Greg stumbled. ‘Both?’
Dave nodded satisfactorily, ‘You’re too nice for this job anyway. Go and be a shutterbug, or anartistor whatever you want to call it these days.’ He stood up and slapped Greg hard on the back. ‘But whatever you do, don’t get married, take it from me, they’re all leeches.’
‘Erm, thank you,’ Greg said, his head spinning a little at the unexpected ease of it all. ‘I really appreciate that. Of course, goes without saying that I’ll work out any notice if you -’
‘Nah, doesn’t work like that in this business, you know that.’
Greg did but he wanted to make the offer anyway. ‘I’ll clear out my desk right away.’
‘No worries, kid. Have a great life.’
Exactly, Greg thought, turning on his heels, his heart soaring. Hewouldhave a great life, and it was about time he got on with it. After all, like his mother always said, life was too short to spend in a cube.
Half an hour later, he stood in the elevator, holding a brown box that contained the few meagre personal possessions from his cubicle. Still feeling slightly dizzy after what he’d just done, Greg thought about the first time he’d ever used a camera. He was ten at the time, and his parents had gotten him a Kodak for his birthday. He had turned it over and over in his hands, wondering what on earth he was supposed to take pictures of.
‘Just take it with you when we go out,’ his mother had said. She loved to walk around her old neighbourhood, the East Side, pointing out all the changes that had taken place since she was a girl. She would excitedly point out different building to Greg. ‘There, that’s where I went to grammar school. Do you know who else went there? James Cagney, can you believe it?’ and she would sound so amazed that Greg would take out the camera and take a picture of the building.
Later he was glad he did, because many of the buildings from back then had since been torn down and replaced by cheap high-rises. His mother too adored looking at the old photographs, her face lighting up as she recognised various familiar landmarks that no longer existed.
His mother had been raised by Italian immigrants in Alphabet City – just near the East Village in Manhattan; they had worked in an Italian deli ‘every day of every hour of my life, until they both dropped dead’, she would tell Greg. She had only two photos of her childhood. One was a black-and-white shot of her in a bassinet on top of a freezer in the deli, her face a pink smudge, her mother in the photo too, her arm resting on the meat-slicer. The other photo was of her in high school, taken by a professional photographer. She was striking a Grace Kelly-like pose, her head titled slightly, looking past the camera wistfully.
His grandparents’ deli had changed hands many times since and had finally closed in 1990, a victim of poor management by the then-current owners. The modest three-storey building had finally been torn down and a twenty-three-floor high-rise built in its place.
Driving around in Queens last week had energised Greg, given him purpose, made him realise he had made the right decision. He hadn’t truly noticed until after 9/11 how much and how fast the city changed. The bulk of his photography work so far had been on the buildings protected by the Landmarks Preservation Commission; those that were deemed historical and would never be torn down.
But who was to say that his grandparents’ deli, owned and operated from 1936 to 1990, wasn’t a historical building as well? And since those types of buildings weren’t protected, maybe those were the landmarks he should be concentrating on?
Greg felt a jolt of energy like an electric shock shoot through his body and right out of the top of his head. That could be his next project, photographing local, architecturally nondescript buildings that were in fact the lifeblood of the city, but were disappearing all too soon?
Greg smiled.
If this was what loving what you did for a living felt like, then bring it on.
5
Later that afternoon, Greg pushed open the door of his Upper Seventies East Side brownstone feeling like a brand-new man. After leaving the office, he had picked up a coffee and walked almost the entire way from the Financial District back home, stopping to hail a cab only when the wind and the snow started whipping his face violently. He wasn’t usually adverse to winter weather, but there was only so much a cab-loving New Yorker could take.
But now, as he got home, he was eager to get out of his suit, shed his corporate work uniform and get on with the next part of his life. He figured there was no time like the present. So, first things first, he was going to organise all of his camera equipment and start documenting the work that was already on film. If he was going to start a new career, then he was going to have to make sure he stayed on task.
He smiled to himself, feeling giddy with excitement. And just a little bit nervous. He hadn’t told Karen yet about his decision to quit and he felt slightly guilty that he had left her out of the loop. But, then again, she always had stood behind him. He couldn’t imagine it would be any different now. He loved her and she loved him. After all, they had been committed to each other now for almost three years and it was time to start thinking about what came next. He was sure she would be fine with his decision.
He also had the rest of the day to think about how he was going to tell her. After all, it was just past lunchtime and she wouldn’t be home for hours yet. Karen worked at Macy’s, in the advertising department, and Christmas was one of their busiest times.
Greg still couldn’t believe that he’d bitten the bullet and that for him there would be no more working late hours in a cramped office, no more slaving away on Christmas Eve or skipping parties because his boss wanted him at his desk for no good reason. Nope, no more of that. From now on,hewas the boss.
Greg walked inside the foyer of the townhouse and suddenly had a funny feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He slipped off his shoes, trying to be extra-vigilant about not tracking snow across the wooden floors. Karen hated when puddles accumulated on the polished oak; she was convinced that if the wood became warped it would affect the resale value of the house which, for all intents and purposes, was prime real estate.
No arguing with her there, thought Greg, realising where the sudden feeling of worry came from. Admittedly, the place was almost paid off. He had written a cheque for a considerable chunk of the mortgage with his last bonus. But it had been his job that had funded the creation of this beautiful home, from its initial purchase to the remodelling that Karen had helped him with, right down to the littlest details provided by a (very expensive) interior designer. Greg also knew that he was sitting on a nice savings account. And, of course, he had always made sure he funded his retirement account, so he felt perfectly stable. But …
Just might have to be a little more conscious of what we are spending, at least until business takes off, he thought. He put his briefcase down and slid it under a side table in the entryway. It was only then that he noticed that Karen’s handbag was there. Was she home?
‘Karen? Honey?’ he called out.
He heard the click-clack of her stilettos from deep inside the apartment making their way to the front. When Karen emerged into view, he found her resplendent in an Armani suit of deep red that showed off her trim figure. Her light blonde hair was pulled back in an expertly coiffed knot at the nape of her neck that showed off her Swedish cheekbones and flawless complexion. As usual there wasn’t a hair out of place. Her makeup was always perfect and Greg suspected that she had help from the counter girls in the actual store, although Karen never admitted to it. ‘I barely wear any: that’s all you need to know,’ she would playfully chide him.
Greg’s heart sped up as he looked at her. Brains as well as beauty, and she was all his - the whole package. However, the only thing that was missing from that whole package at the moment was a smile.
‘Hey babe, what are you doing home? I didn’t expect you until later,’ he asked smiling. He reached forward to kiss her on the cheek.
