Close Relationships With Strangers – Krista Diamond

The door opens, and Dr. Ruby is back, this time with a security guard. I know he is a security guard because I’ve seen him somewhere else before, have probably been kicked out of somewhere else by him at some point before, maybe I have even been hurt by him at some point before.

But it’s hard to remember, and it doesn’t matter. It’s all an endless scroll now, a dream, a nightmare, a blur. He discreetly signals that I need to follow him. Dr. Ruby doesn’t look at me. He smiles at the women, who don’t even notice him.

Their eyes are closed, their expressions serene and blissful. This building could be demolished with them inside and they’d yawn and shrug and drift off to sleep. In direct contrast, the creatures in the crate are whimpering now, a shrill pleading that is so much worse than any other noise they’ve made. “Come on, Ben,” the security guard says, and the fact that he knows my name is enough to signal it’s over. But I can’t stop looking at Dr. Ruby’s hands on that crate, his power to still the animals inside, those fingertips that have felt the pulse moving below Jack’s skin.

I go with the security guard, knowing the offer to do this the nice way is valid for only so long. We leave the room and shut the door, and in that dark, narrow hallway, he tells me I’m not a very good liar, and I know that isn’t true. I’m a great liar, and getting better at it every day. Sometimes I hate that about myself, but not that often. Not anymore.

Before the security guard throws me out into the hot sunlight, I hear Dr. Ruby talking to the women, promising that after this treatment they will be younger, more beautiful than their peers, or at least it will appear that way. Their soft applause and other noises of approval. The sound of the crate opening. 1kitap1.com/en chapter twelve A stylist texts me: Need photos of Laura in new Versace. Alfred Coffee, Melrose. 9 a.m. It’s purely a money gig, the kind of job I hate.

But I have no choice but to take it as I look for him. Soon the Mia Luna money will be completely gone.

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1kitap1.com/en 1kitap1.com/en los angeles, amid scandal 1kitap1.com/en chapter one When she asks me what I photograph, I say people, which is technically true. We’re on a first date in Los Feliz—a bar inside a bungalow, banana leaves shading the porch, blood orange margaritas. She is a teacher at a private elementary school in Hancock Park. The cocktail is pulpy. “Famous people,” I say.

“I take pictures of famous people.” “For magazines?” the teacher asks. “Sometimes.” “You’re being opaque.” “Websites mostly.” “What kind of websites?” I press my fingers against the condensation on the glass. “Celebrity websites.” “Oh.” I ease into what I want to ask her: “Your profile said you teach third grade, right? What school is it, again?”

She gives me the name in a tone that says, Come on, I can tell you already know it. But I keep pushing. “You must be around celebrities all the time. Teaching where you teach.” “I really can’t say.” “Do the parents usually pick them up or do the nannies—” “No, I really can’t say.” She knows what I’m trying to do. “Right,” I say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.” She nods, stirs her drink. “Your teeth are nice,” I tell her. “Like, they’re a little bit crooked.”

“Sorry?” “They’re a little bit crooked in a good way, I mean.” “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.” “I mean, I’m always looking at veneers. I’ve been looking at veneers all day. Your teeth are real and that’s nice.” The teacher reaches for her ice water and starts drinking it very quickly. She sets the glass down and doesn’t look at me.

“I don’t really want to talk about my teeth. So you’re a… is it okay to say paparazzi?” “Well, yeah, it’s not a slur.” “It has negative connotations. You don’t want to be called something else? Celebrity photographer, maybe?” “No, I wouldn’t want that.” Mentally, I compare her to famous actresses who have played teachers, trying to figure out which one she looks the most like, organizing them by the ones I’ve photographed, the ones I haven’t yet, the ones I could be photographing right now.

I’ll give you some free advice, a celebrity meditation coach once told me. Be present. “You like the term paparazzi?” she asks. I finish the margarita, attempt to recalibrate. “It’s accurate.” “But your profile said photographer.” “That’s accurate too.” “So this is a stepping stone to being a photographer photographer—doing something artistic.” She relaxes.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 4ac0d38811ba2397
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 6,340,079 bytes (6.046 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 245
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 386.21 minutes
• Total Words: 77,242
• Total Characters: 417,982
• Average Words per Page: 315.27
• Average Characters per Page: 1706.05

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