Paparazzi

by Linda Gerber

He shrugged. “You get used to it.”

  Mr. Kouropoulos must have overheard us because he turned to me. “I apologize for the frenzy,” he said, “but thought you ladies might like to walk among the shops before we dine. If it’s too much for you—”

  Shops? That was the magic word. “Oh, no,” I said quickly. “It’s no problem. And … I do like to shop.” I gave him a smile, but inside I was kicking myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to offend our host. That wouldn’t go over very well with the network. Or my mom and dad.

  We left the busy harbor front and walked down a rambling, stone-paved street lined with colorful shop fronts and street displays.

  “Is it true,” Victoria asked, “that the narrow, winding streets in Mykonos were designed to confuse invading pirates?”

  I’m pretty sure she was asking Magus, but Mr. Kouropolous piped in. “So I’ve been told,” he said. “You’d best keep close.” He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “It is just as easy for beautiful ladies to become lost in the maze as it was for marauding pirates.”

  Victoria’s smile went stiff, but she allowed him to guide her through the streets. I mean, what was she going to do?

  “Smooth,” I murmured.

  “Not really,” Nikos grumbled under his breath.

  Most of the shops, I was disappointed to see, were the same kind of designer shops you find at any airport or tourist spot—Cartier, Hermès, Bulgari. “Aren’t there any real Greek shops?” I asked.

  “Not on this street,” Nikos said. “Hold on.” He tapped his dad and said something in Greek.

  Mr. Kouropoulos turned and looked at me curiously. “You prefer to shop local, do you?”

  “When I can,” I said in a small voice.

  “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

  I didn’t. I mean, until I saw what there was, I didn’t know what I wanted to buy, but that didn’t sound like a very good answer. “Um, I’d like to find a charm for my necklace,” I offered.

  “I’m sure we can accommodate.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started speaking into it rapidly. Then he waited, cupping his hand over the microphone. “My assistant is finding directions.”

  He signaled to Magus and pantomimed writing something onto his hand. Magus quickly pulled a pen and a small notebook from his pocket and handed them over. Mr. Kouropoulos scribbled down some words on a sheet of paper and ripped it out of the notebook.

  “We are quite close to a local artist’s shop,” he told me when he hung up. “Come this way.”

  Off the tourist path, the streets became even narrower. They were still paved in the same flat, gray stones, but the buildings themselves were less uniform. Bright doors and window shutters cheered up the long sea of white. Steep stairs climbed up and out of sight at odd places. Balconies jutted overhead. “I love it,” I breathed.

  I reached for my phone to take a picture of the street and then realized I had left it sitting on the desk back in my cabin after I had uploaded the pictures for my blog. I nudged Nikos. “Would you mind taking some pictures for me? I forgot my camera.”

  “Sure.” He didn’t even hesitate, but pulled out his phone and pointed the camera at me. “Smile!”

  I threw up my hand to block the lens. “No, not me! The street. For my blog.”

  “Ah, yes. The famous blog. Then you should be in the street,” he declared, and pointed the phone camera at me again. “Better yet, we should be in the street together!”

  Before I could move, he grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me close, holding his phone at arm’s length to take the picture. Again, I was reminded of Buñol, when Mateo, Logan, and I were watching the fireworks. We had lain back in the grass, our heads close together, and I held my camera out to take pictures, just like Nikos was doing now. If I imagined it clearly enough, I could almost feel Logan’s head against mine.

  I reached up absently and smoothed back the hair where our heads would have been touching. Just then, flashbulbs popped somewhere nearby, startling me from my walk down memory lane. I realized Nikos wasn’t the only one taking pictures.

  “That’s good,” I said, pulling away from him. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Nikos said with a wink.

  I shook my head at him. For someone who didn’t seem to like his dad’s come-on moves, Nikos sure had them down himself.

  “Ah, here we are.” Mr. Kouropoulos ushered us toward a small storefront with a gleaming display of jewelry in the window. Most of it was gold. And fancy.

