The Paparazzo And The Celestial

The photos were laid across the mattress. Spaced an inch apart, eight photos sat on top the duvet. It was actually a decent display; Sam was sorta proud of that. The subject of the photos was amazing, it was Sam’s best work but he couldn’t quite get the right price. Luckily, there were more unorthodox avenues to compensation available. Enter Leona Slater, up and coming triple threat rising from off Broadway to Hollywood rapidly. Sam was sitting at the office nook.

“What do you think you have Mr. Jefferson?”

Perfectly lit by the sign promising free HBO, a woman stood at the threshold of Sam Jefferson’s motel room. Her slender arms crossed, framing her very well know breasts. Her eyes were green and her hair was the night itself. Her pictures made her out to be frail, blond and blue eyed. Seeing her upper arm hint itself through long sleeves, Sam could tell you that exactly none of it was true.

“I think I have a problem and a solution and a means to make money.”

“Isn’t the problem for your kind usually a lack of money?”

“With your kind too ma’am, you just haven’t been hungry for awhile. Anyways, you have the problem, I got the solution.”

“And that is about five thousand? If not I need to run to the ATM.

“Ms. Slater this isn’t about that casting director.”

“Ah, I see then I’m at a disadvantage.”

She walked into the room, noting the stained Berber beneath her feet.

“A rare place for you, I’m sure.”

“Can we please get back to the point of this?”

Sam gestured towards the photos on the bed. Leona inspected them closely. They showed a woman who had forgot a bit of herself on the way out the door. She had forgotten her contacts and her gold eyes had shown beautifully in twelve mega pixel daylight. In another picture, a rough spot is visible without the properly applied blush. It’s dry, scaly, and green. There are also a few teeth left uncapped, revealing rather massive fangs. Leona Slater was hyperventilating.

“My you do wear a lot of masks. This would be panicked?”

“What do you want for these? I’ll pay anything.”

“I want to sell you insurance.”

“You’re blackmailing me into letting you blackmail me?”

“Not quite, see what I propose is you pay me to sell these photos to the tabloids.”

“Why on Earth would I want to do that?”

“Because you’re a smart cookie, you know that if the notion is regarded as fiction, you’re a lot safer.”

“And what will happen if I don’t pay or say even kill you?”

“You’ll get a print out in a digital age, copies of which are scheduled to be posted by me in one hour. My death or disappearance will validate their authenticity.”

“And how much will this robbery cost me?”

“Five thousand.”

“You know I was kidding right? I came here by taxi.”

“Yes I did, and there’s an ATM two blocks west. Be careful with those stilettos.”

“And they call my people cold blooded.”

She empty her purse onto his bed and went quickly out the room. Before slamming the door, she had a question.

“Was I your first?”

“Lord no, use to do nature photography.”

“I meant,”

“And I was saying I can’t say.”

“Is that a moral I hear being brushed against?”

“It’s been said that mine can be surprising sometimes.”

Leona walked down and then west, towards cash and home. Samuel Jefferson added her to his growing list of secrets he had.

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