Magazine EditorHey--you're the kid who won that photo contest last month, right? Well, I've got some photo brochures that... Oh? Magazine editor, huh?
You'll graduate high school and go on to hone your photography skills--you need to start somewhere, and that's what you know. You become skilled at both getting the perfect shot, and digital image manipulation on the computer. Once you're finished, you have an impressive portfolio and it isn't long before you're hired by a trendy publication which targets 20-somethings with disposable income.
Your job isn't boring, at least not at first. One week you're doing a travel feature in Pamplona during the running of the bulls, the next you're shooting artsy pics of the latest in high definition t.v. in Tokyo. Along the way you meet a variety of interesting people, but most of them see you as hired help, even if you get the invites to the trendy parties where the elite create fodder for scandal sheets--stories your magazine would never stoop to publish.
You are careful with your money, and although you save as much as you are able, you still can't quite cobble together the startup cash to get your own publication of the ground. You're too young for any of the established publications to consider hiring you, at least without more suitable experience garnishing your resume, so you escape the frustration of your situation by sharing the various illicit mind-altering delights available at the gatherings you attend.
It's a downhill spiral, but before you become a pathetic shell, you encounter the semi-attractive daughter of a magazine publisher who clearly finds you interesting. While she's not of the intellectual caliber of the writers you've met, and she doesn't have the physical qualities of models you've dated, she does have the potential to get you back on the road to realizing your dream.
Her father is a pragmatic man, and he realizes his daughter's happiness hinges on the man she soon calls her fiance, so he promises you a post as assistant editorship of a relatively new and edgy fashion/lifestyle magazine. You aren't surprised, though, when he makes it clear you'll get the job after you get back from your honeymoon. It's a dowry, plain and simple.
You throw yourself into your job, and you're only slightly annoyed at the occasional orders your boss gives you to take a night off and take your wife to a show--clearly he's doing your father-in-law's bidding. Your wife knows better than to demand your attention when she can use her stranglehold over your career to get her way.
Still, the marriage detiorates, and you sense that you'd best be working on your resume--your job is tied to your status as husband and son-in-law. You're eventually summoned to your father-in-law's office one day, where he explains that his daughter still loves you and you had best shape up. You find the intestinal fortitude to stand up to him for once, and when you leave, you also suggest that any attempt to fire you for your shortcomings as a husband will result in an lawsuit that will be at the least, very embarassing for him and his family.
He mutters some threats, but you leave, convinced your job is still safe, and that weekend you move into your own apartment. Your heartbroken bride calls so frequently you change your number and make sure you avoid any social events she might attend. You sense a change in your editor's attitude, at first, but then things seem to gradually return to normal, and you are lulled into a false sense of security.
Your downfall begins, ironically, with what seems like a major kudo for you. PETA is planning a new campaign to have celebrities and models who support their cause pose provocatively in front of uncooperative politicians' offices, often covered by nothing more than a stuffed baby seal toy, or a photo of a mountain gorilla. Normally, they'd go to a bigger publication, but when their P.R. director lets news of the campaign "slip" to you at a cocktail party, you convince him to let your magazine be the means to share their message.
The shoots go well--the P.R. guy insisted that you not only supervise the feature, but also shoot all the photographs. When you get to the last location, though, the model hasn't shown up. You panic and call your office--there's a tight deadline on this and blowing this story will mean irreparably damaging your reputation. Miraculously, though, a model had just stopped by the office on other business, and she is whisked out to your location.
You finish on time and you're pleased with the final product, although it meant a couple of very late nights for your staff to make the deadline. You are allowed two weeks after the magazine hits the stands to bask in your success.
Then it happens. The investigative journalist for a muckraking tabloid who gets a mysterious tip about an underage model in your shoot. It turns out your last model, the one who came fortuitiously to your rescue, is only 14--despite the fact she could pass for 19 anywhere. It's unfortunate that hers was one of the more provocative of the poses, and although it's no more than Janet Jackson showed to millions of football fans, it's enough to violate the recently passed strict laws about child exploitation.
You realize you have been set up, and pull the same maneuvre as Roman Polanski decades earlier--you flee to Europe. France refuses an extradition request, but it's clear that if you set foot on American soil you'll quickly find yourself in prison.
Your wife is cast as wronged spouse of the worst kind of pornographer, and the judge awards her all of your marital assets--not that you brought much to the union anyway.
You go back to photography, and are hired by Paris-Match. You spend the rest of your professional career going from one horrific auto accident to another, where you take graphic photos of charred corpses--a staple of all french newsmagazines.
