Mary McDonald - No good deed

“You look familiar.”

Mark shook his head, at a loss. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall ever meeting you. I did have a photography business a few years ago, but I used a different place to process my photos.”

The manager of the camera and film store shrugged. “Maybe it’ll come to me. So, your application looks impressive, but…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I gotta admit; I’m a little leery of the big break in your work history.”

Mark scratched the back of his neck. He’d known this could be a problem, but didn’t know how to answer. He’d never been convicted of anything, let alone a felony, so he truthfully answered no to that question, but the whole truth was complicated, and he didn’t think he should reveal it. Not if he wanted to be hired. He sighed and met the younger man’s eyes. “I know. I totally understand your reluctance. All I can say is it was a personal issue. It won’t happen again.”

His leg bounced as he waited for the man to make a decision. “Mr. Parker, I’d appreciate if you gave me a chance to prove myself to you. Please.” He didn’t want to sound like he was begging, but when it came down to it, that’s what he was doing. His future rested on the shoulders of a guy ten years younger and with half the experience.

“Gary.”

“Excuse me?” Mark leaned in, his hands resting on the store counter.

“Call me Gary. It feels kinda weird being called Mr. Parker. Makes me feel like I’m your ninth grade English teacher or something. And if you’re gonna be working here…”

Mark’s fingers pressed against the glass, and his leg froze mid-bounce. “You mean I got the job?”

“Yep. You’re hired. You know it doesn’t pay much? Just ten bucks an hour, but if you take up photography again, you can use the equipment to develop your prints.” Gary smiled and stuck out his hand. “Free processing is one of the perks. Not much of one anymore though.”

Mark shook the offered hand. “Why? Sounds good to me.” Right now, everything sounded good. He had a job. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Gary shot a look around the store. “I shouldn’t say this ‘cause it’s probably gonna put us out of business one day, but if I were you, I wouldn’t even bother with film anymore.”

“You think digital is going to be that big? The quality of the prints isn’t nearly as good.” He’d looked into digital a few years ago, but hadn’t liked the fuzziness of the photos. It was fine for family snapshots, but not professional photos.

“I know you’ve been out of photography for a year or so, but haven’t you kept up at all?”

Mark tensed. What if the kid withdrew the job offer? “I’m afraid I haven’t. Tell me what I missed.” He hoped his appeal to Gary’s knowledge would flatter the guy.

Gary grinned and came around the counter. Apparently he liked the role of teacher. He pointed to a row of cameras on display. “My pleasure. These babies are going to be the future of photography.” He picked one up and showed Mark. “All digital. You’re right, it used to be that pictures printed from digital looked bad, but that’s changed.” He tapped a framed photo beside the display. “See how crisp that looks?”

Mark picked up the photo. The colors were bright, the image sharp. “You’re right. This is gorgeous.” He glanced at the camera in Gary’s hands. “One reason I didn’t switch was because I had lots of different lenses. I couldn’t see investing in all new ones just for the digital cameras.”

Gary held up a finger. “Ah, but now they fit. They wised up.”

“No kidding? That’s great.” He set the photo down and picked up another camera on display. It felt good in his hands. Automatically, he raised it and looked through the viewfinder. His finger twitched on the shutter button, and he accidentally snapped a photo. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry.” He set the camera down and stepped back.

Laughing, Gary set the one he held down and grabbed the one Mark had used. “It’s not a big deal. We can just erase it. That’s the beauty of digital. No more expense of paying to process bad shots.”

Mark wiped his hands on his thighs then shoved his hands in his back pockets to keep from touching anything else. “Yeah, I guess that could be a good thing.” It had only been a little over a year, but he felt like so much had changed. Would he ever get caught up with all that he’d missed? “So, when should I start?”

“I’ll take it.”

“I need first and last months’ rent up front.” The landlord held out his hand.

Mark reached for his wallet. That would take almost all of his money. “Can I give you the first month and then give you the rest when I get my first paycheck?”

The landlord folded his arms across his ample chest and scowled. “I don’t run no charity house here, buddy.”

Mark forced a smile. “I realize that, sir. It’s just that I’ll need to eat in the meantime.”

“Try the soup kitchen around the corner.” The man rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign that meant money.

Mark, hands on his hips, surveyed the dingy walls and cracked floor tiles. Roach motels decorated the corners of the studio apartment. A layer of dust covered the windowsill and the glass was so smudged with dirt that the bright sunshine only supplied a dim murkiness to the room. A battered sofa matched with a scratched end table were on one end of the room, an old chest of drawers on the other. The dining area consisted of a rickety table and chairs pushed up against the wall by the kitchen.

The apartment was a shit hole. It galled him that the greasy little guy had the nerve to act like an ass. Mark’s jaw tensed as he tried to check his anger.

“You know what? I just changed my mind. I think I’d be better off sleeping on the streets.” He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and turned for the door.

“You ain’t gonna find nothin’ better if ya can’t afford this.”

Mark lifted his hand and waved it dismissively. Whatever. He was down the steps and had his hand on the door to leave when the landlord came puffing down the stairs.

“Wait. I’ll let ya have it for the first month and only half the second month.”

Mark released the doorknob. “First month’s rent, and I’ll paint the place, clean it up.”

The guy cocked his head, considering. “You buying the paint and supplies?”

“We split the cost, but I get a hundred bucks off the second month’s rent for my labor.” Mark calculated that even with the price of the paint, he’d still be ahead. He didn’t think he could live in the place looking like it did. The ugly, drab little room wasn’t much better than his cell had been and in some ways, worse. At least the cell had been relatively bug-free.

“Fine.”

Mark paid the agreed amount. “I can get started cleaning this afternoon. Is there a broom around?”

The landlord handed him a receipt. “I might have one in the basement. I’ll check.” He reached in his pocket and took out the key. “Here ya go.”

The key warmed Mark’s palm. He took a deep breath, easing it out as he squeezed the piece of metal. He had a home. Not much of one, but he had the key and he could come and go as he pleased. “Thank-you, sir.”

The landlord had surprised him by dropping off not just the broom, but sponges, a bucket and a mop. The rest of the day, and into the night, he scrubbed walls, windows, and floors. Finally exhaustion and hunger brought him to a halt. Scrounging into his meager stocks he came up with a couple of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and a glass of milk, which he ate sitting on the floor so he could survey his progress. The window sparkled, the floor was clean, and the walls weren’t quite so dingy, although they still needed paint. That would have to wait until the next night.