The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs Read Online Free PDF

creativity; any attempt to infuse a personal touch or an exacting eye was frowned upon. Standard portraits were taken at standard angles at standard distances with standard backgrounds. Every shot was prescribed. That was the essence of the Sears Portrait Studio experience. The actual photography involved could have been done by almost anybody. But Tiffany possessed an innate ability to handle the difficult customer in a way that Caroline did not. The studio was a breeding ground for difficult customers. Henry Parker was one of them. And now he was being kept waiting.
    Henry was the only customer in her twelve years on the job who Caroline could describe as a regular. He was as close to a crazy old cat lady as a fastidious, obsessive-compulsive cat lover in his early forties could get: a little odd, but not exactly certifiable.
    But like a crazy old cat lady, Henry Parker owned cats. A great number of cats. More cats than any human being should ever own. Once a month he arrived promptly at the studio for his standing appointment with an assortment of feline friends.
    Since Henry was relatively benign if handled promptly, Caroline took care of almost all his shoots. She could deal with cats. Actually, she was excellent with cats. Cats and rats and spiders. Anything with more than two legs was her specialty. It was the human beings who caused Caroline the most trouble.
    But now she was keeping Henry waiting. She needed to extract herself from behind these bushes and move.
    When she entered the lobby, Henry was standing at the counter, tapping his foot both dramatically and impatiently.
    â€œHi, Henry.”
    â€œThere you are,” he said, spinning around. “Geez, I could’ve stolen the cash register, and no one would’ve been the wiser.”
    â€œSo you’re a felon now, are you?”
    Henry stared, blank faced. It reminded Caroline a little bit of Polly’s rehearsed indifference.
    â€œSorry,” she continued. “I had to step out for a second. I wasn’t far. Besides, that cash register is heavy. I would’ve caught you.”
    â€œYou’re the only one working today?” he asked, motioning in the direction of Mrs. Arnold, who was sitting beside her daughter’s wheelchair. “I don’t want to be rushed. You know this takes time.”
    â€œI know,” Caroline said. “Tiffany’s coming in. She’s just running late.”
    Henry shook his head disapprovingly. “Not exactly running a tight ship today.”
    â€œShe’ll be here in a minute.” Caroline turned her back to Henry. She knew he was only getting warmed up. “Mrs. Arnold?”
    â€œYes,” she said, rising from her seat. Mrs. Arnold was a tall, dark-skinned woman with large, brown eyes and perfect teeth. She spoke with an accent. Jamaican, maybe? Haitian? Caroline wasn’t sure. “And this is my daughter, Alysha,” she said, motioning to the girl in a wheelchair.
    Alysha was about ten years old and was severely handicapped. Her head and neck were held up in a cushioned support column, and she appeared to have little control over her arms. Cerebral palsy, her mother explained when she had made the appointment. The girl offered Caroline a haphazard wave and uttered something like, “Hello.”
    â€œHi, Alysha. I’m Caroline.” She returned the wave. “Sorry I was late, Mrs. Arnold. I’ll get you in the studio in just a minute.”
    â€œYou’re right on time,” she said. “Don’t worry a bit.”
    â€œWait—you’re taking her first?” Henry asked. “That means I’ll be stuck with Tiffany. No way am I letting her shoot my cats. Do you have any idea what she did to Felonious Monk the last time I let her near my baby?”
    â€œCan you work with me here, Henry? I just need a few minutes, and then I’m all yours.”
    â€œShe yelled at me because he wouldn’t look at the camera.