Mr. Reporter

Chapter 1

I pulled down my waiter's uniform and cursed the man who had given them to me. It was about two sizes less than mine and was beginning to hike up in places I'm too embarrassed to even mention.

My eyes were focused on the door of the room a few feet from me. I had been lurking around here whenever I could and doing a solid job of making myself look like an employee at the expensive restaurant. It wasn't a profession I admired but my respect for people doing this work grew by a mile when I realized just how entitled some customers can be. I was scolded for being two seconds late to a room, had to wait half an hour for someone to decide on their preferred entrée and if that wasn't even worse I had to unclog a toilet in one of the rooms which the previous patrons did absolute damage.

I checked my phone and realized I've been here for four hours already, no wonder my legs were beginning to get cramps. However I wasn't deterred as this was a normal occurrence whenever there was a big scoop. I didn't start off with this much patience but it grew the more I was in this profession and began to recognize that great stories come to those who wait, as the saying goes.

Reaching up to my left ear I adjusted my hearing aid and leaned against the wall to rest my back for a bit. So, a little bit about myself as we wait.

My name is Dante Jensen and I am twenty eight years old. I'm a bit deaf in one ear and no, it wasn't like that from birth. I'll explain more about that later. My mother, Sidney was a renowned international war correspondent and my father was a school teacher. They separated when I was five years old. They didn't get divorced they just went their own way each living in their own marital blissfulness. Since my dad's career provided a more stable home out of the two they came to an agreement of who I should live with. Her job made it almost impossible for her to be with me for even more than a month and my memories of her are fleeting at best.

I longed for my mother everyday as a child. I couldn't understand why my dad didn't talk about her. The time she did come around for her visits was always something I looked forward to. She would tell me stories about the places she'd visit, the unfortunate wars she'd had documented and the people she had met along the way. Listening to her adventures sparked a fire deep inside of me and I yearned to one day follow in her footsteps. I loved my dad but teaching wasn't a career path I could see myself in. School was never my strong point and almost every day was hell.

My mother had gifted me a camera on my tenth birthday and I would take shots of anything and everything. I enrolled in photography classes and involved myself in everything that had to do with what my mother did. I was so focused and studied the art real seriously because I wanted to be like her...I wanted her to notice me. I took part and won a lot of photography contests in our school and town. In my mind these achievements would make her more proud of me and she'd pay more attention.

When my mother became more popular her visits became less frequent and I no longer waited around for her. I was constantly disappointed with pushed back visits that rarely did come to pass and saw no need to put myself through more emotional heartache. We talked through Skype and whenever she did remember to call but it never was the same. She didn't show up to my high school graduation and when I graduated college. I hadn't seen her in person for over ten years. I envied a lot of my classmates whose mothers were so involved in their life. A friend complained that is was stifling but all I could think was that he was lucky. Financial support wasn't a difficulty as my mother became a household name but I'd rather see her than the money she was earning. The only contact we ever had was through phone calls and even that was inconsistent.

When my dad was diagnosed with cancer last month I was shocked back into reality. I had spent most of my childhood moaning around for my mother that I didn't even acknowledge or appreciate my dad's presence in my life. It was ironic that it had to take a disease for me to finally be able to realize that he'd been there every step of the way acting as the father and mother figure. He encouraged me whenever I was struggling with school, talked me through heartbreak with my first girlfriend and whenever I was disappointed with my mother not coming, he would take me to the movies or to the lake for a picnic. It was his way of getting my mind off things.

My dad was so focused on me that he didn't pursue a relationship after my mother nor did he see the need to. He always said that having me around was enough but I thought otherwise. He wasn't a model but my dad was a handsome man, handsome enough that most of the mother's of the kids in his class were very involved in his after school program. I hadn't noticed how great he was until it was too late. His doctor said he had only a year to live. I had tried calling my mother to inform her but the call went straight to voicemail so I didn't bother.

I had served in thearmy straight out from college and after I was discharged had spent a yearworking as a freelance photographer. Sure holding a camera reminded me too muchof my mother but I had grown to love it for what it was, attachments aside. Ihad applied for work at various news companies and networks but the only thingthey were interested in was my connection to the famous Sidney Jensen and notfor my own capabilities. I got lucky when I found Scandal Daily. Granted itwasn't my first choice but my boss, Clarisse, didn't care for employees withconnections all she wanted to know was if I could do the job. It has been nearlythree years now and the small network had become my family.

I could still remember my first assignment and how I nearly botched my first stakeout by not turning off the flash of my camera. It was lucky that was the only picture I needed before I made my not so subtle getaway. Clarisse nearly had my head when I reported the ordeal to her but she was happy about the photo.

The sound of giggling pulled me out of my thoughts and I peered out from my spot to the door. It slid open and five people tumbled out.

Quickly grabbing my Nikon camera out of the empty food platter on top of the trolley I had been pushing, I sprinted outside ducking through whatever could conceal me along the way. I ignored the looks of customers and stumbled outside catching the figures as they strode near to a secluded spot near the parking lot. Finding a perch to lay safely on with the bush as my cover, I adjusted the lens and looked through it. 

Five women. I saw Lisa McQueen, but where was her boyfriend? I knew for a fact that just a few minutes before Lisa and her three friends arrived, a man had also walked into that room. So now where was he? He couldn't have disappeared into thin air because I wasn't watching a horror movie. And I couldn't have been seeing a ghost because I definitely wasn't Melinda Gordon.

Lisa was clinging onto the arm of a very tall girl and giggling like a teenager. They talked with their faces merely inches apart.

I frowned. Where was the man? Something flittered past my mind and I realized I was looking at everything all wrong. Celebrities had a way of wanting to keep their personal lives under the radar. But surely they knew that that would never happen. Right? They were always in the eyes of the paparazzi and the public. If they craved privacy so much then they should have chosen another profession.

I got it! The oddly stocky tall girl was Lisa's boyfriend. He was wearing obviously wearing a wig. Their display of rather overfriendly affection would have anyone who didn't know them suspicious. My lips twitched up into a triumphant smile and I began taking shots of them locking lips and hugging rather tightly. "Okay. Just a little more, a little bit more," I say urging them on silently as I continued to capture the intimate exchange.

My vision of them was blocked when a woman walked up the steps and to my surprise looked straight at me. Involuntarily my fingers were still clicking shots. "What the hell was that?" I said to myself and looked away from the camera.

I shook my head to clear it, adjusted my position again and was about to capture some more shots when something caught on my peripherals. I turned to find the same woman who had blocked my view, staring rather coolly at me.

"What are you doing here? With whose permission are you taking pictures?" she asked rather loudly. She was standing a foot below from me and was making my presence obvious. I had to get rid of her, and quickly.

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Author's Note: I would like to apologize to anyone who's read this story and find some things well A Lot of things changed. I've been thinking for quite some time about this and realize that these changes needed to be done in order to make things more rational for our protagonists and I've also decided to add some elements that would explain his behavior and attitude kind of in hindsight I suppose. I apologize for the inconvenience caused but I stand by decision and I hope it's not a mistake I'm going to regret later. Anyways I hope this'll be understood by you reader.

Please enjoy.

AK