  I swallowed hard. The kind of jewelry this store sold probably cost a fortune. I usually just bought my charms from street vendors. But after Mr. Kouropoulos had diverted the walk and looked up a jewelry shop just for me, how was I going to gracefully get out of there with my allowance still safely tucked away? Especially when he was holding the door open for Victoria and me to enter. What could I do? I walked inside.

  I have to admit, the jewelry was much more interesting than the mass-produced stuff on the designer-shop street. Delicate, artistic, unique. I found myself drawn to the display cases, even though I knew I could never afford anything in them.

  In one of the cases lay a collection of pendants that featured round blue stones with dots in the middle of them. “They look like eyes,” I said.

  “They are.” Nikos stood next to me, looking over the display. “Those are the evil eye. They’re supposed to protect you from harm.”

  I ran my fingers over the Italian cornicello charm my grampa had given me. That was supposed to give me good luck, which I supposed was close to the same thing. When I got back to the yacht, I’d have to tell him about it on my blog.

  “Did you see one you like?” Mr. Kouropoulos asked.

  They were all pretty much the same, just in different settings. And they all seemed to be staring at me. But then I noticed a small one made with a dark lapis stone. Because of the texture in the stone, the circle in the center was subtler than the others. And with the gold filigree setting, it looked more like an art piece than an eye. “That one’s nice,” I said.

  “Very well.” Mr. Kouropoulos snapped his fingers, and the shopkeeper hurried to open the case for him. I cringed as they pulled the velvet-lined display board from the case and unpinned the charm for me to look at closer. How much would it cost? It was only our first night. If I bought it, would I have any money left for the rest of the trip?

  “Let us see how it looks on that necklace of yours,” Mr. Kouropoulos said, handing it to me.

  I turned it over, trying to slyly get a peek at the price. It wasn’t marked. “I’d have to tie it on,” I said.

  “Go ahead,” Mr. Kouropoulos prodded.

  Slowly, gingerly, I undid my necklace and laid it on the counter, and slipped the evil eye onto the leather cord so that it dangled with the other charms. I had to admit it looked completely awesome. “How much is it?”

  Mr. Kouropoulos waved his hand like he was trying to clear smoke from the air. “It is no matter. If you like it, you shall have it.”

  “But I don’t know if I can—”

  “Nonsense. You are our guest. I will get it for you.”

  I hesitated. What was I supposed to do? In some cultures, I knew it was rude to turn down a gift. Was this one of them? I looked to Victoria for input, but she was looking at some other pieces in a different case. Nikos wasn’t much help, either. He was busy typing something into his phone. “Well …” I began.

  Mr. Kouropoulos wasn’t even listening to me. He was already at the register, paying for the charm.

  “Here,” Nikos offered, taking my necklace from the counter. “I’ll hook it for you.”

  He lifted the cord over my head, and I turned my back to him, holding up my hair so he could fasten the clasp. “Thanks,” I told him.

  “You’re very welcome,” Mr. Kouropoulos answered benevolently.

  I wanted to make sure Nikos knew the thanks has been directed to him, too, but he had already taken a step back and let hi
s dad take over. I was starting to get the feeling he did that a lot.

  The restaurant Mr. Kouropoulos took

  us to was built right into the side of a hill. I’m serious. It looked like the building grew straight out of the rock. The maître d’ welcomed us at the door and escorted us through the main dining area. It was crowded with round tables draped in white tablecloths, and patrons who stared and whispered behind their menus. Someone in the back got bold and snapped a picture, the flash punctuating the electricity in the air.

  “Is this what it’s like every time you go out?” I whispered to Nikos.

  “When he wants it to be,” he said.

  I was about to ask him what he meant by that when the maître d’ stopped to open a narrow door to a private room set with a single table and four cushy chairs. Magus and one of the other bodyguards stood at attention on either side of the door while the man ushered the rest of us inside.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering,” Mr. Kouropoulos said as we settled around the table. “The chef here is known for his traditional approach to Greek cuisine. Your mother would appreciate his methods, I think, Cassidy. Perhaps you can entice your parents to bring their show here in the future.”

