Page 9 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

“Thank you.” I look down at the scribble to make sure I can decipher it before I leave.

“Okay, Miss Martinez. There’s your start.” Magda stands to shake my hand. “Do well and we’ll have more work for you.” She sits down again and twitches a half-smile my way. “We post jobs every day, so be sure to log in and check vacancies every morning before eight a.m., okay?”

Out on the street, I message Kendra with my news. She replies with a smiley face. I walk slowly, thinking about how great it is to be in New York. I have a job. For one evening, at least. Like Magda said, this was a start, and I will be fine until my real job begins. It’s going to be fun, and I’ll meet people. Next thing on my to-do list is to find my own apartment. I didn’t want to feel like I had outstayed my welcome at Kendra’s. Although I knew she would be horrified if she thought I felt any pressure to move out. It’s just that I need to stand on my own two feet and properly arrive. It’s hard to do that when you’re kipping on someone’s couch. Even if that someone is your best friend.

I smile to myself, feeling positive and upbeat. I’m trying to remember something I heard about steering your own ship or being the star of your own movie. This is me, Rosa Martinez. Living my best life and making my way in NYC. I treat myself to a chili dog with extra mustard and onions and eat it on a bench in the park across the street. I am here in New York and I’m feeling wonderful.

Chapter 6

Nathan

The studio was empty when I turned up early this morning to print out the black and whites. Then Jarrod turns up when I’m in the kitchen. We chat over coffee. He’s working on marketing material for an architect. Very sleek. Contemporary industrial. Berlin brutalist almost. It’s a big break for him. He’s excited. I tell him about the Poolside job.

"Luxury yacht and a cruise around the Statue of Liberty? Sounds like fun," Jarrod says between sips of his cappuccino.

“The launch party is tomorrow if you feel like coming,” I say, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There'll be drinks and entertainment. The fun continues."

“Ah thanks, buddy, but I’m busy. Got a hot date.” Jarrod beams. “One of Ingrid’s friends, Greta. Do you know her? She is gorgeous. Woo.”

“Great! No, I don’t. Maybe…” I say, vacantly, not wanting to pursue a line of inquiry. I wasn’t even interested in my own love life, let alone anyone else’s. But Jarrod is obviously keen to divulge and I feel trapped and compelled to listen.

“Well, we met some time ago, but I’ve only just plucked up the courage to ask her out.” Jarrod smiles, not picking up on my prickly discomfort. “Hey, maybe we could meet up somewhere after? You know, you, me, Ingrid, and Greta?”

“Umm, that’s probably not a good idea,” I say looking to end the conversation. “Ingrid and I broke up. Some time ago, actually.”

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No. It’s fine. Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

I change the subject before Jarrod can probe for more details, then I wish him luck before removing myself to the sanctuary of the dark room.

Under the naked red light bulb, I use tongs to submerge each print in a tray of water, the final stage in the developing process, before hanging them up to drip dry. I’m happy with the way they’ve turned out. I found a pack of thick textured paper. The edges are rough and look torn, which adds interest. The images have an aged appearance as if they are from a fashion magazine from the sixties: all sharp contrast and funky angles, yet still glamorous. The models have a Brigette Bardot quality in the way their hair is big and wild, billowing out in the wind. A memory of Rosa struggling with the reflector causes an involuntary smile to cross my lips. She tried her best against the wind. Was I too hard on her, I wonder? Why was I having that thought now? The low viewpoint, with the chrome rail on a dramatic diagonal across the page, is visually strong. Dynamic. Then it rained and we were alone in the cabin, Rosa was beside me on the bed: her thighs against mine. Her soft, dark brown eyes: so disarming, yet strong and fearless; trusting yet challenging. There was that moment when I felt completely under her spell. I had to shake it off before my heart melted. And when she was curled up asleep in the back seat of the taxi, well, I just wanted to...

The photos will look great at the gallery, hung with bulldog clips as an installation, on steel wires that I’ve crisscrossed in a small room off the side of the main area. It’s going to look amazing. And they will complement the ultra-glossy, high-color prints of the Poolside launch party. It’s great to be given free rein artistically while doing a commercial job. Sebastian trusts my judgment. He basically sold the idea to Poolside Exclusive, and they were all for it. And the venue is perfect. Not too flashy. The One Two One Gallery is the right mix of edgy sophistication and smart business sense located upstairs in a converted warehouse in the Village. It really doesn’t get much better than this. I’m buzzing.

