I stalk celebrities. It’s like a profession, in that I spend all my time doing it, and I wake up covered in cold sweat after having dreams about it, and I really can’t see any way of getting out of it and into any other industry. I just don’t get paid to do it.
Those guys that call themselves “the paparazzi” are my idols. Our idols—the League of Unofficial Celebrities Stalkers. We wish we could be like them. We probably wouldn’t be so broke. And those guys get top of the line equipment, you know? They see things we can’t unless we walk up to these people’s front doors. And that’s difficult when their estates are surrounded by passcode-protected iron gates and the occasional team of bodyguards. But we make do, using our point-and-shoots and binoculars. My wife and I went on a big trip to catch Madonna for our ten-year anniversary a few months ago, and she surprised me with this huge DSLR that our bud Chet had loaned her. We got the best amateur frames I’ve ever seen and printed them out on wall-mural paper for our den.
She’d wanted to sell it to every tabloid in North America, but I thought that didn’t seem right. It was like our wedding picture. It was too personal to share with the city, let alone the whole continent, I’d said. I didn’t want some editor to upload a shot of Madonna eating a rack of ribs for breakfast and call it a day. I couldn’t let our moment go like that.
So, we’d put it in the box with the other chance diamonds we’d captured and labeled it “Tenth Anniversary ~ Sweethearts Forever.”
Published at Goon and Darling Do Flash Fiction on June 13, 2012.