(End of June)
Kitten
“To the Bride and Groom,” the Best Man called out after finishing his speech.
“To the Bride and Groom!” everyone in the wedding party responded, loudly clinking wine glasses together and laughing. The bride and groom got up and kissed, to more wild laughing and cheering.
I stood off to the side and watched the whole thing unfold, holding a heavy bag filled with camera gear while Michelle moved in for the kill and grabbed some more pictures of the happy couple. Since I started working for her and Ahmed I’ve done almost a dozen weddings in two months. Not only was the ritual becoming familiar, I was starting to get a little bit cynical with the repetition of it all.
I’d been to weddings before, of course. But I didn’t exactly grow up in the wealthiest parts of Saskatchewan. Until recently, most of the wedding I’d attended had been in community halls and the bride and groom were on a tight budget. The richest one had given guests two whole drink tickets, which was considered very brave, quite extravagant, and extraordinarily stupid to give guests a free head start on getting hammered.
Over the last couple of months I’d been to weddings at golf clubs, country clubs, and at least one small mansion. Several had an open bar, which I couldn’t quite process even after Michelle explained it to me weeks ago.
“The bride’s dress often costs more than the bar tab, Kitten,” she said. Michelle was the only person other than Daddy to call me that, and only when no one else was in ear shot. She enjoyed watching me squirm a bit. “Welcome to weddings in Prince Edward County, where they have more money than common sense.”
If I had slipped into a low level disappointment about the whole wedding process, Michelle had a full blown doctorate in wedding skepticism. Only Ahmed remained genuinely upbeat and loved the whole thing. I bounced between the two of them, depending on how complicated the wedding shoot was going to be. I helped drag around gear, getting people organized, providing assistance to the couples, and the dreaded “other duties as required.”
This evening Michelle drew the short straw with the expensive wedding and high maintenance bride. Ahmed had a nice, quiet little wedding on a farm with less than 100 guests. Michelle was annoyed, but they asked for him specifically, so there wasn’t much she could do.
Speaking of the Queen of Cynicism, she was finished shooting at the front table and was marching back towards me. This was our chance to grab a quick bite to eat before they did the first dance. After that, we were free ladies.
She stood next to me and handed me her camera, which I dutifully placed in the right spot in her bag. We headed to the back of the dining room, where there was a table put aside for us to sit down. As we’d both been on our feet for hours, and wearing heels, we didn’t so much sit on the chairs as collapse on them. Shoes were kicked off and I could feel my feet throb.
Daddy had gotten very good at foot massages the last couple of months, which was one more reason to keep him around. Unfortunately, he was in Toronto tonight and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, so I would have to put up with the throbbing.
A waiter came by and put a couple of plates of standard wedding chicken in front of us. Fancy country club or not, weddings tended to stick to chicken, although there was one that had salmon, which was nice, even with Michelle turning up her nose at it.
“Never eat seafood when you’re not near an ocean, Kitten,” she told me. She was a Maritime seafood snob and proud of it.
The waiter asked if we wanted something to drink.
“Beer for me,” Michelle said. “And a Diet Coke for her.”
The waiter leaned in and with a conspiratorial whisper said, “They’re not seriously carding anyone and it’s an open bar. We can get you something stronger if you want.”
I smiled politely. “Diet Coke is fine, thanks.” He nodded and went to fill the order.
Michelle grinned at me.
“Awww, he thinks you’re cute,” she said.
“One in every 10 are allowed to hit on me instead of drooling over you,” I said.
“I think your ratio is higher than that. You underestimate yourself,” she said.
I shrugged. She might be right, but I was only paying enough attention to keep safe. I wasn’t even doing that much during the first weekend on the job. Most of my time was spent with my mouth opened at the amount of money being tossed around. Then Michelle gave me a stern talking to about the rules of wedding photography. They were:
– Always be professional. This was going to be a highly stressful day for a lot of people, who also paid us. Be the least stressful thing they have to deal with.
– Dress professional. Look good, but remember you’re not a guest. *Do not* dress sexy.
– Do Not Flirt. Not with the guests. Not with the groom. Not with the bride.
– Do not get drunk at the wedding.
– Watch your back.