The final part of this job is photographing the guests and company bigwigs at the launch party itself. I wouldn’t bother going if it wasn’t paid work. Launch parties tend to be a parade of wannabes all trying to get noticed; clickbait for followers; getting snapped with A-listers to improve ratings; tweets and squawks for Titter or Pretend Friendbook. It all gets a bit cynical. Or could that just be me? My brief is to get some good marketing shots of famous faces and entertainment for Poolside and for placement in fashion magazines and social pages. I’m happy to be behind the camera, and it’s only for a few hours, until I can slide away unnoticed.

Chapter 7

Rosa

The contact at the catering company, Signature Dish, said I should arrive at the venue at five p.m. for a staff meeting and run-through. I had to wear black trousers, not jeans, and black shoes, not sneakers. They provided the shirt and apron. No phones. No jewelry at all, and that includes rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, nose studs, etc. Staff could leave personal items in the van which will be locked throughout the event. Everyone would need to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Staff are strictly not allowed to talk to anyone about guests or activities at the function. Privacy is paramount at Signature Dish.

There were other items, on the online information, about staff expectations. Courtesy not friendliness. When serving guests, behave as if you are furniture. Do not enter into conversation. You are here in a professional capacity representing Signature Dish. Leave your personality at home.

I’m early at the venue but the Signature Dish truck is parked where they said it would be. I introduce myself to a young man who is checking regimented racks of glassware inside the open door.

“Welcome, Rosa," says the man as he hands me a black polo shirt and black apron. He says his name is Ricardo. He tells me it’s a good idea to change in the truck and leave my things there. “Don’t worry. Your crappy phone and bag will be quite safe.” He laughs and shakes his head. Then he directs me to a door and tells me to go up to the first floor and ask for Kim.

Upstairs, The One Two One Gallery is written in lights above an ornate Art Nouveau-style glass double door. The space is high-ceilinged, airy, and has whitewashed brick walls. A DJ is setting up in one corner. There’s a runway podium and banners. I look up at the large glossy photos and almost fall over with surprise as I recognize the bikini-wearing models in their red, white, and blue, stars and stripes outfits against the greyish green of the Statue of Liberty, murky brown Hudson River, and scudding grey clouds. Their hair whips around their faces and their bodies make fluid shapes against the rigid chrome boat rail. The pictures capture the energy of being outside on the water, in the elements. And, of course, the models look fabulous in the clothes.

“Excuse me, miss,” says a gruff voice behind me. I stand aside allowing two men to carry in a trestle table. They set it up against a wall.

Someone notices me and says, “Over there, love.” I follow their direction and join a small gathering around a short woman with tall bright red hair.

“We’ll wait for a few more before I begin,” she says, looking at her watch and then the screen of her iPad. I gaze around at the gallery bustling with activity. I recognize Sebastian from the photo shoot, but I’m too shy to say hello. He is busy simultaneously directing someone, checking his phone, and signing something.

“Right, it looks like everyone is here. Let’s start. I’m Kim. I’ll be here at the refreshments table. This is my spot. I don’t move from there. Guests don’t come here. This is for staff to load up the trays and to circulate. If a guest comes to the refreshments table, it means that you are not doing your job. Do not let that happen, okay?” There are noises of assent. “Good.” She smiles. “Guests are expected in thirty minutes. There are one hundred and eighteen who have RSVP’d, but that doesn’t really mean anything.” She snorts a laugh. Her eyes flick down to her iPad. “They get a welcome glass of prosecco and canapés. Then they get topped up by you. Understand?” She makes eye contact with each of the six staff members. “Good. This is the run sheet. Here we go… There’s mingling, drinks and canapés for thirty; speeches for fifteen; then the fashion parade, which will be up and down the podium here. A photo op followed by a drag show for thirty. More mingling, drinks. Everything done by eleven. Pack down, clean up and we’re out of here by twelve.” Kim checks her phone. “Make sure you get your timesheet signed before leaving tonight. Anyone new? Come see me now.” Kim scans the faces in front of her. “Great! Have fun,” she says with a smile, which instantly turns to a stern frown. “But not too much.” A collective laugh bounces around the gathered uniformed staff.

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