Beneath the surface 17

Formal night and the Captains COCK -tail.

After setting up the portrait studio in the atrium, by the Captain’s entrance (meaning the entrance where the Captain stood) there was one thing left to do: drum up business. The passengers lined up to meet the Captain while I had to persuade them to have a picture taken by Robert. I glanced through the doors and noticed the Captain was an unfortunate looking man. He was tall and slim with a dazed gaze. No wonder no-one ever bought that picture. What’s more it turned out he hated being photographed for what was once called ‘The Captain’s handshake photograph’ because he felt he was prostituting himself. I might well understand that if he had sex with the grannies but that was not the case. What’s more everyone on board was prostituting themselves, at least he has a massive cabin and hadn’t developed a night trauma over being suffocated by a huge arse. You can’t have it all but of course I had been given the role of photographing the Captain. It turned out no-one else wanted to do it. Thank you.
After ten shots I checked my images, the Captain’s facial expression was contorted, if a fat woman had farted up his nose he might looked slightly better. As it was something far worse must have taken place because it was that bad. Admittedly expressing such disgust over a long period of time was a real talent. It was obvious he wanted to be anywhere but there. Ah… I got it… I had seen method in his madness - if he looked horrific in every picture, the pictures would not sell and he would not have to have his picture taken. Sneaky bugger!
It was amazing how the guests reacted to meeting the Captain. It was as if they had met a film star.
‘They are impressed by his stripes,’ Robert had told me before the shoot.
Stripes or not, the response was amazing. Some guests were elated , ‘Oh CAPTAIN!’ many gushed as though on the verge of orgasm. Some took real pleasure in talking to him, while others patted him on the shoulder. The Captain’s handshake had been put to rest because guest’s were not allowed to shake his hand any more. No physical contact was allowed - the rule was introduced to prevent the spread of GI (Gastro Intestinal) virus. Captains were a potential breeding ground - it took one person with the virus to shake his hand and then everyone he touched would be infected. In such a confined space everyone on board would have the dreaded GI within a few days.
You know how I mentioned cloning before? Well it seemed that every five male guests would say ‘if you’re here then who is driving the ship?’ They would then laugh hysterically as if they were the only person who had ever said that.
Answer. ‘Oh that is why I am here…’ the Captain laughed the same false laugh every time. The guests laughed falsely with him and nobody was any the wiser as to what the Captain actually meant. Maybe that was why the Captain said it and maybe that was why he laughed like a villain.
Thinking back through all the years I worked on ships, my favourite handshake ever was on a Greek ship. The Captain was a fat, slimmy, angry, Greek man who burst out of his white uniform. The ship itself was supposed to be a three star but the truth was if it rated at one I would have been surprised. When they let down the life boat for crew drill it sunk. Admittedly that was ten years ago so it might have improved or the ship may not have any lifeboats left. Anyway one Captain’s handshake was particularly rocky and one of the passengers was extremely excited about meeting the Captain. Unfortunately she felt a little queasy but waited patiently in line. Then when it came to her go, excitement mixed with motion erupted in a series of projectile vomits which decorated all the pictures in the corridor and then eventually graced the Captain’s back!
I had to hide behind the camera to conceal my amusement and accidentally took a number of photographs while she projected onto him.
Woops! I wandered off there, back to the Sparkle handshake and Robert stood next to me just to check that I was photographing correctly.
‘So is there any particular way you want me to frame this image?’ I asked.
‘Look at the Captain’s cock. I want the outer edge in line with that,’ he said.
Busted! The Captain caught me staring at his crutch.
Silence.
Admittedly I was simply trying to work out whether I should align with the top or the bottom of it. There were quite a few inches in between. If the Captain was well endowed that would alter the framing, although, what if he wore uplift pants? The edge of the frame might be his neck. The complexities of penile alignment were beyond me.

Once the Captain was photographed he gave a little speech. It was the same speech every cruise. While he said why the ship was the best in the world Marrissa and I ran down to the portrait studios located outside the restaurant. While we waited we practised how we were going to ‘capture’ the guests for a portrait as they lined up to be seated in the restaurant.
Admittedly I enjoyed photographing portraits, there was something wonderful about capturing the ‘essence of the real person.’ Although if people had plastic surgery what was I going to capture? Anyway I couldn’t think about it. Instead I stood awkwardly holding my camera awaiting my first client. Once you had photographed one guest, and the others had seen you in action, they took you seriously. They just needed to clarify that you were a professional photographer and would then line up for their turn.
On that particular cruise line the guests were incredibly wealthy. Most were millionaires and some billionaires. On average they paid one thousand dollars per day per person. One particular female guest had taken over two hundred cruises, most cruises were between a week and two weeks. Undoubtedly she stayed in a penthouse which cost more than one thousand per day. So imagine how much money she had spent over fifteen years on cruising. That gives and insight into the kind of wealth those guests had.

