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“Oh. Like this?” He lifts it over his head.
I’m already behind the camera, inspecting the shot, refocusing the lens, zooming in. “Yeah. Just like that. And make a fist.”
He curls his fingers into one mighty fist.
Flash.
When I step back and look at the scene of him standing there, glistening with sweat—mixed with an oil I applied to his body for extra sheen—and looking like a warrior who just broke free, I realize the pair of us just achieved something amazing. I can’t even bring myself to speak, so struck by the moment—and the images now on my camera.
“Uh … Dante?”
I grin at him. “We got it.”
Tye lifts his eyebrows. His fist is still in the air, the loose, broken chain hanging from his wrist. “Got what …?”
“The shot.”
18
It’s minutes before I’m expecting Tye to show up at my door that I get the phone call.
I’m seated on my couch, feeling like a king, as I answer the call and greet the one-and-only Claude, organizer of Enchaîné, the fetish gallery. He greets me warmly and excitedly, and it feels as if in mere minutes we’re best friends. He applauds my work. He’s “bloody devastated and deeply taken” by the beauty of my new model Tye. He urgently needs me to be part of his show and asks if I have any hidden weapons (in terms of my photography) that I may be willing to debut in his prestigious gallery.
I give him an answer, smirking proudly.
Claude literally hums with excitement, shares all of the details I need in an email, then tells me he is so very thrilled with my decision.
“Well, I appreciate your interest,” I tell him, “even though I know you’ve been pushed my way by Leo Starr. He said he’d submit my name.”
“Who?”
The way he asks ‘Who?’ makes me want to spit out my own tongue in laughter. I refrain. “Leobardo Starr,” I clarify. “He has a piece in your—”
“Oh, of course, him. Are you kidding? No. I’d resigned to having no one fill Undra’s spot in my show. I take no suggestions from Leobardo. Dear me.” He laughs at the mere idea. “No, no. Heavens no. I called you upon my own bloody accord—and by the esteem of your brilliant work.”
I stare ahead in shock. “Oh,” is all I reply.
“If you could send me a preview of your work so that I may better adjust placement in the gallery, I would appreciate it. Tonight, if possible. I don’t care if it isn’t edited or ready or whatever else, just feed my soul, please, please, please.” He laughs again, then draws deadly quiet. “You’ve saved my life.”
Claude is one dramatic motherfucker. “Thanks for the, uh, call,” I say back, a comically inadequate match to his energy.
When I hang up, I’m literally fucking floating. I can’t feel the couch beneath my ass, or the hard floor beneath my booted feet.
The next moment, Tye lets himself in. “Your door was unlocked again, Dante,” he calls out to me as he approaches the couch, then stops, staring down at me. “You okay? Something happen?”
“Yeah. Something happened. Something …” I’m still in shock. “Something really happened.”
Tye sits on the couch next to me, concerned. “What is it?”
“You wanted to be seen, didn’t you? You said you’re ready for the world to see you?”
“Yeah, sure, of course. Why?”
I turn to him. “Our work is going to be seen at Enchaîné, the biggest fetish gallery in the world, which is being hosted right here in the city.”
Tye turns so rigid with surprise, a fly landing on his forehead could knock him over.
I rise from the couch, take hold of the back of his head, and pull him in for a fierce, impassioned kiss. Then I shout, “We are celebrating tonight, baby boy! We are fucking celebrating!!”
“This is crazy!” he shouts, matching my energy at once. Then a lot of other things seem to occur to him very quickly. “Uh, don’t we have a lot of work to do, then? What piece will you submit for the actual show? Should I tell my parents?”
Meeting the parents. At a fetish gallery. Where they will see their son in an assortment of bondage scenarios and scanty clothing. “I … I don’t think this would be, uh …” I chuckle and rub the back of my head. “… the ideal way for your, uh … parents to find out what you’ve been up to these past—”
“Well, okay. Maybe another time. But don’t get the wrong idea: they are cool as fuck. Zero percent uptight. Maybe even to a fault.” He puts his body up against mine. “I know it’s soon to talk about ‘introducing you to my parents’, but … would that really be the worst thing?”
I snort. “How you think they’re gonna feel when they see the guy their precious baby boy’s with is an older Black man?”
