Shooting Stars (26 page)
Authors: Jennifer Buhl
These days, it takes about as much time to get famous as it does to fill up a bathtub. Over the last few months, I've watched Katherine Heigl and Hayden Panettiere become household names. No pap knew them last season. Now they're worked like 800-count cotton and worth as much.
At the moment, Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, newly hatched pretty-young-things and currently coupled, are at their dawn of fame. Except for tweens, no paps knew Zac-essa six weeks ago.
I wasn't particularly anxious to work Zac. I'd heard he was a bitch, a term usually reserved for female celebrities, but one bestowed on Zac because of the way he drives. I actually think paps are just jealous his car's so fast.
Zac lives in a nondescript apartment complex in Studio City. Vanessa lives around the corner at her parents' equally modest house. Though Vanessa is the easier
get
, I have less desire to work herâshe just doesn't excite me. In my opinion, Vanessa's star power is all on the coattails of Zac, her
High School Musical
co-star, and these days, as the money is rolling in consistently, I'm getting pickier about who I work.
But all signs point toward Zac becoming
big
, and it's important that paparazzi know how to work all big stars. You never know when your paths will cross. So, one late afternoon when I'm in the area, I troll by his place. After keeping it to themselves for two weeks, my coworkers were glad to hand over his address, tired of the near-death follows and lack of shots. Along with the address, they told me how to check for his car through the iron-gated parking garage to see if he is home.
I peer in and see his sparkly black Audi jutting out from the last space. Finishing the day here is as good as anywhere, so I pull to the side of the street and park where I'll easily notice if his car exits. There's one other pap waiting, a young Armenian guy who waves at me. I wave back. It's nice to be cordial for a change.
About twenty minutes later, Zac's supercharged Audi pulls out so quickly that the other pap, who by then was standing outside his car talking to me, never even gets on the follow. I feel a pang of guilt for contributing to his loss, but not enough to answer my phone when he calls four times hoping I'll catch him up. Following Zac at 60 miles per hour through small subdivisions requires my full concentrationâand now I have him “exclusive.”
Zac spends about five minutes darting down random streets trying to lose me (the Prius has a feistier engine than you might expect) before getting on the bottlenecked 101 South at Laurel Canyon. For an instant, Zac is trapped. I take the opportunity being presented and pull up beside him.
It is the first time I've seen Zac in person.
Aww, look at him. So young and harmless
are my thoughts.
“Window,” I mouth and motion for him to roll his down, a move I'm sure he's never seen before. He's curious and complies.
“Hey, Zac.” I try to sound flirty and powerless. “I'm the only one on you. Is there any way I could have a couple of shots?”
“Are you sure no one else is on me?” he says copying my lingo. He swings his head around, scanning the freeway.
“I'm sure. The other guy lost you at your house.”
“Well, I'm just going to a friend's, but if you want, you can. And, by the way, anytime you ask, I'll give you shots. I just wanna be asked.”
I wonder if he'll kiss me if I ask. He may only be twenty, but
whoa!
he does not look harmless with the window down. Oh no. Zac is one smokin' hot boy.
We drive the remaining distance slowly. When we arrive at the friend's house, I wait while he primps in the reflection of his car window. With
skinny jeans and a backpack slung over his shoulder, he turns to me, winks, and flashes the peace sign. I fire five or ten times.
Chuh-chuh-chuh, chuh-chuh-chuh.
“Sorry for driving so fast,” he says. “There's another guy who drives your same car. I can't stand him. Thought you were him.”
“No worries. Have a good night. And thanks,” I say sincerely.
Wonder what Zac thinks of Mrs. Robinson? Or, if he even knows who she is.
* * *
The next week, taking advantage of my window, I work Zac again. This time, when he pulls out of his garage I immediately roll down my window and wave so he can see that it's me and not “the pap he can't stand.” He pulls to the shoulder, leans out his Audi window, tells me where he is going, then drives there slowly. When we arrive, he blocks the other paps from getting shots and smiles just for me. I'm appreciative. I'll take all the bones he throws. No doubt, it occasionally helps to be a woman in this biz.
