An afternoon's work

Ting-tong rings the bell. As little Amy of 5 years opens the front door, she grimaces (ever seen a girl of 5 grimace?) as she looks at the dutifully dressed man in the all-dark-green velvet suit and the dark-green hat with the dark-green velvet lining and the obese dark brown spectacle frame and with a prudent face and a necessitated-by-politeness smile. He had a tripod stand and a camera as big as the ones belonging to that time.
"I am here to see your mother, little one.", says the dutifully dressed man.
"What's my mother's name?", asks little Amy a little suspiciously.
"Mrs. Dialready it is, i believe, little one.", replies the man, still holding the necessitated-by-politeness smile and speaking as sweetly as is known only of a person strongly inclined to do whatever needs to be done to achieve the objective.
"Why?", says little Amy, almost shouting, fearing this was the 'them' who her mother had told her about. The 'them' who'd take her mother away.
"'Why' you ask, little one? For business, little one, for business. Please tell your mother I am here on business, business of mine, and though she and the readers don't yet understand, very pertinent business for her as well."
Still very suspicious, little Amy calls out to her mother, "mum, there's some mister here who says he wants to meet you for some busyness or sumthing! i can't get what he's saying, mum"
"Bring him in, Amy.", calls out the mother from the drawing room.

Entering the living room (there weren't too many rooms really- just this room that coupled as a bedroom and the kitchen and the bathroom), the man removed his hat in curtsy and a look of satisfaction flashed across his face as he looked at the almost broken-down looking woman on the broken-down shabby brown sofa. They had chosen a fit subject for the purpose.

"I am an agent of McSatire & Co., madam Mrs. Dialready.", said the man with his going to hold on to his face throughout this story necessitated-by-politeness smile. Come to think of it, this smile was nothing short of satirical. The man represented his company well.
"And?", asked the woman meekly. This woman had had her share of the bad side of life. Her husband used to beat her. She escaped from him with her daughter only to fall prey to her own demons. Her depression loomed over the house and though she knew it was going to be an act of her own, she told her daughter that one of these days, the 'them' will be here who'd take her mother away. And then she would have to go live with her grandmother.

"We are working on a play titled 'Laugh on the Dead', madam. We are presently researching for our lead character and our make-up artist wants an idea of how we'd like our lead character to look like. And if you don't mind madam, i'd like to take a photograph of yours just as you are right now, right now. The partners at McSatire & Co. will be greatly indebted to you if you allow this service. You will be paid the handsome sum of 250 dollars for your service.", said the man, in a steady, almost tape-recorded, without modulation, single tone voice. As i mentioned before, his smile continues to hold on to his face. 'Hold on' though, is not an exact description. It almost clings on to his face and the face clings on to it like passionate lovers would embrace each other.

An extremely puzzled expression appeared on the woman's face as her even more puzzled daughter watched from the side of the room, her back reclining on the wall, as she very nervously played the fingers of one hand of hers with those of the other, behind her back.

Without waiting for a reply and eager to catch the desperation and despair of the woman along with the questioning look presently on her face, the man swiftly placed his tripod right across the woman in the cramped room. Arranged the camera as big as the ones belonging to that time on to the stand and stood behind the stand focusing it on the picture he and his employers were looking for. Still perplexed from the strange happenings of the afternoon, the woman stayed glued to her position. Reaching under the black cloth at the rear of the camera, the man clicked. Click. A flash. And his work here was done.

Handing over 250 dollars to the woman, he collected his gear and swiftly and confidently moved to the door to leave. Just as he reached the door, however, he turned. And spoke, "You're a disgrace. Dead while still alive. Mrs. Dialready, die already. Or live already."