“Isn’t that the actor who plays Titanium Man?” I feign wide-eyed surprise at his photo of Rafe Barzilay.
“You recognize him?”
That explains the giant lens and expensive camera. It figures that the paparazzi would arrive just ahead of the celebrities.If only I had a camera as nice as this guy’s to shoot on. It isn’t fair.
“I mean, doesn’t everyone know Titanium Man?” I answer.
Over the man’s shoulder, I notice Noah Greenberg, a local high school teacher limping into the diner with his laptop.Saved by the bell.
I wave hello at Noah, greeting him extra enthusiastically in order to make my point that I’m done with the pushy photographer. “Hey Noah! So great to see you here! What can I make for you? The usual?”
Before he turns to go, the photographer slaps his card on the counter. “You’ll let me know if you see any celebrity types? Text me any time. I pay a sweet finder’s fee.” He does the thing where he points to his eyes with two fingers, then points at mine, and back at his own.
“Mm-hmm, sure! You betcha! Have a nice day.” I slide the card into my apron pocket and turn my back on him, busying myself with cleaning up my area. Finally, he gets the message and slinks away, heading out the door toward Holm Square.
As soon as his back is turned, I drop his card into the trash. Is it wrong for me to wish a fly finds its way into his cup?
“What was all that about?” Noah asks as he gets settled with his laptop at the counter. “What was with the mafia eye-finger thing? Was he threatening you?”
“Not really.” I make him his usual mocha macchiato. “Mostly annoying me.” I notice now that Noah’s got his cast off, and he doesn’t have the crutches anymore. He’s graduated to a walking stick. Wonder when that happened? Noah is definitely an under-the-radar kind of guy. Regular brown hair. Medium tall. His eyes are nice. Sort of puppy dog-like. He reminds me a little of Chandler fromFriends.
“Looks like he’s not going anywhere.” Noah tilts his head toward the park. Through the diner window, I can see our new friend slouched on a park bench, holding up a newspaper in a pathetic attempt to camouflage the giant camera in his lap.
“That’s not conspicuous,” I joke.
I hand Noah his drink. “We should probably get used to his type hanging around here,” he says. “There’s bound to be at least a few of them, given the all-star cast Dean Riley has lined up.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. “I just wish they weren’t so predatory.”
“Not much we can do about it.” Noah sips his coffee. “This is great, as usual.” He studies me for a moment. “Is there anything else bugging you, Kenna? Anything you need to talk about?”
When I don’t respond immediately, he sets down the coffee and folds his hands together. Just waiting and gazing at me patiently.
Maybe it’s his understanding-English-teacher tone of voice, or maybe it’s because I really have nobody else to talk to, or maybe it’s the fact that I know I’ve got to get back to Dean today.
“Dean Riley asked me to take photos of the cast, and I don’t think I can do it,” I blurt.
“Stop, Kenna. Dean wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think you were up to the task.”
I retrieve my backpack from under the counter and pull out my camera. I plonk it down in front of him. The flash is completely missing—it looks like an empty eye socket—and there is duct tape holding on the cover to the battery compartment. There’s a strawberry, scratch-and-sniff sticker on the strap that lost its scent seven years ago, but there’s still some sticky stuff on the part I tried to peel off. Bits of lint and several strands of my hair are stuck in the residual goo.
“It’s one thing when I’m taking photos of dogs. But how can I show up to take photos of celebrities withthis?” I wave a hand over the camera, presenting it in all its flawed glory. “I mean, I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”
“You know, I’d be happy to check a few blogs and see whatConsumer Reportsrecommends if you’re in the market for a new one,” Noah offers. “I have a subscription.”
“Thanks, but there’s no point.” I politely turn him down and pack my camera. “Excuse me. I think it’s time for my break.”
I already know exactly what model camera I want. And I know there’s no way I can afford it. Not even in my wildest dreams. I might as well dream about dating Rafe Barzilay and hanging out poolside with Lorelei Dupont, braiding each other’s hair and snapping selfies.
“I’m taking my break,” I call out to Carlos, who is sanitizing menus in the back room. Carlos is normally our delivery guy, but he’s been filling in a lot since my uncles went on vacation. He sets down the spray bottle and his rag and wipes a forearm across his leathery, wrinkled brow.
“No problem, Kenna. I’ll take over. Take your time.”
I need to figure out what I’m going to tell Dean. As if on autopilot, I fill a bag with muffins and exit the diner. First, I’ll do a loop around Holm Square to stretch my legs, then I’ll head over to Celestial Pets to sit in my chair and think.
Will I regret turning down the offer to photograph the cast?
I pull a coin from my apron as I pass the fountain at the center of the square. What to wish for? New camera? Boyfriend? Vacation? I don’t even know what to wish for. Kissing the coin, I toss it in with a more general request.I just wish something good would happen for me, for a change.