But, woman or man, the pattern's always the same: like a prime steak over a hot flame, Zac'll be “done” in a few months. So I have to strike while the iron is hot.
Pap My Ride
The Ideal Pap-Mobile
When I replaced my reliable yet hard-to-miss red truck with the shiny, spanking-new, fully loaded silver Prius, it still wasn't fully outfitted for the job. Vehicles are as critical to paparazzi as their 70â200mm lenses, and serious considerations go into pappin' one's ride.
1. Tint
For the obvious reason, tinting car windows is favored by paparazzi: it provides you with cover.
Every car window can be individually tinted, and no surprise, there are pros and cons to each shade. Thus, how dark to go? On first thought, as dark as possibleâ“limo tint” it's calledâ'cause if you're completely blacked-out, then no one can see in. The celeb won't see you. If you're hiding as an “empty, parked car,” security won't see you. If you're on a movie set where you aren't supposed to be, all-round limo tint is fabulous.
But stealth isn't the only factor when deciding the degree of tint. Equally important is the shot. Since you often shoot through your windows, you must consider whether you can “nail it” through a heavy tint. Every camera has a different ability to shoot in low light, so those of us with better quality cameras can go with more tint. Even with the best of cameras, though, a perfect frame is often elusive with limo tintâit's just too dark. Limo tint requires sunshine, so on a dreary day or in shadows, you won't get a clean frame.
Finally, while limo tint might make you completely invisible, everybody knows that what you
can't
see is often suspicious. I've watched plenty of stare-downs into heavily tinted windows by distrustful security guards and paranoid celebrities.
2. Windows
An ideal pap-mobile has a completely vertical back window that can be rolled down via front controls. Sadly, the 4Runner is the only vehicle that I am aware of with this feature. The second best option is just a vertical back window (that doesn't roll down)âmy red pickup, vans, and the Mini Cooper, for example. At least this way, you can press your camera directly onto the glass and shoot a clean photo.
The reason this is so critical is that
any
slant in a window
produces distortion in the frame, so if you're going to shoot through a window, it needs to be vertical, or almost so.
3. SUV (or Not)
SUVs have advantages and disadvantages. They are more expensive, but they have extra space. But the car's size also makes them more conspicuous and harder to park. And a “blacked-out SUV,” especially one without plates, is the stereotypical pap car so a dead giveaway.
4. Hybrid (or Not)
Hybrid vehicles are also more expensive vehicles, so like any driver, a pap must weigh the gas savings with the higher price tag. And in city traffic, which constitutes most pap driving, a hybrid can be very cost-effective. With a Prius, a pap might spend $150/month on fuel. In comparison, a non-hybrid sedan might guzzle up $500/month at the same pump, and a large SUV could cost $1,000/month.
Hybrids also have direct physical benefits to the driver. Sitting in your car all day long waiting, day in and day out, is worlds more comfortable in a hybrid. The car can stay “on”âincluding the air conditionerâwithout the motor running. This is a BIG deal. There is no gasoline smell or that headache-inducing car vibration you get with a non-hybrid car.
The Prius is a popular pap car, and bonus: with its immense popularity in L.A., we almost always blend in.
5. To Plate (or Not to Plate)
Another way to be stealth is through your license plate, or lack thereof. As I've mentioned, in L.A., plates aren't completely “necessary” on new-looking cars; temporary dealer plates are just fine. (You are legally allowed to drive “plate-less” for about two months after purchasing a new vehicle; after that, if pulled over, you could
be fined.) But to a cop and to a celebrity, a “no-plate” carâjust like a heavily tinted carâis a major red flag for “paparazzi.” So even though the cop or celeb or a competing pap can identify you through your license plate number, it may still be better to drive with your plates on, so that your vehicle is not immediately suspect.
Should a pap decide to go plate-less, he or she must decide
which
dealer plates to use. The in-town dealership where Simon bought his 4Runner has colorful, memorable rainbow plates. Simon is a believer that everything pap must be subtle, so he drove to Glendale, thirty miles from his home in Venice, to pick up less flashy plates from a dealer there. The problem: when you're driving around Beverly Hills with Glendale plates, you also look suspect.
