"In just over a week," Mr. Pirelli announced, "there is going to be a very important person come here to be photographed. The best pictures from the shoot will appear in an article in the Times. This person is quite an illustrious individual, a gifted musician."
I didn't think much at first. Musicians came to get portraits all of the time. Usually just local acts trying to make a name for themselves. But the boss said it was a very important person...
"Who is it?" my various co-workers asked, following with multiple guesses.
"Would you believe it's John Lennon?" my boss replied. I felt a sort of rush through my mind, waiting for him to say more. "I've decided to give the assingment to Matthew Olsen."
Obviously. Matthew was one of the studio's foremost photographers when it came to tasks like this. I was happy for him, I really was. He was one of the more benevolant employees at Snapshots. A man in his late 20s with fair hair and stubble and thick-rimmed glasses a la Buddy Holly, Matthew was agreeable and skilled. Part of me aspired to be like him.
"Thank you, Sir," the man responded politely and boldly, like a knight accepting a quest from a king. "I shall execute this task to the best of my abilities."
The boss' mouth curled upwards. "Very well," he quipped. "I am eager to see how it works out."
The meeting drew to a close shortly thereafter, and I returned to my office, my little enclosure. When that day of work ended, I lived the next several days in repeat as I always had: the same routine every day, work and the comfortable hours of rest. Then, Tuesday the 15th came.
I couldn't believe that John Lennon was visiting my workplace tomorrow. Maybe I'd catch a glimpse of him, if nothing else. This hope filled my mind as I smiled while checking in, to Ernst's dismay. That moment, reality didn't set in and tell me that I was still just me and had only a slim chance of actually talking to Lennon. I was only glad to dream whilst spiting the grumpy secretary.
When I heard a loud, firm knock that morning, I expected the door to swing open and Kendra Stewart to be there on the other side. But the door didn't open. "Come in", I called.
I should have known that it would be Mr. Pirelli. He strutted to my desk, clearing his throat.
"Good day, boss," I half-sung, trying to conceal my nerves.
"A lovely day to you, Miss Ruben. I'm here to talk to you about something... hugely important." His eyes didn't move from their gaze. "I... I received a call from Mr. Olsen this morning, and unfortunately, he has come down with influenza."
Why would he be telling this to me? I hadn't even noticed that Matthew was gone. "Oh. That's sad," I responded. "Is he okay?"
"He's rather weak, and he's got a fever of 101 as well. Which is why he is unable to work today, tomorrow, or the rest of the week. Which leads me to my news," Pirelli spoke.
"Which is?" I was getting impatient.
"Miriam Ruben, you will have to take on the Lennon shoot."
I didn't know what to do. My body tensed up, like I was a rocket about to shoot to the moon. Why would he pick me? But if this was real life and not a fantasy, he had picked me.
He continued. "This is very momentous publicity for Snapshots. To have a photographer from here photograph a celebrity as important... it's paramount. Up until now, I know you haven't done anything like this, but I trust you. I believe in you, Miss." The great Giorgio Pirelli smiled for once, the first one in a few days. "But it is not easy. Can you handle it?"
My heart told me yes. This was what I'd imagined for so long. I usually stopped to rationalize, but I quickly found that my head agreed with my heart's instincts. This was what I truly wanted to do.
"Just let me know what I have to do and I'll do it," I declared. "Damn right I'll do it."
أنت تقرأ
We All Shine On
قصص الهواةTrying to make it as a photographer is not easy, as Miriam Ruben, age 23, knows. In April 1980, she gets the task of a lifetime: photographing John Lennon. What happens when this willful young woman meets a former Beatle leads to something more than...
