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Two days ago I received a call from Holly Van Voast.  It had only been 72 hours since our epoch-defining flash of Bill Cosby.  The dust had barely settled.  The world was still trembling from the aftershocks:  “I have new information,” she said.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Bill Clinton is signing books at the same Barnes and Noble tomorrow”
“That’s a very high value target.”
“It is,” she said, “but I have tickets for an Anderson Cooper taping on the same day.”
“Forget Anderson Cooper,” I said, “Nobody gives a shit about Anderson Cooper.”
“You’re right,” she said, “We should probably go after Clinton.”
“He’s just about the most famous man in the world,” I said.  ”And I’m not sure he’s seen a real live pair of tits since the Lewinsky scandal.  This could be big news.”

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This was going to be a very delicate operation.  The odds were heavily stacked against us.  Ever since Clinton’s scandal-ridden second term, his secret service detail was determined to keep him away from tits.  They were a crack squad.  Experts in tit-avoidance.  We’d have to be stealthy, undercover if necessary.  Holly’s tits would need to remain hidden until the last minute.  I was sure of this.

But when I arrived at Barnes and Noble at 11 AM on Tuesday (zero-hour), I saw this:

“I just decided to be aggressive,” she said.  “Let them try their best to keep him away from my tits.”  I was shattered.  I didn’t like the strategy at all.  Clinton wasn’t due to arrive for another thirty minutes, and Holly had already delivered the payload.  Tourists crowded around her on the sidewalk.  Several secret service agents looked on, whispering into walkie-talkies.  Our cover was blown.  But I tried to make the best of the situation.  I planted myself twenty feet away and readied my camera.  But I knew that Bill was far too slippery for such amateur tactics.  And sure enough, his convoy of Suburbans rolled right past us and rounded the corner, dumping him off near the emergency exit.  Holly and I arrived just in time to see the back of his head disappear inside the building.

“Damn it!” I screamed.  Everyone was staring at us now.   The operation was blown and we were exposed.  I felt the heat of one thousand eyeballs.  A secret service agent glared down at us from a second story window.  Tourists were photographing us from across the street.  A passing old man ogled Holly’s tits.  Even the kids in the Build-a-Bear workshop were watching us.
 

“This is awful,” I said.
“We’ll get him on the way out,” Holly replied.  But I didn’t see much chance of success.  There were too many guards, too many walkie-talkies, and too many barricades.  Even if Holly managed to flash Clinton, the crush of people would probably keep me from getting a decent photograph.
“Well I’m not going to wait around for two hours,” I said.  “I’ll be back.”
“But that’s not how this works!”  Holly seemed very irritated.
“But I don’t want to stand here for two hours, there’s no point.”
“Listen!” She was trembling now.  “This is big game.  Big game doesn’t just fall in your lap.  You’ve got to earn it.  You’ve got to work for it.”  Holly was very angry with me.  Secret service agents were glaring at me.  Everyone on the street was looking and whispering.  This could not be going worse, I thought.  Then I sighed and sat down on the curb.

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Two hours passed with no sign of Clinton.  Holly and I loitered outside the emergency exit.  To pass the time, Holly posed for a couple of pictures next to one of Clinton’s Suburbans.  At one point a photographer from the New York Post approached and asked what we were doing.
“I’m going to flash Bill Clinton,” she said, “and he’s going to photograph it.”  The photographer turned to me:
“If you think his security is going to let you get a picture of that, you’re crazy.”  I was starting to think he was right.
“We already flashed Bill Cosby,” Holly said.
“Yeah,” said the photographer.  “And this ain’t Bill Cosby.”  He’s right, I thought.   This is awful.  I’d been there for three hours.  And this wasn’t going to work.

Then suddenly there was a flurry of activity.  Agents emerged from the Barnes and Noble and began pushing people off the sidewalk.  The crowd was parted into two sections and penned back by metal barricades.  Cops began yelling and pushing: “Everybody back!  This isn’t a joke!  Everybody off the sidewalk!”  I was separated from Holly, but she remained in clear view.

I readied my camera.  Suddenly I felt the crowd push forward.
The doors to the building opened, and everyone screamed.
Then the target walked directly into the line of fire.