“No, it’s fine. I guess I’m not hungry right now.”
“I’ll wrap it up and put it in the fridge for you.”
“Thanks.”
Lawrence smiles. “I’ll bring them in when you’re ready.” He busies himself taking my sandwich away and hurrying from the room.
With one more look at Larson on my screen, I get to my feet and check all gear. Generally, I have three cameras because sometimes I like the older models for their vintage captures. Yes, I said it. The very first digital cameras were certainly lacking when compared to the technical advancements available today, but they also had a few settings and features that I can’t replicate quite so easily.
I’m finishing washing my last lens when Lawrence returns. “You can bring them in. Thanks.”
He gives me a curt nod before leaving the room. One of my favorite things about Lawrence—besides his ability to payattention and succeed at little details—is his charm. He’s able to charm even the grumpiest of people. It’s a talent he turns on only when necessary.
I can hear his tone as he brings in the next person, and I know that they’re grumpy. That’s Lawrence’s sweet, southern drawl, where he silently tells them off with a sugarybless your sweet soul, darlin’when they’ve truly pissed him off.
It’s one of my favorite things about him.
“Very good, darlin’,” Lawrence says. “As you can see on the wall, you can be anything you want to be today. You’re going to look stunning since you’re already simply sweet as a pumpkin pie.”
The man’s eyes move across the wall. I don’t know whether it’s Lawrence or the wide collection of props to choose from, but whatever tension the man had been holding onto begins to slip away. He nods, almost absently.
“This is the photographer, Dylan. Dylan, this is Prince.”
No wonder he’s grumpy. Going through life with Prince for a name meant he was likely the butt of endless jokes and ribbing. Parents can be so damn clueless.
“Hello, Prince,” I greet. “Do you have an idea of what you’d like to do today?”
Prince chews his lip, his eyes flickering to Lawrence.
“This sweet pumpkin pie was scheduled by his partner with very specific instructions.” Lawrence produces a list and meets my eyes. “However, I’m not sure Prince is comfortable with a good two-thirds of these descriptions.”
Prince’s cheeks are red as he shakes his head.
“Ah. Unfortunately for your partner, they’re not the one being photographed. So they have no say. I’ll happily write you a note and tell them that these are against our company policy. I’m sure we can have Kyanne whip something up that looks official.”It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve rescued an uncomfortable participant.
Prince’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks.”
“How about if you come with me, and Lawrence will take your list back to Kyanne to take care of while we choose together what you’re comfortable with, hm?”
He nods. “I appreciate that. He means well, but…” Prince looks down at himself. “I’m just not… comfortable.”
And thus, his discomfort was making him defensive. I don’t blame him. So much of what we do requires our clients to show us their most vulnerable sides. If he’s already a bit self-conscious, it’s kind of shitty to try to force him into having all those insecurities immortalized in photos.
No relationship lasts forever, and some photos you’re embarrassed about can be a very big source of contention in a breakup.
Briefly, my mind wanders to Larson and Tomy, wondering what’ll happen to the photos I took when they break up.
Nope. Not thinking about them. I’m not even going to put out that negative energy into the air. You don’t wish a happy couple apart for selfish reasons. That’s what makes karma stick your perfect man right in front of you and tell you not to touch him.
Prince gets more comfortable and more risqué as the photoshoot progresses. He’s having fun, which is always my goal when I’m taking pictures. I want them to have fun. If they’re having fun and enjoying themselves, the pictures turn out better.
To put his mind at ease, I give him a glimpse of several pictures before he leaves. I’m grinning proudly when he looks at one with awe and asks, “That’s really me?”
It was a raw photo. Not doctored in the least. He’s stretched out on the bed with only a sheet covering his crotch, and while the pose looks natural, Prince is stretched in such a way that it masks the parts he’s most insecure about. In addition, he’s notactually naked. When I explained how we trick the camera into creating art that tricks the viewer without him actually taking his clothes off, it lifted twenty pounds from his shoulders.
“Happy client,” Lawrence reports. “Made even happier when Kyanne handed him an official-looking terms of service form with his list, on which she’s marked off why several were not allowed. Yet, I think his partner is going to be excited when they get the photos back.”
“I think Prince will love them just as much,” I say, taking the memory card out and sticking it into the viewer screen to have a quick peek at them. “Look at his first and his last.” I put them on the screen side-by-side. “Look at how much happier he looks.”