One of my first clients was an elegant Chinese lady who had emigrated to the U.S in her twenties. She was now in her nineties and carried a gemstone rose purse.
‘Erm, please make the purse the focal point of the photograph. I love this purse,’ she said gently.
While I arranged her a sapphire ring the size of a fifty pence coin, encrusted in diamonds, caught my attention. That ring alone was worth more than a six bedroom house in England. And there it was sparkling on a ninety year old’s finger. Admittedly she was an elegant women with true poise but still… Who needs a ring like that? Actually she was lovely, her behaviour was dignified, humble and polite. I have to say I took an instant like to her, she was so gentle and unassuming. What’s more while I photographed we chatted.
‘So what are you up to tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘Oh… I booked a helicopter flight-seeing tour,’ she said sweetly.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to her.
‘That sounds fun,’ I responded.
‘Oh… erm when I reached ninety I decided to do everything I ever wanted to do. That includes helicopters,’ she said softly.
When I completed her photo-session she patted me on the arm. ‘Thank you for taking your time on me,’ she said with a little bow.
I covered my heart with my hand. She was lovely.
As she made her way to the dinning room one of the waiters extended his arm and escorted her into the restaurant. It seemed she was receiving particular attention and being treated like royalty. Who was she? What was her history?

During that portrait session numerous clients were posed and then photographed. Some were demanding, others were wonderful and some were hilarious. One of the guests told me he was from Horsham. I said that my mother was from there too.
‘I probably dated her,’ he said with a wink. ‘Hang on how old are you? I could be your dad!’
While I photographed I was complimented, ‘you’re not like the other photographers,’ a few had said.
It was then I told quite a few my photographic secret and they appeared pleased. People who chose to cruise in luxury preferred to be photographed by someone with accolades. Quite often on ships crew moved departments and were taught to press a button on the camera. They were not qualified photographers, they just took pictures. Admittedly my ego was fighting for attention, but the truth was I felt crap. I realise now I was clambering for a respect that had been annihilated the moment I had stepped on board. I felt like I had been mislead and my ego was searching for ways to take back power. I am human and I admit it.
What’s more Ken had told me to tell as many guests as possible, it was his way of getting them to buy more. It was my way to make myself feel better. Even if he was an arse he was a business man. Wealthy guests wanted to be photographed by the best, that was the only way to gain respect. I was working in a photographic factory and the only thing I could cling to was a bit of paper saying I was a good photographer. How pathetic was that?

So far that evening I had photographed the Captain’s handshake, Marrissa had photographed couples and groups in the lounge. In the meantime Robert and Jose photographed their first set of portraits. Once the handshake was over Marrissa and I joined Robert and Jose for the second set of portraits. Then it was time for what every photographer dreaded: Ressy. We had to go and photograph everyone sitting at their dinning tables in the restaurant. Admittedly that was the worst job in photography, imagine walking up to tables while people were eating and asking them to stop eating while you photograph them. What’s more you were expected to milk the opportunity and photograph both the couple and individual images. There is a very specific technique involved where you do not give the guests the choice. It isn’t easy, the approach is invasive and honestly… I hated it. All it took was for one person to say no and the whole table was over. If the neighbouring table heard a rejection they tended to follow suit and then rejection spread like a prostitute’s legs. If that happened at the beginning of a cruise you’d had it. Personally I found that kind of photography a chore. Yet, and who knows why, the guests always purchased those images.

After putting on my best act and photographing nearly all fifty of my section’s tables, I emerged from the restaurant. I was exhausted. We had twenty minutes to eat some food before the whole thing was repeated with the second sitting. Another five hundred people to photograph. Talk about sweat photographic blood!
At the end of the night I could barely walk. My formal outfit required high-heeled shoes - for the last hour I perfected limping on both feet. It was hardly elegant but necessary. I had forgotten what formal was really like - amazingly I had survived. What’s more I had met some really wonderful guests.
At around one o’clock in the morning Marrissa and I had to deliver all the photographs that the guests had ordered. The corridors were vast, elaborately decorated and smelt of old people farts. I understood that they ate very rich meals but that stench violated the nostrils - it was inhumane! By two in the morning we were finished. I glanced at Marrissa and she shook her head.
‘Not very nice!’ she said sadly.