Now this wasn’t a new idea, and I sure as hell wasn’t a revolutionary mofo like Alexander Miles creating some new automated door design that would change elevators and by extension the world. Naw, I was a realist. Set out to make a buck, and now shifting my energy to that of my community. Don’t get it twisted, though, because I was also not the type of man to underestimate.

  I got my first job when I was ten. Made my first thousand when I was sixteen selling T-shirts I’d hustled to create. Hit ten-thousand dollars in college, where I learned—mainly outside of the classroom—that the difference between success and failure was your mindset. As long as the lessons I learned every time I failed equated to a larger gain the next time, then ultimately every failure was just a part of my success.

  Joining an investment firm before I even graduated, and then moving to a venture capitalist enterprise once my bachelor’s was secure, had to have been my best financial decision. Those moves got me through the door, and it’s from inside of the game that I discovered the entirety of Black equity could use some serious assistance. We may be doctors, lawyers, investors, venture capitalists, and millionaires, but we were not Black Wall Street, making and spending money solely in our own communities focused on raising our gains. And where there’s a hole in the market, that’s exactly where I, Titan Stone, could always be found.

  “Man, did you hear me?” Porter yelled through my phone.

  “Damn, what?” My eardrums were still ringing as I switched my phone to speaker mode, dropping it on the kitchen counter. “You know I got a lot on my mind these days.”

  “When do you not? I mean, do you even have time to get any recently?” I could picture the dumbfounded expression on his face as though he were standing right in front of me instead of hundreds of miles away.

  Pulling some whiskey out of the fridge, I ignored his rhetorical questions. Truth was, I was way too busy for even a casual booty call lately. Between my responsibilities for the Mr. Black Organization, my career, and my side hustles, my time was extended beyond capacity. Refusing to fail at any of it was the only option, meaning everything else would have to wait.

  “I’m sorry, do you still know what gettin’ some means?” he joked. “It’s sex. S.E.X.”

  “Poe, I dare you to try me one more time and continue spewing your ridiculous shit,” I warned.

  He cleared his voice, the remainder of his words switching to his business tone. “My bad, Tye. As the newly appointed Mr. Black Chicago, I got nothing but respect for my elders,” he boasted. “So, genuinely, how’s the planning coming?”

  Porter was only five years younger than me, and truly the little brother I never asked for. We’d been through a lot together over the years, making him one of only a handful of people who I’d allow to speak off the wall to me.

  “It’s coming,” I replied before taking a swig of my drink. “I’ve got tons of big plans for Dallas, and this Juneteenth event is about to be the principal launch for all of it. Not only am I overseeing the plans for a week-long event in five different Dallas neighborhoods leading up to Juneteenth, but the final day’s festival in the newly extended Fabrication Yard is set to rewrite the standards.”

  “Dallas is a nice city and all, but you know nothing compares to the Chi. Won’t matter what you do, bro, my event will easily trump yours.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” I chuckled. Porter was always a cocky asshole. A trait I tended to admire when he wasn’t annoying the hell out of me. I wasn’t worried though. He was a new buck out here and I was excited for him. Besides, every Mr. Black Juneteenth event becoming a staple in their city was ultimately a win for me as well.

  “Anyway, I’m set on most items, but as I was telling you last week, I still haven’t found a replacement photographer after my last one dropped out. Met with a few, but don’t think they’re the right fit.” I took another sip, entering through the large door on my home office. “However, with the photographer being an integral part I need for my next steps, I can’t afford to continue to be quite so selective.”

  “Glad to hear it. Because I hired an event photographer for you.”

  I nearly choked up the liquor I’d just swallowed as Porter’s words made their way to my ears.

  “This better be another one of your jokes.” My voice remained steady, as it usually did. Although, I could feel my shoulders growing more tense as Porter continued to speak.

  “Just hear me out,” he said slowly. “Her name is Solange Raven and she’s an incredibly skilled event photographer from up here. She moved to Dallas a couple years ago, but travels a lot for work, and that’s probably why you haven’t already connected with her in your search for a replacement. She just covered an event for me six months ago, and SoSo is seriously the best there is out there.”

  “Who the fuck is SoSo?” I could feel my voice raise an octave. Something that rarely happened, even if it was far below what anyone else would deem as angry.

  “Man, I just told you.” He slowed down his words even more, pronouncing every syllable. “Solange Raven, your new photographer.”

  My jaw clenched before I could find the words.

  “Let me get this straight …” I humorlessly laughed, placing the phone back on my ear. “You not only found a photographer whose work I’ve never seen and who sounds like one of your side pieces and not a legit professional, but you also hired her for my event without me doing so much as a phone interview?”

  “Yep, but I knew you’d want to meet her, so I handled setting that shit up, too,” he replied lightheartedly as if that were doing me a favor.

  I knew with his last name being Crowne, Porter would step out of place one day. Coming from a powerful family had too many of these young cats thinking they ran shit. But I’ll admit, this wasn’t something I’d seen coming, and he was fucking with me more than anyone had dared to in over a decade.

  “Listen, little Crowne, call up your SoSo, cancel whatever the hell you promised her, and as my gift to you, you might just live through our next in-person meetup.”

