Page 8 of Not Mine To Love

“Uh, yeah. I’m so, so, so sorry. I just got caught up.”

“Caught up? I don’t pay you to get caught up. I pay you to take pictures and deliver them to me. So how about you do that?”

“Yes,” I stuttered, “Of course, Leona. I’m on it. No problem.”

She hung up abruptly, and I sat back and sighed, avoiding the looks from other onlookers who I was sure still heard part of Leona’s tirade. After all, she had been yelling.

I bit my lip, trying to figure out what to do next when Julius stood up, tucked his comic in his back pocket, and walked over to me.

I didn't know what to say or do, so I just sat there like a deer caught in headlights. My brain told me to run and hide, but my brain was stupid. That was a terrible plan.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I mumbled back.

“Can I sit down?”

“Ummm sure,” I said, looking left and right. I was caught. He caught me. I was only on the job for ten minutes and he already caught me. I was a failure. So stupid. So, so stupi—

“My name’s Julius, and I’m looking for a photographer. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

“My conversation?” I sounded like an idiot and felt like one again.

“The conversation between you and the yelling woman. About photos? You are a photographer, right?” I could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but my brain hadn’t caught up yet. Did he know who I was? What was happening here? Was he trying to hire me? I couldn’t take all the questions. Too much for one day, so I answered the easiest one first.

“Um, yes. Yes, I am. A photographer. Yes.”

He smiled. “Great, I almost felt really stupid for a second.”

I smiled then. “I know the feeling...”

Our eyes held as we sat smiling at each other when I remembered that he was a rascal. I wasn’t supposed to be staring in his eyes. I was supposed to be following him around.

Well, I had blown that, so I had to try something else.

“So you were saying you need a photographer? For what exactly?”

He paused then and seemed to blush. He raked a hand through his hair and laughed as he said, “My wedding, actually.”

“Oh,” I pretended to be surprised. “You’re getting married? How soon? I mean, I need to know if I can fit you in my schedule.” Good save.

“Um … like in a month or two?”

I tried to not sound suspicious as I said as indifferently as possible, “A month or two? You don’t know when you’re getting married?”

“Well, there have been some complications...”

“Uh oh, starting to get cold feet?”

“What? No... I just....”

“You ... just ... what?”

“Nothing. It’s complicated. But like I said, I’m looking for a photographer, and I would love to see your work.”

He reached into his back pocket and took out a card. He handed it to me. “Email me your portfolio, and I’ll take a look.”

Portfolio? Did I even have a portfolio? Only if he wanted a bunch of pictures of cheating spouses getting blowjobs from complete strangers or exes. Jeez, my job made me feel dirty. But wedding photography, now that sounded pleasant. And I could kill two birds with one stone. I could follow him around, earn ten thousand dollars, and build a respectable portfolio. That sounded like a win-win to me. First, I needed to get him to hire me. I was sure he came over to meet me because he felt sorry for me. That was okay. I felt sorry for me too.