Famous (3 page)

BET YOU NEVER SAW THE ENTOURAGE
EPISODE where Johnny Drama decides he needs calf implants, but believe me, it's a classic. And so completely true! You're not going to get an underwear ad or beach scene if your legs are twigs. This is my third trip to Dr. Varga's clinic in Tijuana. He did my nose, my chin, and the liposuction. I totally trust him, and he charges about a third of what it would cost in LA.

But this is my last visit. Jamie's right. I've gotten into a messed-up scene out here in La-La Land. As soon as I get my new calves, I'm going home to New York to get cleaned up and healthy. Maybe start with some
commercial work and then gradually get back into acting. After all, that's where I got my start, right? And I could've made it, too, if it hadn't been for my whacked-out, uptight parents.

And then, the next time I come out here I'll do it right. I won't be some kid with a head shot and a couple of cereal ads under his belt. I'll be an accomplished stage actor, fresh from a hit run on Broadway, or Shakespeare in the Park, or some edgy HBO or Showtime series. Next time it'll be because they're begging me to come. The heads of movie companies will send private jets. I'll be met on the runway by limos half a block long and whisked off to the hottest restaurants for meetings with top producers and directors.

That's how it's gonna be next time—the whole world will know it.

THE GURGLE OF THE POOL FILTER AND A CHUCKLING LAUGH
float in through the open window above the mattress where I lie. My assignment,
A Week in the Life of Willow Twine
, is almost over. Or is this only the beginning? Should I even bother going back to New York? The young actors and actresses I photograph are out here doing TV and movies. New York is for older, more established stars—those who have time to do theater and don't have to be available to rush to a casting call. New York is my home, but it feels like the past. LA looks more and more like my future. And now that I've become friends with Willow and have met all these
other stars through her, it would be an easy transition, except for

1. Losing Nasim, which will break my heart.

2. My mother, who predicted I'd want to stay out here and will throw an “I told you so” fit the size of Mount Olympus. Dad will be cool with it. He understands. You do what you have to do for your career. If you don't, someone else will and you'll miss your opportunity.

I sit up. Is it my imagination, or is the light from outside brighter than on past days? Maybe my eyes are overly sensitive because I'm semiseriously sleep deprived? Whatever the reason, I turn away from the window and look at the bare off-white bedroom walls. I am in the back of Willow's pink twenty-three-room Mediterranean-style palazzo, which once belonged to Madonna. And, before that, to Barbra Streisand. I wonder how many of my classmates know who Barbra Streisand is. Or the owner before her, Lana Turner. Who? Only the biggest movie starlet of the 1950s.

Funny how this mansion has been owned by a series of super famous (in their time) Hollywood starlets, all of whom had major difficulty with relationships.

I tug my fingers through the rat's nest that is my hair and get caught on a knot. Lying on the floor are my new Manolos, red alligator pumps that cost more than most cameras and are without question the most beautiful
shoes ever to embrace my ugly feet. How could I refuse when Willow insisted on buying them for me?

Wait a minute. . . . Speaking of cameras, where's my Nikon? Oh my god! Where's my camera?

New York Weekly
THE YOUNGEST PAPARAZZO

The last bell rings, and the academic day at the exclusive downtown Herrin School is officially over. Jamie Gordon's friends leave for their after-school activities—music, dance, gymnastics, chess. Jamie, fifteen, a ninth-grader, heads for a different sort of after-school activity—one that involves hanging around outside a restaurant on Seventeenth Street in Chelsea, waiting with a dozen other paparazzi to see if Gabrielle Bloom, the star of the HBO series Tugboat Annie, will emerge with her new boyfriend, investment banker David Balkan.

If they do, Jamie will do her best to get the money shot.

Other parents have to pay for their children's after-school activities, but so far this year, Jamie has grossed close to $3,000. Her celebrity photos have appeared in half a dozen magazines as well as on numerous websites. She is universally
regarded as the youngest paparazzo New York has ever seen.

“I really don't like being called a paparazzo,” Jamie said on a recent afternoon while she waited with her fellow photographers on the sidewalk outside Chez Toi, where a tipster had said Bloom and Balkan were dining. “I consider myself a celebrity photographer.”

