Chapter 2 - Becca - Please, No Pictures
Ipull into the venue with only minutes to spare and park in a spot far from the building, leaving the close spots for wedding guests. Helping Alex with her hangover issue this morning has put me a little behind schedule, so I slam the car into park while undoing my seat belt before jumping out and grabbing my equipment from the back seat. I bolt to the entrance weighed down by my equipment, already sweating under the many layers of my suit.
Please don’t let me be late.
This client is a huge opportunity for me. They’re connected with all of Westborough’s high society and if I impress them, I could find myself booked solid for the next year. I will take all the help I can get for my business. I’m barely scraping by as it is. If I don’t book at least four more weddings this year, I’m going to have to get a regular job. Considering it’s already almost September, the odds aren’t good that I’ll reach that goal. But this wedding could be just what I need to get my name out there in a meaningful way.
If I had my way, I’d be back at the apartment nursing my own hangover. I would have much rather stayed out last night and investigated whatever was happening with Johnny. When he winked at me from the stage, it was easy enough to brush it off as typical rock star stage flirting. You know, the shit they do to make the audience feel special. But once we got to Rough Mix, he seemed like he might have some real interest in me. At least for a night, which is all I would have wanted, anyway. It gets too hard to hide myself from guys if they get more than one shot at me.
Too bad I’m here to document the most romantic day of someone else’s life instead of home recovering from what could have been the most sexually adventurous day of mine.
After huffing my way across what feels like ten miles of parking lot, I finally make it to the entrance. I struggle with my bags but eventually get the door open, and standing just inside is Mrs. Carmichael, the mother of the bride.
So nice of you to open the door for me,I say to her in my head.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Carmichael. Lovely day for a wedding. If you’d kindly direct me to your daughter’s dressing room, I can get started on the getting ready pictures.” I was hoping I’d have the chance to wipe my sweaty face before seeing anyone, but this is good, too. The sooner we get started, the faster this day will go by.
Mrs. Carmichael rolls her eyes slightly and somehow manages to look down her nose at me, even though I’m several inches taller than she is. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Morris. We have made alternate arrangements and we will no longer require your services.”
My mouth drops open.
“I’m sorry. What was that? I don’t think I heard you right.” The mother of the bride couldn’t possibly have said what I think she did, could she?
“I think you heard me. A check to return the deposit will be fine.”
Yup. She said it alright. It’s the day of the wedding and they’ve decided to hire another photographer. And they waited until I got here to tell me.
“You realize that you booked me months ago? Paid me a non-refundable deposit?”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous. If we’re not going to be using your services, I don’t see why we should have to pay anything.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am. Thenon-refundabledeposit is to ensure my availability on the date you chose. I turned away several other opportunities to be here for you today. So I’m definitely keeping the money.”
The mother of the bride huffs and stomps her foot. “Well, I never.”
“Have a nice day, ma’am,” I say, picking up my equipment and walking out of the church. I’m not interested in arguing with her any further. This is one of the reasons I have all of my clients sign contracts. Someone always wants to get the deposit back. I get that photographers can be expensive, but they can’t expect me to block off my day for them and get nothing if they change their mind at the last minute. Some people have such overblown senses of entitlement, it’s disgusting.
So much for this wedding opening doors for me. I can almost hear them slamming in my face as I get further from the building.
I trudge back to the far end of the parking lot, the heat of the early afternoon sun turning my tailored suit into a sauna. Once I reach my car and put my equipment bags in the back seat, I take off my suit jacket and loosen the buttons on my blouse. I never let the clients see my tattoos if I can help it. And I damn sure never let them see what the tattoos are covering, ever. As a photographer, I’m there to capture the beauty of the day, not introduce my own monstrousness. I can deal with the odd passerby noticing the ugliness, but when I’m trapped in a room full of strangers, I refuse to give them the opportunity to start asking questions.
My ass starts buzzing, distracting me from my thoughts and letting me know I have a call coming in. I pull out my phone in time to see my mom’s face before the call disconnects. Great, looks like this day is about to go from bad to worse.
Now I really wish I’d taken advantage of what Johnny was offering last night. I probably could have banged him in the bathroom before rushing home to apologize to Alex. She would have understood eventually.
Not that I would actually do that.
I’m strictly a ‘lights off’ kind of girl.
I get in the car and crank up the air conditioning, waiting for the inevitable call back from dear old mom. She doesn’t leave messages, and she doesn’t text. She just hangs up and calls back repeatedly until I answer. I think the record for most phone calls in a row is seventeen. Thank god I had my phone turned off for that series of calls.
As predicted, my phone buzzes again, mom’s face lighting up the screen once more.
“Hi Mom,” I say, forcing as much fake cheer into my voice as I can stand. “How are you?” She never calls unless she wants something, even though it’s usually just to complain about life not going her way. For some reason, she thinks the world is out to get her.
“Oh, Rebecca. I’m so glad I caught you. You’ll never believe what happened to me at the grocery store today. I saw Mrs. Johnson, and she said hello. Can you believe it?”
I rub my temples with one hand. I have enough to worry about today without dealing with my mother and her persistent feelings that someone has wronged her in some way.
