I snort at her zombie impression as my arms settle across my chest tightly. It’s already September. Her internship started weeks ago. I’m not letting her put this natural lighting assignment off again, and she knows it. If I didn’t have to drive to San Diego in the morning, we’d stay as late as she needs.
She slides a pleading glance to my junior photographer. “Cara?—”
“Nope.” Cara laughs, juggling her gaze between us before tossing a sleek platinum blond ponytail over her shoulder. “Don’t drag me into this…” The light from the large studio window catches her golden-brown skin just right, and I resist snatching my camera from my desk to capture it. We’re running out of time as it is.
Cara repositions the overstuffed dragon—Mo’s photo subject—on a stool, tapping its head back into position each time it droops forward. “Emily, can you toss me the double-sided tape?”
“Yep!” Drawers open and close at the front desk while Emily mumbles, “Tape…tape…taaape…?”Figures. My receptionist/assistant does her job well when it matters, but she’s also the ambassador of space case town.
“Next to the phone, Emily,” I call over my shoulder, then turn back to Mo. “Look at me.The grainscan’t hurt you. Just take a few test shots and see which you like better. You can’t edi?—”
“Edit a photo you never take.” Their resounding droning makes me wince, and it’s quickly followed by murmured apologies.
“It’s fine.” I wave it off, breathing deeply until the ringing in my ears fades. “I’m just saying, you can’t master the skill if you don’t actually take the picture.”
“Ughhhh. I know. But it feels wrong.” She gestures to the window. “It’s too bright outside. Professor Reinert’s judgy voice is in my head…” Clearing her throat, she mimics his pretentiously deep tone. “Only an amateur would introduce noise and granularity to a photograph.”
Can’t believehe’s still touting that shit. “Yeah, well, we’re not outside, and he was a prick when I was a student too…” My wince has nothing to do with the volume of her guffaw. “Don’t tell your adviser I said that. What I mean is, there’s an artistic time and place for everything, even if shit-for-brains says there’s not…” At this point, Cara and Emily are laughing too, and I crack a smile. “Don’t tell anyone at TAILA I said that either.”
I graduated from The Art Institute of Los Angeles (TAILA) a decade ago. Improving my craft while among some of the greatest photographers in the country was invaluable, as well as learning how to navigate artistic spaces as a Black woman. Barton Reinerttriedto make my life hell. Passive aggressive praise, overly harshcritique, unjustified failing grades—it would have made most people wither. But I’d just escaped the purgatory my parents had me trapped in and wasn’t going down without a fight. I raised so much hell, his efforts to prove my incompetency drove me straight to winning the prestigious Hartney Arts award three years in a row. There was nothing he could do about it; my work spoke for itself. Now he propositions me at every department mixer and covertly asks me to join his lectures through other members of the internship board. My answer is always no to both.
The phone rings, and Emily clears her throat before answering. “Thank you for choosing Framed Orchid Studio. This is Emily. How can I help you?” A wide smile lights up her pale face as she tucks a chunk of black hair behind her ear. “Oh, hi, Mr. Renner.”
“See!” Monique’s eyes squeeze shut when she gasps ominously. “Heknows.”
“Barton Reinert wouldn’t dare call this studio again.” I snort. The memory of him fumbling over his words after I cussed him out the first time still gives me a rush. “That’s likely KyleRenner, confirming his family’s session next week. Now focus. We’re almost out of time.”
“But—”
“Mo,girl.Woosah. Breathe.” Cara abandons the floppy dragon, marches up to Monique, and grips her shoulders. “No one’s lying in wait here. You’re just trying out different settings to see how light affects the picture. Have we steered you wrong yet?”
Mo shakes her head but makes no effort to step toward the tripod.
Cara sighs dramatically, turning to me with a gleam in her eye. “She’s not gonna master natural lighting.”
“Nope.” I tut, catching on immediately. “She’s not.”
Mo’s face falls as she shifts on her feet.“…I’m not?”
“Nope.” Cara smiles and shoots me a knowing glance.
“W-what am I gonna do then?” Her worried eyes shift between me and Cara.
I nod toward the camera in her hand with a smirk. “Not only are you gonna master it, you’re gonna make it your bitch.”
Her eyes widen comically. “My b-bi?—”
“YOUR BITCH!”Cara calls, shooting her fingers in the air. I wince at her loud imitation of an air horn, but no one notices this time.
“Be-otchhhhh,” Emily adds a second too late, which gets Mo laughing.
I cock my head at my intern, eyebrows raised. “Say it, girl.”
“But—”
“Say it. Say it. Say it,” Cara chants playfully.
Mo stops midrebuttal when I raise a finger in protest. She nibbles her bottom lip, and I cup my hand behind my ear, waiting. A timid grin creeps across her face as she whispers, “I’m gonna make it my bitch.”
