“These are gorgeous,” said Miranda, the photographer Karen had hit it off with the day before. “Very modern, but still unique, you know?”
Karen nodded. “I like this one.” She reached out and touched silver, thinking of Jed. How many times had he been hit by those sharp little arrows, those split second realizations that reminded you of a sickening truth you’d somehow forgotten?
He was strong, though, and she endeavored to be strong too as she glanced back at the lily frame and attempted to appreciate it for what it was, for what her grandmother would have liked about it. She didn’t want to stop thinking about her just because it hurt – truly forgetting her would be the worst tragedy of all, something she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for.
“It’s nice.” Miranda eyed the frame, giving it an appreciative nod. “Think the bride-to-be would like it?”
In the end, Karen decided that yes, Mina would like it. A salesperson carried it to the register, wrapped it carefully and surrendered the bag after a swipe of Karen’s credit card.
Moments later, Karen and Miranda were out the door, on their way to a place Miranda promised Karen she’d love.
Inside one of Miranda’s favorite restaurants near the frame gallery, Karen placed her shopping bag beneath the table.
“So,” Miranda eventually said, smiling over a bowl of soup, “when are you coming back to New York?
“I don’t know,” Karen said, a little wave of surprise rippling over the surface of her mind as she paused with a spoonful of French onion halfway to her mouth. “I don’t have any plans to return right now, why?”
“You want to be a fashion photographer, don’t you? That’s why you entered the contest. Well, it’s not like you’re going to make a name for yourself shooting fashion in Pittsburgh. That’d be like trying to fish in the desert – pointless.”
Karen mulled the analogy over and nodded. The Steel City was full of bridges, not runways. The fashion work was in New York. Everyone knew that.
“So, you’ve got talent,” Miranda continued. “But talented photographers are a dime a dozen. More importantly, you’ve got opportunity – give it a few months, and you’ll have Marc St. Pierre tear sheets. It’s tough to make it in fashion, in New York – but you know that. Point is, play your cards right and you’ll be a fresh – dare I say exciting – new arrival on the fashion scene instead of just another hopeful with a camera.”
“I guess I hadn’t looked at it that way – I hadn’t considered moving here.”
“Why not?”
Karen dipped her spoon back into her bowl, stirring its steaming contents as she bit down on her inner lip.
“Look,” Miranda said, “I grew up in a wide spot in the road in Georgia. I know how daunting the idea of striking out on your own here can be. But Marc St. Pierre – hell, I felt like I’d just discovered the Holy Grail the first time I booked a shoot with them. And it took me a long time to work my way up to landing that job. I spent years sharing an apartment the size of a postage stamp with two other women and eating peanut butter sandwiches most days.”
Karen finally lifted a spoonful of the soup to her mouth. As it slid down her throat, spicy and hot, she tried to imagine living in the city, devoting her life to shooting gazelle-like models in designer clothing – or at least, trying to land jobs where she could do just that.
“What I’m really trying to say is that if you do want to give it a real try here, I can help. You saw my studio – it doesn’t come cheap. I rent it out to other photographers on a fairly regular basis to help recoup the cost. If you move here, we can negotiate a rental agreement so that you’ll have a place to shoot indoors when needed, right off the bat. It wouldn’t be free, but I wouldn’t price-gouge you, either.” She grinned broadly from across the table. “I’d even make sure you don’t get stuck on an all peanut butter diet.”
Karen’s imagination soared at the thought of shooting inside Miranda’s studio on a regular basis. It was no wonder she rented it out – it was a dream facility in the city, with its amazing location, wide-open space, high ceiling and abundant natural lighting provided by huge windows that showcased the Manhattan skyline. And it was stocked with top of the line equipment – stuff that Karen’s own supplies back in Pittsburgh paled in comparison to.
“It’s your decision, obviously,” Miranda said, “and I’ve made my offer, so I won’t pressure you anymore. But I really think you owe it to yourself to make the most of the opportunity you’ve been granted and give New York a try.”