Patricia Gaffney Read Online Free Page B

move when she shakes her head. “I must tell you, Dash,” she says, and my name sounds sillier than usual in her society-lady voice, “this was by way of a test. If these pictures were good, I planned to have you photograph my very favorite grandchild for her birthday in April. But. Frankly.”
    The twins pretend not to hear, but they do, they must. I happen to catch sight of Greta hovering behind the soft box. She’s wincing, her teeth bared in sympathy for these poor children. Right then, we’re a team.
    We try again with the chessboard. I act goofy, say something to make the twins giggle. “Don’t grin!” Mrs. Thorpe orders. “Kevin! We discussed this!”
    I must not have heard right. “Did you say, ‘Don’t grin’?”
    She looks at me coldly. “They’ve just lost their front teeth, both of them. Of course they mustn’t grin. Toothlessness is not cute. Smile, yes, with lips closed, but I don’t want bare gums in these photographs.”
    That’s when I banish her. It’s never easy, but sometimes it’s necessary, and with Mrs. Thorpe it’s essential. Her son is a congressman—she told me that early on to impress me, intimidate me, who knows. It’s true, I want more clients like her—who wouldn’t? I’m a low-volume high-dollar photographer, and they can afford my premium fees—but I can’t let her stay. I use fake confidentiality, trying to disarm her. “They’re high-strung,” I say, guiding her casually into the lounge, holding onto her furry arm. “Such bright boys, so intelligent, and this is, really, let’s face it, an artificial environment. Forgive me, but when you’re here, their anchor , their compass , they can’t—naturally!—focus on anything else. I never do this, I hardly ever do this, because it’s necessary only in the most special circumstances, really extraordinary children and their families—but Mrs. Thorpe, I really must insist, and I know you understand—you must go.”
    She does! It’s amazing! She doesn’t just take a seat in the lounge, either—she leaves , exactly what I was hoping for but not expecting. “I’ll be back in one hour.” She points a finger at me, as if this is her idea. Up close, her face is puffy around the eyes; she looks more frazzled than formidable. She’s glad to get out of here, I realize; small children make her crazy—they probably always have—and her only defense is becoming a shrew. “See you later,” we say to each other with mutual relief.
    “Okay!” I shout, clapping my hands. I’ll turn cartwheels to change the mood in this place. “Let’s have some fun!” I don’t have long to get the twins out of the funk they’re in and up onto the Happy Plateau, and they’ll only last about thirty minutes, max, once they’re up there. Time’s a-wastin’.
    The only thing that’s piqued either one’s interest so far is the camera, my brand-new Canon. They want to play with it; I’ve had to shoo them away from it twice already. It gives me an idea.
    “You know what, I’m tired of taking pictures of you guys. I don’t suppose you’d like to take some for me for a change?”
    They look at me with suspicion. Eugene glances at Kevin, who’s the leader. “You mean like Polaroid or thomething?” Kevin asks.
    “Yeah, like Polaroid.” Good idea.
    “We’ve done that before.” Eugene squirms in the three-piece suit Grandma dressed him in. “Our dad leths uth blow on the picture.”
    “Tho it’ll come out fathter,” Kevin explains. They have identical snub noses and stick-out ears. Fabulous-looking kids. They have identical toothless gums, too, and by God, I’m going to photograph them.
    “Oh, wow. Well, hey, if you can do that, you can take pictures, too.”
    I don’t use Polaroid as much as I used to when formatting shots, not since digital, but I’ve still got unrefrigerated film somewhere and a very old Nikon with an NPC Proback. The twins hover around me when I crouch down and explain how it works. It’s