  “I’m sure they’d like that,” I said. As if my mom or dad would ever take location tips from me.

  A line of waiters began bringing in food. I guess since Mr. Kouropoulos had ordered beforehand, it was ready and waiting for us. I could get used to that kind of service.

  The smell of roasted meat and spices filled the room, and my stomach rumbled. I thought I’d never be hungry again after the lunch we had that afternoon, but my appetite returned the moment I saw the food.

  “Are those stuffed grape leaves?” I asked Nikos.

  “Dolmathes, yes,” he said. “And this is spanakopita.” He pointed to some phyllo-dough triangle things, and then to some skewers threaded with cubes of meat and vegetables. “And that is souvlaki.”

  The rest of the meal looked a lot like the dishes we’d had at lunch—salad, olives, some kind of stewed vegetable.

  “And for you,” Mr. Kouropoulos said to Victoria, “Ouzo.” He poured a thick, clear liquid into two small glasses and handed one to her.

  “What is that?” I whispered to Nikos.

  “Traditional drink. We can’t have it because it’s liquor.”

  “Oh.” I watched Victoria closely. In all the time I’d known her, I’d never seen her drink anything stronger than green tea.

  She lifted the glass to her lips and took a tiny sip. “Oh, very nice,” she said. “It really does taste like licorice.”

  And that was it. The glass sat untouched the rest of the meal. She was always so good at handling stuff like that. Straightforward. Polite, but sure of herself. The way I wished I could be.

  It didn’t take long to realize that Mr. Kouropoulos had ordered way too much food. Dishes kept coming and coming until the waiters had to take some of the plates away half eaten to make room for more.

  I tried to sample at least a taste of everything, because that’s what my mom and dad had taught me to do. It didn’t matter what culture you were in; if someone went to the trouble and expense of preparing a special meal for you, it was only polite to show your appreciation by enjoying it. Or at least pretending to.

  I was glad the Greek culture wasn’t one of those that said it was insulting not to eat every scrap of food. Because by the time they had brought out the baklava for dessert, all I could think about was getting back to the yacht for my upcoming talk with Logan. If we’d have had to hang around and stuff the rest of the food down our throats, I think I would have screamed.

  As it was, I practically ran to the pier. Or I would have if we weren’t surrounded by bodyguards who didn’t feel the same urgency I did to get back to the yacht. I don’t even remember if I said good night to Nikos once we got there.

  Victoria took her time strolling down the hallway to our rooms. I wanted to leave her behind and bolt for my room, but then I’d have to explain why I was in such a hurry and I kind of preferred keeping the video chats just between Logan and me. Not that there was anything wrong with us meeting online or that our parents wouldn’t approve or anything like that. Just … liking a guy can be awkward enough. Liking a guy when everyone in your life knows about it is impossible.

  “I would like to have spent more time on Mykonos,” Victoria said. “It’s such a lovely island.”

  “Lovely,” I agreed. Hurry!

  “So much more to explore than what we saw this evening.”

  “Yeah. A lot more.” Hurry, hurry, hurry!

  “Perhaps When in Rome could come here. It’s been years since they’ve done Greece.”

  “I don’t even remember it,” I said.

  I swear, Victoria was being slow on purpose. Getting through the conversation was like trying to run through waist-deep water. No matter how fast I tried to wade through the words, we weren’t getting anywhere.

  Finally, she stopped outside our doors. “Here we are,” she said cheerily.

  “’Kay. Good night.”

  “Good night,” she said.

  And then, as I was unlocking my cabin door, she added, “We have an early start time in the morning, so don’t stay up long.”

  I looked sharply at her. Did she know about the chat? “Go to bed. Got it.” I turned to the lock once more.

  “Cassidy, you know you can come stay in my room if you get lonely, yes?”

  I was glad my back was to her so she wouldn’t see the relief on my face. That’s what the stalling was all about? Sweet, but did she think I was five or something? I always slept in my own room when we traveled, and I never got lonely, thank you very much. Of course, my mom and dad were always sleeping in the room right next to mine. …

  “Yeah. Thanks,” I said through a weirdly tight throat.

