell magazines. Beautiful photos of beautiful people sold magazines; unless of course it was a deliberately hurtful article about celebrities with cellulite or celebrities sans makeup. Kate never hesitated to capitalize on her talent for producing exquisite, eye-grabbing photos. She made it very clear to editors that she owed no allegiance to any particular publication. This gave her carte blanche in negotiating the sale of her photos. Photo editors knew it was all about the money for her and if she had a price in mind, they knew enough to give her what she wanted or she’d surely move on to the next tabloid that would purchase them. Though it was her most profitable area of expertise, Kate hated the fact that photographing celebrities had become her career. Photojournalism, the kind that impacted society and changed the world, was her true love. She’d much rather be in a third world country reporting on a human rights issue or photographing an endangered animal in need of saving than photograph the wealthy and famous. However, photojournalism didn’t exactly pay the bills, provide for a nest egg, or afford Kate her taste in designer clothes, shoes, and accessories. The only photojournalism assignments that paid well were those that would endanger her life, like wars, natural disasters, or terrorism. Though Kate longed to donate all of her time and effort to worthwhile causes, she’d become very comfortable and spoiled since making the Los Angeles area her home and photographing celebrities her vocation. Over the past two years, Kate had become increasingly reliant on the large sums of money she earned. She was able to travel anywhere, buy nice things and still have money left over to sock away in retirement and savings accounts. She loved the money, but despised the work that accompanied it. Kate often fantasized about the day she would have freedom to devote all of her time to “saving the world”. Her life would be close to perfect. Fortunately, that day wasn’t too far off. In a few years she would be financially able to practice photojournalism full-time, thanks to her prudence in the area of saving money. She wouldn’t be wealthy or “set for life” by any means, but comfortable enough to quit photographing artificial people against artificial backgrounds. She’d get the hell out of L.A. The only thing missing from her life plan was a partner to share in her dreams. Three weeks ago, Kate broke up with her girlfriend of five months, Tami. Tami turned out to be an obsessive, jealous, control freak who Kate added to her list of psycho ex-girlfriends. Kate was beginning to think she may never find her soul mate and often wondered if such a woman even existed. Since breaking up with Tami, Kate thought about completely giving up on her search for true love. She wondered if maybe she was meant to be single and alone. Earlier, Kate thought about staying home and blowing off the Academy Awards. She really wasn’t up to working in this pandemonium. She knew she’d regret blowing off this moneymaking opportunity, so, to her disdain, was standing on the sidelines of the red carpet entrance to the Academy Awards, fighting with the other photographers for a front row position. It was always a pushing, shoving, obscenity-yelling match amongst the paparazzi at these high profile awards shows. Miraculously, once the celebrities began strutting in, everyone settled into their best behavior, like uniformed school children fearing their headmaster’s approach. Fortunately, Kate often had an “insider” looking out for her on the red carpet to assure her a front row spot. Kate worked very hard in developing and sustaining key relationships. Schmoozing with editors, publishers, agents, and publicists secured her very beneficial alliances on the red carpet. Plus, it didn’t hurt that she was a tall attractive blonde or that the majority of her colleagues were obnoxious jerks. Kate was standing in the far rear of the press area when she spotted Andre. She yelled out his name as loud as she could to get his attention. Andre quickly spotted Kate and held up his finger making a “wait a minute” signal as he spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Oh, great, wha d’ya know this guy too?” a paparazzo standing next to Kate asked in a nasty tone. Kate didn’t recognize the disgruntled photographer. He, on the other hand, must have remembered her from a previous event and wasn’t pleased that she was about to get special treatment again. She ignored his comments. She was accustomed to the jealousies and backstabbing this profession spawned. “Open the line,” Andre commanded of the frenzied group of paparazzi standing directly behind the makeshift miniature hedges, separating the press from the red carpet area. Kate gleefully observed Andre taking control of the situation. In an apparent act of united protest, none of the paparazzi moved, opting to ignore Andre. Incensed by their defiance, Andre raised his voice and said, “If you don’t move, I can have every one of you escorted to the back row, or removed entirely. Now move!” Andre was good with scare tactics. Kate squeezed her way through four rows of photographers but came to a standstill behind two men in the front row. Andre came to her rescue and motioned for the two photographers to move to the side to open a spot for Kate. The two photographers obliged, moving to each side as far as they could, showing their disapproval of Andre’s authority by rolling their eyes at each other. Once they repositioned themselves, Kate was able to situate herself in the front row. “Thank you, boys,” Kate said, mockingly, to the two photographers next to her. She gave Andre a wink to thank him. He returned with a wink of his own and exited the press area to assist with the sudden influx of celebrities. Kate was introduced to Andre through her contact at Variety. Andre immediately took a liking to Kate, telling her he appreciated how pleasantly different she was from the rest of the Hollywood press. Andre also had a crush on Kate. Rather than possibly ruin her red carpet connection, Kate never mentioned her affinity to women when he asked her out on a date. She declined, simply telling him she was seeing someone, which she was at the time. “I guess it doesn’t matter that we were here first,” Tony, a short and stocky balding paparazzo standing to her left, said. “You’re such a fucking kiss-ass Kate,” William, a pencil thin, greasy haired paparazzo standing to Kate’s right, spewed. “It’s not that I’m a kiss-ass. It’s that I’m not an asshole,” Kate replied. “No, William. She’s got tits and we don’t. He obviously prefers tall blonde bimbos,” Tony spat. “Too bad he’s not gay. If he let me blow him, I’d have a permanent front row spot,” William said in an overtly effeminate tone. “I highly doubt that, Wi