  “See there you go again, acting old,” he said in between what sounded like chewing. “Y’all generation be so dramatic sometimes.”

  “We from the same generation, nigga!”

  He snorted like he always did when I reminded him of that. “Anyways, I gotta run, Tye. Solange will be arriving at your place any minute now. Keep me appraised of how it turns out.”

  “Did you just say you gave this girl my home address?” All his other condescending words fell on deaf ears the second he uttered your place.

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. Like I said, she’s a real one.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Oh, and they like to be called woman, Tye, not girls. Peace out.”

  Porter hung up the phone before I could get another word out.

  “No this mothafucka didn’t,” I mumbled to myself. He was always bold, but this was a new level. Not only had he stepped all the way out of bounds, but he also hadn’t provided me with any of her information for me to cancel, and this dude said she’d be here any minute. What the hell time is that?

  My question was quickly answered as my doorbell sung out. I’d have the thirty steps it’d take me to reach my front door to regain my composure after the ridiculous bomb that Porter just dropped. I didn’t care who the hell this woman was, this was not how I did business. Sure, it was more Porter’s fault than whoever’s was at my door, but I’d have to deal with his ass later. First and foremost, would be shutting this agreement down before it went any further.

  two

  “Capturing moments is not about standing still. It’s about letting things go.”

  ~ Solange Raven ~

  SOLANGE

  I used to be the emotional type. Taking every hardship life threw at me as a personal assault of my character. Focused more on what people think than on my own thoughts. Believing that whatever society perceived as acceptable was the true measure. To put it frank, I was a gullible kid. Until life pushed me to either toughen up or fall apart. Simple as that.

  My grandmother would often tell me to have faith in times of adversity. She’d take my sister, Alanna, and I to church every Sunday, where she would teach us kids during Sunday school and our grandfather would preach the sermons. They were the epitome of a strong couple and knew that devotion, although the most important part of your being, wouldn’t put food on the table alone. We had to be hardworking, determined, and stand firm in our convictions.

  We were Ravens. Intelligent, clever, and cunning, but like our animal namesakes, the darker sides of our persona seem to overshadow the good to society, making my purpose clear from a young age. I strived to set the balance straight. Show the playful, bright, and majestic side of my raven being ahead of the other parts. In turn, this goal turned into a passion. To find, capture, and depict the different parts of life through my own lens. A fact I’d had to remind myself of multiple times today, since accepting my latest gig.

  Working for members of the Mr. Black Organization was always a good choice in my career. However, this newest opportunity was particularly special given I’d just signed on with a gallery agreeing to showcase a whole new collection. Since my bread and butter was in event photography, and not all my photos were allowed to be publicized, then I needed new inspiration and fast. Making accepting Porter’s offer to photograph the numerous Juneteenth events in Dallas a no-brainer. At least that’s how it should have felt. Yet, in reality, I found myself questioning my decision from the moment I said yes.

  Titan Stone was leading all of the events as Mr. Black Dallas, and although we’d never met, he had a reputation that preceded him. Sure, his financial achievement made him the envy of more than a few men, but his ruthlessness was also well known. Strong and powerful Black men were often feared as much as they were admired.

  I knew I was prepared, as I always tended to be. Getting my work in a gallery and being able to sell my photography for the art that it was, instead of clients paying for my services, was huge. This caused my nerves to stay elevated despite my preparation. With career-shifting impacts on the line, along with the fact that we were meeting at his house, I was irrevocably stressed. I’d met plenty of clients at their homes before, due mainly to the events they were hosting taking place there. However, looking at Titan Stone’s house, which appeared more like a mansion, had my heartbeat quickening with each step along the concrete pathway.

  I wasn’t easily intimated, but the bold entry consisting of five different materials, all in black, was as off-putting for my senses as it was striking to the eyes. Not a single flower or colorful plant graced the impeccably upkept front entryway, further instilling the idea that I, the self-appointed queen of color and brightness, did not belong here.

  Preparing to ring the doorbell, I gave my blue mid-length dress a once over to ensure there were no wrinkles. Despite the house being massive, I figured he’d probably still be near the entry, given the Amazon delivery person I’d seen leaving as I arrived. Therefore, from the moment the bell was rung, in my opinion, the job had officially started. First impressions being everything.

  “Hi, I’m Solange Raven,” I introduced almost robotically as soon as the doors opened. My own voice sounded foreign to my ears.

  His stature consumed the doorway, his broad shoulders and muscular arms all but ripping out of his black buttoned-down shirt. Intense. The only word to accurately describe this moment. The exterior was intense. His build was intense. His aura … Well, you get the picture. Perhaps only a few seconds had passed, maybe less, but my hand shot straight toward him, equally robotic when he failed to share my greetings.

  “Come on in,” he replied coldly, barely grasping my hand before dropping it. “Follow me.”

  His tone and expression caused me to wonder if the eerie feeling I’d sensed outside had come from the house at all or merely the man residing inside of it. As I followed him, my eyes darted around at the décor making up the beautiful, contemporary estate. It had a bachelor vibe with only cool colors protruding from every corner. Blue, grey, and black easily being the most prominent.

