The Call
Jen agitated the developer tray. It was the third time she’d tried to get a decent print from her negatives of the June wedding party. The Junes, Sasha and Gareth, had thrown a stunningly festive wedding feast; no expenses were spared. She’d been really lucky to get the job to do the shoot.
But, now, the prints were really bad—blurred, indistinct—and she had no idea what she’d done wrong.
"It's too damn late to fix it, isn’t it, Jen?" The familiar vinegary scent of the darkroom comforted her, but despite her years of experience, she had no solution.
She ranted, "I did everything by the book. What the hell?"
No worthwhile print of the wedding party on the church’s stairs.
Nothing…
Her mind malfunctioned; she couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t think.
Sasha was a friend of a friend, and she’d been introduced by chance. The girl-woman was lovely, with rippling hair and expressive eyes, full of life and love for Gareth, her chosen.
She’d felt honored in a way she hadn’t since her novice days. Those days when her unsure footing had left massive holes in her income; her ability to survive in a competitive world. Sasha was attuned and aware; she knew exactly what she wanted. Jen eased into the assignment, assured that the directives were explicit.
What could go wrong? But…
Everything was wrong.
No prints.
None.
She hung her head over the developer’s tray; she’d let the print go ‘bad’.
One minute, no more, no less. Then into the stop-bath to cure the image.
But she allowed the print to spoil.
Tears squeezed over her cheek bones. She felt a surge of pain under her ribs.
"You can’t ruin a wedding. It’s just not okay," her voice sent a shudder of movement over the developing solution. The tray vibrated under the low red-eye light.
Her mobile beeped in her pocket. She always kept it well away when she was working in her darkroom; the merest hint of light could ruin a print.
The reminder notification from her phone wouldn’t go away. She fished the cell from her pocket.
‘Send copies of the prints to Sasha for approval.’ The message she’d programmed into her phone
She felt her breath stall. A sense of slow motion overwhelmed her.
She punched Sasha’s number into the keyboard with slow, unsteady fingers.
No answer.
But in a few moments the screen lit up; an incoming…
"You’re the girl with the camera. Right?"
"Yes, but I’ve got something really important to tell you."
The line buzzed; static…
Then the caller’s sharp intake of breath radiated.
"Sasha and Gareth…"
Jen felt the air drain. She felt time, still.
The woman on the line began to sob.