even being paid. I agreed to take on this job photographing recipes for Alicia’s new cookbook, because I thought it might open doors. After all, Alicia does have nearly a million followers on Instagram and her cookbook, based solely on raw vegan recipes that aim to help readers ‘rediscover the fruits of the earth and enjoy an invigorating plant-based diet’, is probably going to be huge. But then, as Gabe reminded me this morning, while I lugged my camera, tripod, lights and screens out of the flat, that’s what I said about my last job when I got paid peanuts for taking wedding photos for an actress who promised me she’d put me in touch with all her friends. She didn’t. It was a similar story with the job before that. I keep hoping that one of these jobs is going to kickstart my career, but it doesn’t seem to be working out like that. I’ve just been lumbering from one rubbish job to the next. I peer down my lens at the salad, adjusting the focus until it’s in perfect definition.
Having taken a dozen or so pictures, I scroll through the images on the back of my camera. They’re okay, but there’s still too much shadow on the left-hand side of this goddamn turnip. I adjust the bowl and take five or six more pictures until I get one I like. I examine the picture. The turnip glistens, its purple to beige skin capturing the light, almost glowing. If a turnip could be described as beautiful, then this is one beautiful turnip. I smile, feeling a twinge of professional pride. And then a second later, I kick myself. A swell of pride over taking a good picture of a frigging turnip?! Oh, come on. The day I start revelling in taking pictures of vegetables for pretentious cookbooks is the day I declare my true photography dreams officially over. I always imagined I’d be some cool portrait photographer, taking pictures of singers, artists, filmmakers and intellectuals, the movers and shakers of my generation, not vegetables! I like to get an intimate rapport with my subjects, getting to know them, so that they don’t just look beautiful and striking in shots, but unmasked too. Like when Mario Testino shot Kate Moss or when Sam Shaw shot Marylin Monroe. They don’t just look stunning in the photographs, they look vulnerable, off-guard and real. But here I am, taking intimate off-guard shots of a turnip instead.
‘Polly!’ Alicia bursts back into the room, looking flustered. ‘I’m so sorry, but I completely forgot about the pumpkin seeds.’ She reaches into a bag of seeds she’s holding and scatters some over the salad.
‘Can you take a few more pics? With seeds.’
‘Okay.’
‘Yeah, it’s just this one, the last and about half a dozen more. I’ll bring them back out from the kitchen,’ she says.
‘Half a dozen more?’ I gawp. I don’t think she has any idea how long it took to capture each salad at just the right angle with just the right focus and light. I have almost two hundred pictures on my camera for those half a dozen salads, and now I need to take them all again, with bloody pumpkin seeds?!
‘Is that okay?’ Alicia asks brightly as she scatters a few more seeds over the turnip.
‘Yes, of course!’ I insist, trying hard to conceal my frustration.
‘Fab! I’ll go and get them
I let out a sigh once she’s left the room. All of my efforts for the past hour have been reduced to nothing because of the stupid pumpkin seeds. I want to go home, but now I’m going to be stuck here, taking more photos of salads. Think of the credit, I tell myself. Having my name in Alicia’s book is going to be great. Surely, I’ll get more jobs. Better jobs. Paid jobs. I pick up my camera and start snapping away.
Alicia starts bringing in the salads, placing them on a table nearby. I take a few more shots of the turnip salad, before swapping it for the bowl of chopped fennel, cucumber, radishes and lettuce that Alicia’s placed on the table.
‘Try to get a shot of that one quickly, the lettuce is going to go limp any second. I can tell.’ Alicia eyes it warily.
‘Will do.’ I position it in front of the lights. Alicia scatters some pumpkin seeds over it and I snap away.
Alicia brings in a few more salads as I try to get the perfect shot.
‘Polly, hun…’ Alicia says.
‘Yep?’
‘We’re just heading to Diabolos,’ she says. Diabolo’s?! Diabolo’s is the coolest restaurant in New York and I can’t believe Alicia’s going there. She’s cool and everything but this is Diabolo’s! It’s the place to be seen. It’s A-list central.
‘Oh, nice!’ I look up from behind my camera, to see her placing two more bowls of salad on the nearby table.
Alicia flaps her hand anxiously towards the salad. ‘Get a good shot. That lettuce is going to turn. Bad batch! Trust me.’
‘Of course, will do.’ I look back down the lens and snap away.
‘So… are you coming?’ Alicia asks.
The salad is in perfect focus and I take a few more pictures, not wanting to ruin the shot. But my ears have pricked up. Am I coming?! Just when I thought I was having a terrible day, it’s about to get a hundred times better! Even though this job has been frustrating and unpaid, Alicia’s making it up to me by taking me out for dinner at Diabolo’s! No wonder her friends haven’t acknowledged me all day. They’ve just been busy preparing the salads, and they probably knew they’d have a chance to get to know me over dinner. Am I coming? Of course I’m coming!
‘I’d love to!’ I pull away from my camera, confident I’ve got the shot I need, a massive grin on my face, only to see Alicia and one of her friends looking back at me, confused.
‘Oh…’ Alicia grimaces. ‘Sorry Polly, I was just talking to Seb.’
Seb, a skinny guy with a mound of dreadlocks piled on top of his head, smiles awkwardly.
‘Of course! Haha, sorry!’ I feel my cheeks burn crimson. How embarrassing. How completely embarrassing.
‘We would invite you, but we booked a table months ago. It’s so hard to get bookings there!’ Alicia rolls her eyes. ‘And you’re coming, aren’t you, Seb?’
‘Well, I was going to, but it’s cool, Polly can go in my place,’ Seb suggests.
Alicia frowns and casts him a sideways look but he just smiles encouragingly. I think he means well, but as if I’m going to be a tag-along like that!
‘No, it’s okay! Sorry, I just overheard you and err, you know…’
‘Don’t worry about it!’ Alicia insists. ‘Look, we have to run, but you’ll be okay here, won’t you?’
I glance over the salads. There are still five left to photograph. ‘You’re leaving now?’
‘Yes! Our table’s booked for lunch and we have to get across town. Don’t want to be late.’
Seb winces, smiling apologetically.
‘Of course not!’
‘So, shall I just let myself out when I’m done?’ I ask.
‘Yes! Martina will clear everything up.’ Alicia glances towards the cleaner, who is busy rearranging some books on the coffee table. She smiles over politely. ‘She’ll let you out. Oh, and feel free to tuck into the salads after you’re done, if you want?’ Alicia