  I was no expert at what the many different materials were, or whether the geometric shapes on the walls were painted or some fancy wallpaper. However, what I did know was lighting, and the interior designer had clearly taken the time to meticulously place each light. The mood of the design and wall art, perfectly aligning with illumination, highlighted each piece perfectly.

  “Please, take off your heels and leave them here,” he stated, entering through a grand door into what appeared to be his office. “Too damn loud.”

  He’d muttered the second part so softly; I doubt it was meant for my ears. I knew he was referring to my shoes that were pretty loud against the tiled entryway and hardwood floors. Regardless, his rude demeanor was quickly turning his reputation into fact. His tone remained unfriendly, through every brief word he spat, in addition to him barely looking at me since I’d arrived.

  “I guess money can’t buy happiness,” I muttered under my breath, removing my pumps.

  Following his next silent gesture, I took a seat in a plush chair in the corner of the office. Clearly, he was a man used to dictating what he wanted. The wordless requests rapidly rubbed me the wrong way.

  In an attempt to distract myself from the continued muteness, I resumed observing his office as I had the spaces we’d passed through. Bookcases lined three of the four walls. The books were set in a meticulous color-coordinating fashion that was noticeably more of a style choice than functional.

  “Alright, let’s get started,” he said, breaking the silence and taking a seat behind his desk which was all the way on the other side of the room. “You come recommended by Porter Crowne. However, since I’ve never heard of you or seen your work, I assume you brought samples?”

  His hand began to raise, and I knew he was gesturing for my portfolio which I’d indeed brought. Unfortunately, his tone, words, and gestures were still fucking problematic, hitting my very last straw.

  Firstly, I wasn’t recommended by Porter, he had already hired me.

  Secondly, unless Titan Stone was some photography connoisseur, which I doubted given there wasn’t a single photograph in any of the rooms I’d seen, then why would he have heard of me or viewed my work? The implication plainly being that if he hadn’t heard of me, then he doubted my skillset.

  Thirdly—and probably least important, but undoubtedly the most annoying—why in the hell had he gestured for me to take a seat across the room if I’d then need to get up to deliver him my portfolio?

  After rising from my chair, I walked over to his desk, placing my bag on top. In lieu of handing him my portfolio, though, I went back to the cushiony seat, sliding the armchair along the floor until it sat right in front of Titan’s desk. This created a respectable two-foot distance between us so we could have an actual conversation.

  “Much better,” I said, reclaiming the seat. “Now, you said you assume I brought samples, is that your way of asking for my portfolio?”

  The shock in his expression was subtle. Yet the silence he liked so much, as his eyes held mine, were now speaking volumes.

  Being now face to face with him allowed me to see not only his deep chestnut eyes, but his incredibly smooth, chocolate skin as well. His beard was unique, traveling along his chin and up the side of his face before tapering off along with his smooth, wavy fade. His floating mustache added a layer of depth to his expression. A look I wasn’t sure any other man could pull off and I hated to admit looked damn good in person.

  “Could you tell me more about the event I’ll be covering?” I asked, mainly to distract myself from further observing him. Something he was surely noticing given our proximity.

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he replied.

  “How so?” My eyes squinted as our staring contest resumed.

  “Despite whatever Porter may have told you, this Juneteenth event, the Blackrootz Festival, is important and requires a certain vision.”

  Is that his way of implying I don’t have vision? I questioned, but remained quiet.

  “Not only will the photographer be required to photograph every event occurring during the week-long festival kicking-off in just under four weeks, but they’ll also need to provide edited video footage as well …” He paused. “Additionally, there’s also a week-long road trip around Texas that will be required beginning next Tuesday.”

  I smiled before responding, reminding myself once more why I’d taken this job. He wasn’t the first rich client who wanted me to prove I was the right fit for the job. However, I wasn’t some new photographer out here scraping for work either. I’d worked hard to establish myself. More qualified than needed for this project.

  Furthermore, I set the vision for the events I shot. People often thought they wanted certain photos, or angles, but that wasn’t their job, it was mine. Every photographer had their own particular method, and mine involved capturing the candid moments. Bringing the real joy and love through the image. My purpose was to immortalize the beauty, and I was damn good at it.

  “Mr. Stone, Juneteenth is about history, pride, and above all else, celebrating freedom and Black culture. A culture that’s been underrepresented and propriated for decades. Therefore, let me assure you that I not only have a vision for this assignment, but also the skillset and knowledge to be the best fit for the job. I’m open to hearing any suggestions you might have, but I hold creative discretion.”

  Standing up, I removed my portfolio from my bag, placing it in front of him.

  “You can take your time reviewing this. My videographer and I will be here next Tuesday, as requested for the road trip.”

  “I think you misunderstood,” he stated. “You haven’t gotten the job.”

  My heartbeat quickened. I was not a fan of confrontation, but I also wasn’t a pushover. I was a peacemaker in my family and with my friends. A trait that clients often found desirable. However, Titan Stone was rapidly making it more difficult to stay passive in the face of all his BS.

 

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