Thread: A Photographer's Dilemma (Traveler and I)

The connecting flight had been delayed, then there was a storm in Berlin and another in Greece, and so by the time Scott James Carlton made it to the tiny airport of the small but powerful kingdom he was nearly two hours' late. In his world you could miss the opportunity of a lifetime by being five minutes late, so the delay grated on Scott's nerves and he wrung the napkin in the limo with pent-up frustration. He was counting on this job. It was his first real big break not including a spread in Time-Life that called him out as being the photojournalist to watch. It was a lucky break, but it led to this assignment. For a man who spent the first six years of his life in foster care and worked as a pizza delivery guy to pay for most of college, this was a huge break. He had never even left the States until this trip. He had worn a sleek dark suit with a dark blue silk shirt, the same outfit he had worn to the Pulitzer awards. Of course, he didn't get the prize, but it was an honor to be nominated. Now as he got out of the limo to meet the presumed first member of the royal family he was drenched in seconds. Together they hurried inside, where Scott stood for a moment in the huge foyer, intrigued and dumbfounded by the grandeur of the palace. He barely heard the man who took his coat and ushered him into a large but understated office off to the right of the entry hall. Scott started to apologize for being late but the man began to speak. He nodded, listening, and taking the things he was handed. He hesitated before sitting on the chair - he was soaking wet, but it seemed like the man didn't care. Tobin Claire... butler... check. Wear badge always... check. He frowned at the confidentiality agreement and the phone, including the stipulation that the only two numbers he needed for the time he was going to be there was the butler's and the driver's. As an artist he hated the idea of his work being owned by anyone else... but this job would more than pay off his student loans and it would allow him to freelance for two years if he watched his pennies. Scott unclenched his jaw after reading all the stipulations and then dated it before handing it back to the butler. The fact that he was denied access to the third floor was interesting, but he assumed it was one of those privacy issues. If someone was i the public eye all the time then it made sense that they would want something to be kept for them, and them alone. The other stipulations calling them Sir or Madam instead of first names, for instance, were quirky. Why even bother telling him their names if he wasn't allowed to use them? But then again... the money was good. Scott James cleared his throat when it was his turn to ask questions. He really only had two. Mr. Clair... I do call you Mr. Clair, don't I? Not Sir since you're, hm, not part of the family? Okay, make that more than two. Yes. I have few questions. I like to study my subjects before I photograph them get to know their inner selves. How do I do that without, ah.. 'ogling' them? They know that I'm here to photograph them, right? He felt extremely uncomfortable as he felt the water seeping from his clothes into the heavily embroidered seat of the chair he was in. He ran a hand through his short dark brown hair and turned his grey-blue eyes towards the window. You also mentioned that the only two numbers that I'd need are yours and the driver's. Does that mean that I'm disallowed using my personal phone and computer to keep in touch with the people back home while I'm here? And I suppose I do have one more thing - I don't know how to properly bow to royalty. Would you mind showing me what's expected? He ended his string of questions with a smile that was higher on one side than the other, a personal habit he had when he was mostly laughing at his own strangeness and covering up his nervousness.