  “Right.” Her tone was brisk all of a sudden. “Good night, then.”

  My door was halfway open, but I stopped and turned back. “Victoria?”

  She looked up from the key in her hand. “Hmm?”

  I gave her a quick hug. “G’night.”

  “Good night, Cassidy,” she called after me as I rushed through the door and closed it behind me.

  I was late. Only by minutes, but still, what if Logan didn’t know I got his message? What if he signed on and saw I was dark and thought I couldn’t make it?

  Kicking off my sandals on the way, I ran to the desk and dropped into the chair, quickly booting up my computer. The time clock appeared on the screen and I winced. I was five minutes late. It doesn’t sound like a long time, but believe me, it can seem like hours when you’re waiting for someone. How long would Logan wait?

  I signed into the chat window. No Logan. Fair enough. He might have checked in and then gone off to do something else like I had done that afternoon. I sat back in my chair and waited. And waited. And waited. Logan’s icon stayed dark.

  He did say ten my time, didn’t he? I checked his note in the message box. Yup. Ten o’clock. I waited some more. Still no Logan. Maybe he didn’t wake up; it was six in the morning his time. Or maybe Cavin was up and wouldn’t let him get on the computer. Or maybe he really did mean ten in the morning my time.

  Disappointment began to settle on me in layers, each one growing heavier and heavier until I had to push away from the desk to shake it off.

  I moved the cursor over to the sign-out button, and my finger hovered over the mouse for a second, but I couldn’t make myself click on it. I’d been looking forward to this chat all day, and I didn’t want to admit it wasn’t going to happen. Still, wishing wasn’t going to make him magically appear. Logan’s status still showed he was offline. If he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there.

  It was the hesitation that saved the evening for me. Because right before I pushed the button that would have logged me out, the computer made a phone-ringing sound, and Logan’s icon lit up. All my disappointment and insecurity evaporated. I clicked on the c
all message to start the chat.

  “Hey! There you are,” he said.

  A wave of hot-and-cold tingles washed over me, the way they did whenever I saw his face on my screen. “Hi!” I waved at him and he waved back. His movements looked a little choppy from the connection, but I could see him and hear him and that was all that mattered.

  “How is it, then?” he asked.

  “Amazing! You wouldn’t believe how beautiful it is here. What about you guys? How is New Guinea?”

  He shrugged. “Not bad.”

  “That sounds really positive.”

  “No, really. It’s not bad. Where we are, there’s not much to do, but at least it’s … pleasant. Not like when we did that one show in Greenland.”

  “Hey, that would have been really pretty in the summer.”

  “Too bad we were there in the winter.”

  “Hello. I think winter was your dad’s idea.”

  “Well, he was daft. So you like it on the boat?”

  I laughed. “It’s a yacht.”

  His image on the screen did a choppy eye roll. “Same thing. It’s big. It floats. What about your costar? How is he? You like him?”

  I hid a smile. Logan’s words had become clipped as he asked about Nikos. Was he jealous? “He’s all right,” I answered. “We haven’t really done much yet. Only the B-roll shots.”

  “So you’ll be spending a lot of time with him this trip.”

  “I suppose.” I said the words casually, but inside I was laughing. This was perfect. Logan was jealous! He wouldn’t be jealous if he didn’t like me as more than a friend, right?

  “What will you do all day?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. Cruise around the islands. Lounge in the sun. Oh, and we went into Mykonos tonight and had dinner. And I got a charm for my necklace, see?” I held up the evil eye charm in front of the webcam.

  “Very nice. Did he go with you?”

  There it was again. The jealous tone. I hid a smile. And sidestepped the question by changing the subject. Because being jealous was one thing, but I didn’t want it to spoil the conversation.

  “You should see the game room they have on this thing!” I told him. “One whole wall is just a bunch of TV screens with about six game consoles and a whole library of video games. It’s crazy.”