Paparazza

^({1}) This Sophie he often talks to her about, who helps support her old sick parents so nobly and has just won a big prize for her writing, how did she go about finding herself as a paparazza? ^({2}) […] she might eventually interview Henry Miller there; she could begin her career as a paparazza that way…

Eventually the harried waitress turns paparazza and drives them out with flashbulbs.

“Keeping her away from us will only rouse her interest all the more,” Zarah stated flatly. “Especially if she turns out to be a journalist or a paparazza. Worse yet, who knows? She could even be a spy working for our competitors.”

“How’s my favorite paparazza?” Stan said, grabbing me around the waist in an embrace that threatened to squash my cameras between us.

Thus at the moment when Joyce is most transparent, when he is most evidently the modernist alienated artist as flâneur, he is also most the star, the object of the paparazza’s intrusive camera.

“Have we a delegate of the press? La paparazza, in hot pursuit? Or ambush … Oh, my dear girl, nasty scratch.”

Bain wouldn’t return her calls but she knew where he worked. She was not a paparazza but stories were made, not given. Even dead stories could be used to dig around.

“When did your brother die?” “A month ago.” Well, that explained Valiotaky’s appearance. It was taboo for him to wash his clothes or shave until his brother was buried. But even with the backing of Tsiaketraky, the Father-and-Mother, I was troubled. Was I really going to be a horrible paparazza, intruding on a family of strangers in their mourning?