Shooting Stars (27 page)

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the fl oor. He looks kind of distant, though. I pause for a bit, scrolling through the shots, and as I go, I get an idea that I’d read about in one of my portraiture books.

Ned is really big on keeping connected to his fans online, maybe even more so than other stars because he hasn’t been able to meet them in person. I need to show him that what we’re doing now is his chance to fi nally start connecting with them for real and for good— telling them the whole truth about what’s been going on in his life.

I look up at Ned from where I’m kneeling on the carpet.

“I’m going to take a few more shots, but I want to try something different.”

Ned shrugs. “Sure. Fine with me.”

“Okay, so this might sound weird, but this time I want you to look straight into the lens and pretend it’s like . . .

a conduit to your fans. That you can tell them what ever you’d like to tell them through my lens. Does that make any sense?”

Ned nods at me. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Great. Let’s give it a try.”

And, to his credit, Ned does.

It takes me only a couple frames before I know for certain that these are the shots I’ve been looking for. Because, this time, Ned sits forward with his forearms resting on his thighs and stares straight down my lens just like I asked him to. He doesn’t hold back and my gut tells me instantly that I’m getting what I need— what Ned needs. He lets me in, allowing 255

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me to see what he’s been through and how he’s going to get on top of his problems. There’s this vulnerability and strength mixed up in his eyes that’s highlighted by the sim-plicity of everything surrounding him— his unadorned white T-shirt, the plain painted wall, the simple chair, his lack of jewelry or watch. And, wow, is he ever handsome. He is one gorgeous guy.

Though maybe not quite as breathtaking as his brother, I think, twisting my mouth to keep from smiling.

As I keep shooting, the room falls silent, and I realize that some moments in my job—

my new job—

are going to be

really special. And this is the fi rst of them. I’m truly honored that Ned’s opening up his life and letting me shoot him like this.

I squeeze as many shots into the next fi ve minutes or so as I can. “I think we’re done in here,” I say, after scrolling through them to check my work. The shots are good—

really good. Better than I’d hoped for. I have to take a second to blink back the watery relief, hope, and gratitude that’s welling up in my eyes before I glance at Jake and Ned.

“Why don’t we go back outside now?”

★ ★ ★

I try taking a few shots of Ned out on the lawn, but I quickly discover they’re not right and give up. Instead, I spend our last half hour taking shots of Ned and Jake together.

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The shots are beautiful— the pair of them joke around and laugh and pretty much behave like a pair of four- year-olds. But it’s fun and makes me smile and I can bet it will make other people smile, too.

As I shoot, there’s a point at which I see them together, their similar looks and the way they interact with this kind of shorthand, and I get a pang. There’s just this sudden, intense stab of pain that hits me and makes me realize I’ll never have what they have: a sibling. But while it makes me sad, I don’t blame my mom for that. I wish she’d been able to fi nd a better way, some kind of path through which she could move forward without hiding the fact that she was slipping under again, but she couldn’t.

For some reason, taking these shots of Jake and Ned gives me a feeling of peace. That, even though I’ll never have what they have, I can do this for them. I can capture this fl eeting moment in time that will last forever and not just be thrown out with tomorrow’s trash. Because I know that they’ll keep these photos forever. They’ll still be looking at these photos when they’re eighty.

It’s pretty special to be able to do that for someone.

★ ★ ★

It’s been a long day, and by the time Jake drops me home again, all I can manage to do is heat a frozen meal and fl op onto the couch for some TV.

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It’s the weirdest feeling ever. It’s dark and I’m sitting on my butt doing nothing rather than out hitting the pavement, searching for the next great shot. I think about Mannie and what he’s doing and send him a quick text.

How’re the mean streets of LA?

It takes him a while to respond.

Still there. You thinking about hitting them again?

I send a quick reply.

Not likely. Pulled it off today. Big- time.

Better run. Now it’s done, going to take your advice and call my dad. Been

putting it off.

This time, his reply whizzes back in just seconds.

Nice work, man. Good luck with Papa.

And I’m going to need it, I think to myself as I bring up my dad’s number. Before I can stop myself, or think too hard about what I’m doing, I press Dial.

The phone rings only once before it’s picked up, which is so 258

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my dad. Ever the pap at heart, he’s always worried he’s going to miss out on something. “One second, love,” he says, obviously having read the caller ID. I think he must shove his cell in his pocket or something, because I can hear a kind of rustling. I sit back on the sofa with the TV on mute and wait. “Jo?” he fi nally answers about thirty seconds later. “You still there?”

“Still here, Dad.” I shake my head slightly, but I do it with a smile. I think our phone calls will always run something like this, one of us with a camera in hand, juggling breathing, life, and photography. Not necessarily in that order.

“Oh, good. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” And that’s the thing, suddenly it kind of is okay. Maybe the retreat, along with Brad’s and Mannie’s little parental pep talks, have hit a few things home for me. This is us. Not me. Not him. Us. Talking to Seth had made me think— people deal with things in very different ways. Maybe my dad’s “it is what it is” refrain was all he could manage after my mom died, and now it’s become a habit for him.

There might be bits and pieces of us that I don’t like or that drive me up the wall, but at the end of the day, it’s who we are. I’m going to have to make the best of what we have. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to brush the hard stuff under the rug anymore, either.

“What’s up, Jojo?”

“Well . . .” I’m suddenly ner vous and have to stop to take a deep breath. “I’m just calling to say I’m done. I’m getting out.”

