Page 6 of Familiar Things New

Laughter bubbled out of the man, and Andrew found himself smiling a little in return.

“I like you, Mr. Thompson,” the man said.

“Andrew,” Andrew corrected.

Ever since being forced to leave home, Andrew firmly preferred that people call him by his first name, regardless of etiquette. He only mildly tolerated “Thompson” as part of the name of his studio.

“Good to meet you, Andrew. I’m William Whitney.”

It took a second for the significance of the man’s name to register. Once it did, Andrew’s mouth fell agape.

“Whitney?!” Andrew repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “Whitney like the Whitneys who live up on—”

“Ten Broeck and Wilson, yes,” Mr. Whitney said, still chuckling a bit.

“Oh, wow! It’s . . . Oh, it’s a real pleasure, Mr. Whitney.”

“You can call me William,” Mr. Whitney said.

Andrew’s eyes bulged. “I could never.”

“You could never call me by my name?” Mr. Whitney jested with a light laugh and an amused shake of his head.

Andrew cringed. “Sorry. Of course I can. Sorry. Again. Well, Mr. . . . William, I better—”

“Do you only photograph people inside your studio, Andrew? Or do you visit people’s businesses and homes on occasion as well?”

“No. I mean, mostly yes, I only photograph people inside my little studio. But I have traveled for portraits in the past. I had a wagon once. But then one of the wheels fell off. And then the, uhm, the brake lever broke. Bad luck, maybe.” Andrew huffed a light laugh. “Or maybe not bad luck, exactly, since everything seems to fall apart in my presence eventually.”

“Ah, so, more like permanent bad luck, then,” William said.

“Something like that, yes,” Andrew said sheepishly.

“Well, I’d love to repay you for those flyers I ruined. It might be nice to sit for a couple of portraits. I’ve been considering giving one to a friend. And, now that I’m thinking about it, my parents have been wanting some more portraits of the family as well. I’d be happy to hire you for it. If you’re willing to come by the estate, that is.”

Andrew held up his hand. “Oh, that’s not necessary. After all, I was the one who bumped into you. Besides, the flyers only cost me a couple of cents each to print. It wouldn’t be a fair trade.”

Shaking his head some more, William let out a sigh-chuckle, another amused smile pulling at his lips.

“Andrew, may I offer you some advice?” he asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“If someone is trying to pay you for your services, it’s best not to try to talk them out of it.”

Heat rushed to Andrew’s cheeks. “Oh. Yes. Yes, that’s . . . sensible.”

Still smiling, William cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think you’d be able to come by this weekend, then?”

Andrew had no idea how he’d get there. But he’d have to figure it out.

“I’d be happy to,” Andrew replied.

“Saturday? One o’clock?”

Andrew could hardly believe this was happening. William Whitney really was hiring him. He’d probably make enough money from this one session alone to pay for the entirety of that month’s rent. And if the Whitneys liked him enough, perhaps they’d even recommend Thompson’s Photography Studio to other people in their social circles. Given enough time and enough photography sessions, Andrew could save up to rent (or even purchase) his own home. He could have a studio there, wherever it was, rather than work out of a boarding house in Albany’s cheapest neighborhood.

How incredible that would be.