Why are you in Beverly Hills if you are from Glendale? Are you a pap?
Some paps keep multiple plates on handâa couple of dealer plates plus a real one. Then, after a questionable follow, they might switch around their plates and become a “new car.” (Not that I would ever do anything like that, mind you!) Adding a hat or a change of sunnys may be in order too.
* * *
I spent the evening, November 21, at Aaron's thirtieth birthday party. Out of obligation. I haven't gotten over that day at Britney's and how he essentially fed me to the wolves all over again, but I have gotten over Aaron (at least 90 percent). It's
much
better this way.
I knew John would be there since Aaron had told me last time we spoke, “You and John are
equally
my friends.” I almost gagged when he said that.
And sure enough, he was. And Adnan came as well. He was on crutches since John had run over his foot. Now, if a female paparazzi had run over someone's foot, she'd be forced out of the business, hazed mercilessly for
incompetence. But since it was John who did it, and Adnan who had jumped out of a moving vehicle, everyone thought it was funny.
What I thought was funny was that Adnan would be out of work for weeks, and there's no workers' comp in the paparazzi world.
The night crawled by and the Brits drank like Brits.
John approached me after midnight. “No hard feelings. Work is work, right?” he said, giving me a slap on the back.
“Sure,” I responded curtly.
Later, Adnan slipped on his own vomit.
And I was reminded that sometimes paybacks are best left to karma.
* * *
“Hey, sexy. How have you been?” I ask my new favorite celebrity. I haven't worked Zac in a week. I'm trying to make sure he doesn't get sick of me.
He pulls over to say hello, then tells me, “I'm just going to play basketball.”
The other paps tell me that when I'm not there he drives like a maniac and tries to lose them.
“Basketball again,” I Nextel Simon as we fall into line behind the Audiâme at the helm, next Simon, then two Rodeo2 shooters who we're friendly with.
“Copy.”
Simon and I are partnering today in case Zac and Vanessa need separate follows. Lately, I've been shooting alone; I make more money. But I'm coming to realize that if I don't partner up at least twice a week, my morale plummets. There are just too many negative forces that bombard me in this industry. I gotta have somebody to pick me up and make me laugh.
Vanessa often shacks up at Zac's overnight, then is either dropped home by him or picked up by her parents in the morning. This morning there was no sign of her, so when Zac left, we all followed. We don't expect to make much money (the basketball ritual has been photographed several times and is unlikely to sell again), but guaranteed shots are hard to pass
up. It's like Dule, an Armenian pap who works for iPIX, always tells me: “They could come out with balloons, Jen. Balloons. Ya never know.” His point: don't ever leave a boring story 'cause they could come out with balloons. And by golly,
that
would be
interesting
!
Everyone chats up the cheery, fit movie star as we shoot him long-lensed walking to the indoor courts. We wait behind the gates lest we trespass (or make him mad), but each time he makes a trip to the water fountain, he kindly lets us know how much longer is left in the game.
The Rodeo2 duo is Margot, a reputable French pap and one of the few other women in the business, and Moss, a native Caribbean guy. I don't trust Margot for
une seconde
âshe's sneaky and driven by moneyâbut I respect her. True to her French roots, Margot always dresses well. Whenever she sees me in sweats, she says, “You need to look nicer. What if you have to follow someone into the Beverly Hills Hotel in
that
?” She has a point, but when I'm mostly crumpled up in a hot car all day, I opt for the more comfortable look.
Moss is a quiet, big-hearted guy who struggles with his English. He's owed Simon money for two yearsâmoney Simon will probably never see again. I made a similar mistake loaning $500 to Toby, whom I call each week only to get his voicemail. I had never thought twice about lending money to friends before, but this too reminds me: we paps aren't friends.
“I have an idea,” I offer. “There's no way Zac's gonna sell another basketball set. Let's mix it up.”
The boys can't be bothered, but Margot, all about the money, is game. We spot a giant rose bush in the parking lot and make a plan to hand Zac flowers on his way out. Flowers in one hand, basketball in the otherâsure sales.