“These weddings are too often filled with people used to getting their own way and now they’re drunk, as an added bonus,” she told me. “Stick by my side, Kitten. Nobody messes with a six foot tall redhead. You’re just a tasty treat to some of these assholes.”
That’s why I was dressed in a navy blue, retro vintage style dress with flowers on it that came down to my knees and had pockets where I could stick things when I needed to. I had on simple kitten heels and put my hair back in a ponytail. The key was apparently to look professional, but not like a guest, but also not like a slob. It was a whole thing. I thought it was a bit boring, but Michelle was right. Between my modest appearance and her slightly terrifying one, I hadn’t had any incidents so far.
Having to worry about my virtue every weekend was not entirely what I had in mind when I signed on to work for Ahmed and Michelle. I learned quickly that Ahmed and Michelle were hustlers; both the good and bad kind. The good kind in that they worked hard and they did a lot of different things to make a living. And they were generous in showing me everything they did. In the last couple of months, my photography skills have gone through the roof. I’d picked up modelling tips from Michelle so my pictures on Instagram were more popular than ever. And, true to his word, Ahmed had sat down with me and showed me how to use a 3D printer and some metalworking. It was great stuff and absolutely useful.
But they weren’t completely honest when they offered me the job. Cosplay work was their sideline. Wedding photography is what paid the bills. I knew they wanted to do less of it, particularly Michelle who was really beginning to hate it. But the cosplay business was something they hoped would develop. Especially if they had a design school student who loved cosplay as an employee so she could make outfits and draw attention to the business. So far, it was slow going and the main business often sucked the oxygen out of the room.
I liked them a lot and they were really charming. But, like I said, hustlers. I was a little annoyed by it, but they were paying me well, I was learning things, and every night I got to go home to my Daddy. There are worse ways to be hustled.
The waiter returned with our drinks and flashed me a smile. Michelle grinned at me as he walked away. I paid no attention to her. She decided to ask me something harder to ignore.
“So when is Ben coming back with his folks?” she asked.
And just like that I could feel a bucket of ice water splash into my stomach. I’d been doing my best to not think about why he wasn’t home this evening to take care of me. He was in Toronto picking up his parents. Tomorrow I’d get to meet them for the first time. Nothing to be terrified of whatsoever.
“He said he’d be back around lunchtime. And Meg is coming up for a few days as well. They love her and wanted her to come up with them,” I said.
“Wow,” Michelle said, and for once there wasn’t a teasing note in her voice. “You ok with all of that?”
“Yeah, actually,” I said, picking at the chicken a bit. I was now a wedding chicken snob because I’d had better. “I have to meet his parents at some point and at least when they’re here I can have the excuse of having to go to work if things get weird. Plus, it’s only for a few days and then they’re off to Montreal to see some friends. And Meg has been surprisingly awesome the last couple of months.”
“I thought she was a stuck-up bitch?” Michelle said, taking a sip from her beer.
“I think we just got off on the wrong foot. I mean, she’s a bitch, just like you’re a bitch,” I said. Michelle just shrugged her shoulders like I told her it was warm today. “But she’s really smart, driven and I think basically a decent person when she lets herself be one. She’s warmed up to me and I like her now. She’s more…. relaxed. I mean, she’s been giving me tips about what to expect from Ben’s parents.”
Michelle laughed. “What are they, serial killers?”
“What they are is in their mid-70s, with a kind of weird dynamic that Ben has never been able to explain to me. His dad is very proper, and is a semi-retired lawyer. She was the typical stay-at-home mom with all these charities and groups she worked with later to keep busy. Meg described her as a sweetheart, but scatterbrained and a little too used to getting her own way. And that his dad intimidates everyone except his wife,” I said.
I shook my head. “I dunno. Their fridge is probably older than me. It’s going to be a weird couple of days.”
Michelle laughed. “Well, if it gets too much, text me and I’ll have a sudden cosplay emergency that only you can deal with.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. I then glanced over to see the bride and groom were in the middle of a somewhat intense conversation. Wedding days, I was learning, rarely brought out the best in couples, but you didn’t normally see them get quite this intense in front of everyone.
Michelle spotted it too and shook her head.