Page 8 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Are you okay?” the woman pressed.
People seemed to be asking her that question a decent amount today.
Charlotte gathered her resolve, unzipped her camera bag, tossed in the heel, then removed her portfolio. It was showtime!
“I’m fine and so grateful to speak with you.” She checked her watch. “I’m sorry I’m late, Professor Tran. I hope you still have a minute to spare for me.”
Please, please, please!
It was hard enough to beg the professor’s assistant to schedule this appointment. And she didn’t want to email her teacher. Professor Tran probably got a boatload of messages a day. She couldn’t risk being forgotten in the mix.
The woman slipped her cell from her purse. “I have a few minutes, Charlotte. My car should be here any moment. I’m headed to Chicago to lecture at the Museum of Contemporary Photography.”
“That’s exciting,” Charlotte replied, wondering if her photography career would ever take her to prominent galleries.
“It’s a quick trip. I’m there for one night. I have to get back to Denver. I recently purchased a building in an up-and-coming part of the city to open a second gallery.” She glanced at her watch. “My assistant told me you had a quick question. Why don’t we chat inside until my car arrives?” the woman offered smoothly, opening the door.
Charlotte nodded, catching her breath as she entered the bright space. What she wouldn’t give to have the poise and confidence of Janine Tran! The woman was a celebrated photographer, gallery owner, and lecturer. Charlotte took in the spacious room. Enlarged photographs dotted the crisp white walls. Immediately, a portrait caught her eye. She studied the composition of a young boy holding a bowl of rice. The child sported a wide grin—a grin that lit up his face. The joy coming from this child stood in stark contrast to the tents and piles of trash burning in the background.
“This print is one of yours, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked, spellbound, as she stared at the engaging image.
Janine Tran came to her side. “It is. I was invited to photograph a refugee camp in Cambodia. It’s a hard life for those children, but we can learn quite a bit from them. They find happiness in difficult times. It’s important to share their stories—the good and the bad.”
“It had to be difficult to witness,” Charlotte commented, but Janine shook her head.
“Our job isn’t to judge a situation. Our job as photographers is to allow the story to unfold and find that sentient moment. Yes, it’s important to employ empathy. But we’re after the truth—whatever that truth may be.”
And this is why Janine Tran wastheJanine Tran.
Charlotte nodded, unable to look away from the boy. When you engaged with a Janine Tran photograph, it was as if the layers of the moment had peeled back, exposing the very essence of her subject.
“Are you freelancing?” Professor Tran asked.
Charlotte studied the floor. “Something like that. I’m assisting a photographer.”
“And how are you finding the experience? Are you able to hone your craft?” the woman continued.
Honing her craft?
The one hundred percent honest answer—a big fat no! But she couldn’t admit that. She had to spin it.
Her current position didn’t afford her an opportunity to use an actual camera—yet.
She worked for the photographer Sutton Bryan. The guy’s real name was Bryan Sutton, but he made her call him Sutton Bryan. Not Bryan. Not Sutton. Sutton Bryan. The four-syllables grated in her brain just picturing the man. She’d been with him for almost a year. Every time she’d broached the subject of taking on more photographer duties, he’d tell her it was only a matter of time—that she was working her way up.
That line was starting to ring hollow.
She met Professor Tran’s expectant gaze. “My duties are slightly non-traditional. But yes, I’m assisting at events several times a week. In fact,” she peered at her watch, “we’ve got an event coming up in…”
In thirty minutes!
Crap! She’d have to change her clothes in her car again.
“You were saying you have an event,” Janine prompted.
Gah! She could not zone out.
“Sorry, we’re shooting a private event at the Crystal Creek Country Club—a party,” she finished, praying Professor Tran wouldn’t ask what type of party.
