Page 27 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

Chapter 22

Nathan

I’ve arranged to pick Ingrid up at her place, which is on the way to the Midtown Hilton. She calls me to say she’s ready and waiting outside. I see her wave as the cab pulls over to the curb.

“Perfect timing,” she says as she climbs into the back seat next to me. She leans across and kisses my cheek, then laughs and attempts to erase the lipstick mark she has left there. “Oh, Nathan, I’m sorry. Here, let me try again.” She looks around in her bag for a packet of tissues, pulls one from the pack, and begins dabbing my face until I take the tissue from her.

“Hi Ingrid,” I say, tucking the lipsticked tissue into my pocket. I ask her how she is, which, true to form, unleashes a torrent of information and statistics about her life. Her voice flows over and around me like static electricity; like white noise, hardly anything enters my head. I nod and say encouraging words in the few pauses left open in her monologue.

“… and the dress. Nathan. What do you think? Isn’t it beautiful? Feel the fabric. It’s called, get this… Slippery Nipple.” Ingrid squeals with delight like a child.

The taxi arrives and we disembark where a red carpet lies across the sidewalk, sectioned off from pedestrians with thick deep-red velvet rope strung between shiny brass bollards. Heavy-set security personnel monitor the entrance as Hilton uniformed staff take the printed invitation and check our names against an iPad list. Once inside the foyer, bright lights and cameras abound. Ingrid and I are ushered to a wall of logos in front of TV cameras on tripods, where we are required to stand while photographers snap away. People with microphones fire questions left and right. Ingrid answers while I hold my breath, willing it all to be over. Eventually, we are released from the logo wall, and just when I think we've made it through, a well-presented young woman approaches with a microphone.

“Ingrid,” she says as she waves to us, blinking slightly with the flashes and wattage.

I should be used to this environment, but usually it’s me on the other side of the camera. I can’t help but feel self-conscious and awkward. Ingrid, however, is in her element. She air-kisses the woman with the microphone who introduces herself as Mimi from Animal Print Magazine. I haven’t heard of it. It’s relatively new. Cutting edge. Focusing on up-and-coming New York designers.

“We’re all about connecting the stylish women of NYC to designers who know who their customers are,” she says, enthusiastically. I’m distracted by more lights and guests arriving. “So… tell me, who are you wearing tonight, Ingrid… I love your channel, by the way.”

“Mimi, so lovely to see you,” Ingrid beams. “Yes. Let me talk you through my outfit. The designer is Chloe, on Lex. She is so innovative and really knows how to craft a garment. I’m a big fan, obviously.” She laughs.

“And you’re here with the very talented and legendary, Nathan Ellis… Nathan. If I can have a quick word with you? You’ve been nominated for several award categories this year.” Mimi reads from her list, “Fashion Photographer of the Year; Artistic Expression; Documentary; Storyteller. Which prize are you most excited about? Are you excited?” She holds her microphone out to me.

I’m good with answers to these sorts of questions. I get asked a lot, so I have my responses ready to go. “Yeah, thanks Mimi. Of course, it’s an unbelievable honor to be nominated. I’ve been doing this job for many years, and it possibly shows,” I say indicating my grey hair and wrinkles. “But each job is like my first one because I approach fresh every time. That’s just how I work. I have to not bring previous images with me. That would be really boring for everyone.”

“Ah, that’s very cool. Thanks Nathan. And one more question, if I may. There are rumors that you guys are back together and, certainly, judging by your arrival tonight, could we perhaps see New York’s most talented power couple stepping out again?”

Ingrid is doing her best to be coy. She sweetly looks up at me, then says, “We can neither confirm nor deny that possibility. Can we Nathan?”

“Well, Ingrid,” I begin, “I think we can definitely deny those rumors.” But Mimi doesn’t hear me. Her attention is caught by a group of people who are on their way in, causing an eruption of camera flashes.

“Thank you so much for your time,” Mimi calls over her shoulder. “Good luck and have a great evening,” she says darting to greet the newcomers ahead of her competition, who race to get their microphones in first.

Ingrid and I make our way together towards the main function room.

“We’re not back together, Ingrid,” I say firmly but gently. “You left me, which was a bit of a shock. But I’m fine with it. And I think you were right to leave.”

Ingrid reaches for my arm and pulls me in front of her. “Nathan. Stop torturing yourself and me... We are meant to be together.” Her face is twisted with emotion. “I had a reading with my guru, Mahindra Rama, and he said that our souls are entwined at our heart chakra.” Ingrid thumps my chest then repeats a thump to hers. “Do you know what that means, Nathan? It means that you can think that we are not together, but we are bound, spiritually, as in the spiritual realm and not in the physical, earth realm. This is powerful shit, Nathan. I hope you know how deep this goes.”

As I’m listening to Ingrid, it strikes me for the first time that this woman may well be mentally unhinged. I breathe in to begin to say something but realize that no matter what I say, she won’t be listening or accepting of the cold hard truth staring her in the face. I’m not angry, I’m tired. I walk away in the direction of the bar to find a drink: a stiff one. Ingrid stays, open-mouthed, where I left her, before making her way to the ladies’ room.

From the bar I can see people coming in, getting interviewed and photographed. I see Mimi and other members of the press encircle a couple who are in front of the logo banner fielding questions and laughing. After a few minutes, the next wave of guests enables their freedom and, to my surprise and delight, I see that it’s Alfie. He is arm-in-arm with an absolute goddess who slinks in like a movie star. There’s something familiar about her, but my attention is on my friend until the couple is almost within hearing distance away from me.

“Rosa? Is that you?” is all I say. Then, suddenly, I regain my composure and step forward to hug Alfie. “Buddie, so good to see you. I was beginning to think this was going to be a boring night.” Alfie shakes my hand and says something about me being a boring person, but my attention is on Rosa.

“You look fabulous,” I say and move to her, gently kissing her cheek and inhaling her intoxicating fragrance.

“Thanks,” she says. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She is smiling from her immaculately styled hair, all the way down to her sparkly high heels. We look at each other for a minute, having both forgotten Alfie. “Are you photographing me, Nathan?” asks Rosa, after a beat, which makes me laugh.

“What?” says Alfie, who is confused by Rosa’s comment.

“Rosa is just reminding me, of when we first met,” I say not taking my eyes from Rosa. “I was watching Rosa eat pizza and I was, rudely, staring, and Kendra said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s photographing you. He can’t help it’… Or something like that.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what happened,” says Rosa.

“That’s right! Yes. Haha. She’s right, Nathan.” Alfie pats my shoulder. “You can’t help it, can you? Especially when the subject is as captivating as Rosa.”

Rosa looks down at the floor, clearly made self-conscious by Alfie’s comment. There’s an awkward pause until Alfie asks about the categories and the other nominees. He’s clearly excited.

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