5 Minutes of Plame

On Monday, Nov. 7, at the Carpenter Performing Arts Center, Valerie Plame Wilson lectured and signed copies of her new book, Fair Game. I was there as a photographer.

The press was allowed photos only during the first five minutes of her lecture. After that, cameras were to be put away. You could stay and listen to her talk, but God help you if you so much as thought about taking another photo. There were to be no photos during the book signing, no photos in the lobby, no photos anywhere near Valerie Plame Wilson outside of those five minutes.

As I walked through the Carpenter, numerous ushers and attendants told me that I would not be allowed to use the camera slung casually over my shoulder. When I tried to tell one such man that I was fully aware of the rules he tried to call security on me. His co-worker restrained him. “He’s authorized,” she said.

I walked away to the sound of him pleading his case. It’s good to be press. Not sometimes, but always.
In the far corner of the lobby, trays of hot food were set along the wall. This is where the VIPs hang out. I asked the man in charge of hooking and unhooking the velvet rope if he had seen Valerie Plame over here.

“Blonde hair? Great body? Beautiful face? She was here, but she went back inside. You wouldn’t have been able to take her picture, though.”

So, I’ve heard.

I thanked him and head inside the auditorium to wait for the five minutes I’d been promised.

The auditorium was empty. I brought my camera around to take test shots when a pretty blonde woman surrounded by four men with earpieces walked through the opposite doorway. Valerie Plame Wilson was walking toward me, walking toward my camera. I knew the rules and I’d sworn an oath not to break them, but God forgive me, I took the shot. Then I took another and waited for the wrath of the Carpenters to rain on me.

They walked past like I wasn’t even there.

Soon after, the audience filed in. Valerie took the stage and I took my officially sanctioned shots. I left before she was done speaking.

Outside the Carpenter Center, the man who worked the velvet rope was taking a smoke.

“Did you get your pictures?”

I said that I did.

“And does she look as hot in your pictures as she does in person?”

Tags: cia, photographer's rights, spy, Valerie Plame Wilson, very very hot