While some might argue that she's splitting hairs, most of the photographers who work alongside Jamie say that she displays uncommon poise and professionalism for someone so young.

“Honestly, I'm amazed by the quality of her work,” said photo agent Carla Harris, who reps Jamie's photos to the media. “A lot of people assumed that those shots of Tatiana Frazee were just luck. But the work Jamie's done since then has convinced me that she's both committed to this business and has the talent to succeed in it.”

While none of Jamie's recent shots have equaled the now infamous photos of the supermodel Frazee losing her composure in a Soho coffee shop, Harris says that Jamie has been tenacious and consistent in her production of celebrity pictures.

“No one hits a home run every time,” said Harris. “Jamie's okay with hitting singles and doubles. And that means that sooner or later she'll probably hit another home run.”

Some of Jamie's fellow photogs are less charitable. “She's just a kid who lives at home. Every time she sells a picture, she's taking bread out of the mouths of guys like me who are trying to make a living,” said one paparazzo who asked not to be identified.

“Face it,” said another. “There's nothing really exceptional about her photos. If she were twenty-four instead of fifteen this would be a total nonstory.”

But others offer grudging praise. “Jamie definitely has a knack for knowing where to set up and when to click the shutter,” says videographer David Axelrod. “In this business, what
counts is being able to anticipate a star's next move. I don't know how she figured it out so fast. Guess she's a quick study.”

Jamie may be a quick study with a camera, but her mother, Dr. Carol Gordon, would prefer it if she were studying something else. “What she's doing is unusual and exciting, but it can't replace an education,” said Dr. Gordon, who is a dentist. She and Jamie's father, Seth Gordon, a creative director at Shandler Advertising, divorced about five years ago.

“Jamie's curfew is eight o'clock on weekdays and eleven on weekends,” said Dr. Gordon. “If her GPA falls below A-minus, that could easily change.”

Jamie's father, Seth, takes a somewhat more laissez-faire attitude toward his daughter. “Obviously I'm biased, but I think Jamie's very mature for her age,” said Mr. Gordon. “I trust her judgment. I was blown away when they wanted to send her out to Utah to cover the Sundance Film Festival. If it were up to me, I would have let her go.”

But Jamie's mother put her foot down. “I didn't want her to miss school,” said Dr. Gordon.

Speaking of which, what do the folks at Herrin think of Jamie's after-school career?

“We have many talented young people here,” said headmistress Pamela Wickersham. “To be honest, I wasn't aware that Jamie was selling photographs to the media, but I'm not surprised. Herrin students are encouraged to pursue a wide range of extracurricular activities. Our job is to encourage and foster the pursuit of excellence in whatever fields interest our students.”

When asked why she spends her afternoons and weekends hanging around restaurants and clubs waiting to photograph celebrities, Jamie said, “This may sound strange, but it's actually fun and exciting. It's cool if I make some money, but that's
not really why I do it. There's something rewarding about getting a good shot. It's kind of like fishing. You go to a spot and wait and wait. Sometimes nothing bites. But once in a while you catch a fish.”

And perhaps that's the answer. If Jamie Gordon lived near a lake, she might spend her time waiting for a trout to bite. But living in New York, she has no choice but to troll for a different sort of game.

“YOU'RE FAMOUS.” THE SPEAKER OF THOSE WORDS WAS MY
boyfriend, Nasim. It was the first time anyone ever said that to me, and I had to admit that it felt good. Right up there with “You're pretty” or “You're smart.” No, even
better
than “You're smart.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“You're welcome.” Nasim was Persian and a sophomore at Herrin. He was tall and thin, yet broad shouldered, with long, straight black hair, olive skin, and the darkest almond-shaped eyes I've ever seen. Personally, I thought he was the best-looking boy at Herrin.

At the moment of Nasim's proclamation about my
fame, we were hurrying along the sidewalk toward school, clutching paper cups of cappuccinos, and dodging the briefcase crowd trudging toward the subway to work. Nasim reached into his backpack and pulled out a copy of
New York Weekly
. “How many people do we know who have been profiled in a major magazine? New York City's youngest paparazzo ever? I believe the correct answer would be one.”