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“So you fi nished up that job for Melissa?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?” My dad is smarter than that.

I take the next few minutes to fl esh out my story, including how I brought Mitchell in at the last minute and my portraits of Ned. There’s a long silence when I’m done.

“Knew you were a chip off the old block. That’s some serious wheeling and dealing, Jo. Good for you, kid.” I laugh at this. There’re probably not many dads out there who’d actually congratulate you on being a lying, cheating two- timing double agent. But it looks like one of those dads is mine.

Luckily.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say. And then I remember Mannie. “Oh, and you owe me sixty thousand dollars.”

Now it’s my dad who laughs. “You really are my daughter! Straight to the invoice, eh?”

I decide to cut him a break. “Well, you don’t really owe me that much. I’ve done the math, and I probably only need around fi fty grand. Mitchell’s money covered most of what I gave back to Matthew Hartnett, but not all of it.” Silence on the other end of the line.

“I know it’s a lot,” I add. “But then I can get out. For good.

Please, Dad, I really need to. Before the business swallows me alive.” My voice sounds pathetically desperate.

“So, you’re offering your old man a discount? That’s sweet.”

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“I—” I start, but my dad cuts in.

“Love, you should have told me if you hated it that much.

I don’t want you to be miserable every day of your life. I knew you weren’t keen, but I didn’t know it was that bad.” He didn’t? I think of Mannie now. Maybe he was right.

Maybe I’ve been seeing things from my point of view only? I open my mouth to say something, but my dad beats me to it.

“Ah, well, there goes the dream that my daughter, the paparazzo, would follow in my footsteps. Poof! Sweetheart, it’ll be in your account tomorrow. Things are going well enough here to cover it. And I guess the old heart will recover from the pain. I’m going to ask for something else, though.” My heart skips a beat when I hear this. There’s a catch?

“What’s that?”

“A trip over here, of course. When are you coming already?”

“To Tokyo, you mean?”

“Yes, to Tokyo. You’ve got another two weeks or so before school starts, right? I was going to come home for a few days, but why don’t you come here?” Huh. That’s funny. I didn’t know he wanted me to come over at all. I pause for a second before replying. “Well,” I fi nally say, “that’d be . . . nice. And I guess I’m pretty free as far as time goes, being unemployed and all . . .” 261

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Jake did exactly what he said he was going to do and brought his father in on the plan at the very last second. When Matthew Hartnett fi nally found out what had been going on behind his back, he was not a happy man . . .

Until he realized that, this time, he’d actually be gaining more publicity by using the truth than by his usual decep-tive means. Then Jake became the best son in the world.

Right after Ned, of course.

Not that Jake cared. He was just happy that Ned was doing better every day, had already made a handful of small public appearances that had gone amazingly well, and that, fi nally, they could both put that horrible moment from their past behind them.

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Mitchell ended up paying me around half the money that Melissa (or should I say ML Entertainment?) had promised to pay me. Between my dad’s generosity and rearranging my study plans a bit, I managed to not have to resort to selling baked potatoes.

Melissa actually got laid off from her job not long after Ned signed his cola contract. At fi rst I was kind of hopeful that she’d fi nd it hard to get a job and have a lot of time to sit around her apartment and realize the error of her ways, but sadly, this didn’t happen. Not even close. Instead, she was snapped up and became editor of one of the sleaziest tabloids out there, which was probably always her dream job, anyway.

That’s LA for you.

I took my dad up on the offer of the trip to Tokyo. We had an amazing time together. I stayed for nine days and he showed me Tokyo, then we took the bullet train down to Hiro-shima and Kyoto. Japan was a photographer’s dream. I went nuts and took about a million photos a day. Especially in Kyoto. Kyoto, with its huge number of temples and shrines, was like going back in time.

I think I saw more of Japan through my lens than I did with my actual eyes. I even got to see the house where my mom grew up, where she went to school, and the area that would have been the most familiar place on earth to her—

Shibamata, a neighborhood on the edge of Tokyo. I may not have been lucky enough to get to know my mom, but that trip made me feel a little like I did. Dad shared a lot of things 263

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about her that I hadn’t known because I don’t think he’d been brave enough to tell me and I hadn’t been brave enough to ask.

While I was away, Mitchell ran the story about Ned. The shots looked even better than I expected (I’m as modest as my dad, too). And the response was huge. Huger than huge, actually. Both Ned and Jake were thrilled with all the support Ned got for fi nally coming clean. Even Matthew Hartnett was pleased, which is saying something for him. A number of magazines and even a few stars got in contact with me through Dad’s website, and I have leads for a couple of jobs.

So, what’s next? Well, school, of course (Ms. Forman is making sure of that). I’m hanging out for winter break, though, because Dad found this amazing weeklong portraiture course in NYC, which means I’ll get to hang out with Jake like old times at the retreat.

Speaking of the retreat, I sent an e-mail to Brad a few days ago, thanking him for the time he spent with me and the advice he gave me. In a roundabout, as few details as possible, kind of way, I managed to explain what had gone on. Knowing Brad, I’m sure he’s more than smart enough to fi ll in the blanks.

Since leaving the retreat I’ve spoken to Katrina twice, and IM’d a good couple of times, too. She’s loving being back at home with her sisters and squabbling over the bathroom.

She’s decided to give up her ballet training and concentrate on her Pilates, with just the occasional ballet class on the 264

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side. She even hopes to open up her own Pilates studio after college.