The Photographer (Ignazio Boschetto Fanfiction)

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

          As my two weeks of desolation drew to a close and a subtle excitement germinated in my chest in anticipation of the end, it became time for Il Volo to stop in Chile and have the photoshoot for the new Christmas album cover.

          We would be meeting with a well-known Spanish designer who called himself Marc, and he’d have the plans for the cover as well as the boys’ outfits ready. We’d spend the day getting the shots, and Michele would collaborate with the producers, who would be flying in to finalize the work on the album.

          On the day of the shoot, the boys, Barbara, and Michele left for Marc’s office, and I stayed behind in the hotel to update the Il Volo web page. Michele assured me that there’d be a while before they were ready to actually begin the shoot, and I agreed to come at a later time.

          As I sat in the quiet hotel room saving photos to my laptop, I studied the old CD cover and meditated on what angles and positions I would try to capture when I went to Marc’s studio. I wanted the photos to be especially good, as the new cover with my work would represent me as a photographer. But I still regretted that this was the work of mine that most people would see, instead of my landscapes in the pages of a National Geographic magazine.

          I comforted myself with the hope that when the year ended and my contract drew to a close, perhaps National Geographic would want to offer me a job from the photos I’d take along my travels with Il Volo. At this thought, a familiar longing and a panicky reminder that I had skipped photographing a few countries shot through me. I stopped myself from turning to glance out the window, knowing the view would intensify the feeling.

          I desperately tried to return to my listless state, which was easier to bear than the incessant longing. I muffled the desperation as I buried myself in my portraits again, determined to mask it until I was freed from the two weeks and could return occasionally to my landscapes. I was discouraged that the longing had returned, and I tried to bar my mind against the excitement, shutting out the anticipation of good things to come.

          I moved quickly through the portraits in front of me with a determined frustration to focus on Il Volo, and I worked fervently until Michele called.

          “Marc says we’ll be ready in a while to start shooting. Apparently he’s hiding the designs from me because he wants to surprise me, but he told me to bring you over. I’ll leave in a moment and head over to the hotel to pick you up.”

          “No, that’s okay!” I said quickly, wanting to have a bit more time by myself to shut out the longings and tame my agitation before I rejoined any of the Il Volo associates.

          I got up from my laptop and dressed to go, feeling frustrated and irritable as I got my camera and pulled on my red high-tops.

          I went out and asked an English bellhop to help me get a cab that took me to the studio, a huge building bearing the name MARC in enormous bright letters across the entryway. I slung my camera around my shoulder and looked up at the building, raising my eyebrows at what I perceived was its flashy arrogance.

          I shook my head and took a deep breath before going inside and looking around for a hint of where I was supposed to go. Seeing no indicators, I went right up to a desk, ducking under the railing as I approached.

          “I’m supposed to be meeting with Marc,” I told the woman, and waited impatiently as she held up a finger and finished typing. She turned to me and looked me up and down, and I raised an eyebrow and posed a hand on my hip as I waited for her answer.