Snap Happy (A Daniel Ricciardo story)

33. The Call

"That's pretty awesome" I couldn't keep the delight out of my voice, or prevent my lips from spreading once more into a toothy smile. For the hundredth time this season I silently thanked my orthodontist and the mouthful of metal he'd inflicted upon me a couple of years before.

Behind Suzi I caught David Coulthard's subtle thumbs up. Clearly he could get away with THOSE trousers on camera, but not any obvious Red Bull bias. I flashed him a grin as the news began to properly sink in.

Third place AHEAD of Sebastian...Fernando...

Suddenly it was beginning to feel like one of the best DNFs of my life.

EM

I didn't get to catch up with Dan after the race - a rare retirement meant that a thorough investigation was required behind closed doors, and I was forced to divert my attention towards the day's winners and headliners before heading back to the hotel alone. And waiting.

The phone rang on the table beside me. An English number, but not a number I recognised. I hesitated, knowing that it was most likely a spam call - double glazing salesman, small claims company...however many numbers I blocked they still managed to get through. But what if it wasn't...what if...

"Emily Taylor" i decided to risk it.

"Emily hi, Dominic Sanders"

Dominic Sanders, the name at the top of the F1 Racing masthead. We'd spoken on a couple of occasions but never actually met.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" I squeaked, doing the maths in my head. It must have been coming up for 10pm back in the UK - too late in the evening for a random courtesy chat at any rate.

"I'll get straight to the point. There are going to be a few changes at the magazine and we need to consider whether we can continue to support two contracted photographers at every event"

"Oh." There wasn't really anything else to say. All my fears, all the things that Darren warned me about were coming true right in front of my eyes, or in this case my ears. "What would you like me to do, what CAN I do?" I forced myself to sound upbeat and positive even though it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Can you come into the office next Thursday, say 3pm?"

"Uhh, sure" whatever it takes I thought to myself, not wanting to sound as desperate as I felt.

"Great, we've obviously seen your work for us, and heard Darren's thoughts, but could you bring an up-to-date portfolio as well, and anything else you want us to consider"

"Sure" I repeated, feeling worryingly like a parrot. I couldn't imagine parrots making very successful photographers either too many feathers and not enough fingers....FOCUS!

"Just one final thing question...can you write?"

Write? Why would I need to write?

My brain rewound to University lesson one. Thirty freaked out Freshers and a fifty year old lecturer who thought he was Danny Zuko (quiff and all).

"If a client asks if you can do something, just say yes and figure it out later..."

It was probably the only sensible thing he'd ever said in three years.

"Yes" I stated confidently.

It wasn't exactly a lie I reasoned. I had obviously been taught to write, probably at around the same sort of time as I was taught to read. Fortunately he hadn't asked for any details of my recent writing experience, which since University had mainly consisted of the occasional email and far too many text messages.