Page 13 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

We finish our dinner, do the dishes, and tidy up. There’s a salsa class starting soon, so I grab my bag and my dancing shoes and head out.

Chapter 10

Nathan

Hawaii is wonderful. I could have easily stayed here longer. But my vacation has come to an end and I’m in Honolulu waiting for my flight back to JFK.

I feel good. I’ve been surfing every day. Eating good food and watching the most amazing sunsets on warm beaches with nothing to bother me except the soft sea air and the endless waves, rolling in steady sets, from the endless blue Pacific. I had forgotten how much I love beach life.

The shoot, marketing content for The Lanai Island Wellness Retreat, a purpose-built luxury eco lodge, was pure pleasure. The structure, mindfully making use of a natural curve in the hillside, offered photogenic angles at every turn, making my job a breeze. I don’t think there was a dud picture on the roll. There were no bad angles or areas I needed to block out. The extensive grounds include a beautiful garden full of exotic flowers and trees that backs onto a wild native forest and the Koloiki Ridge Trail. The trail winds up to a viewpoint with 360 views down to the ocean and islands beyond. Being up there makes you feel like you really are on top of the world. The owners of the resort are aiming to appeal to the high-end market; eco-tourists who want an authentic natural experience with all the spa resort extras. The peace and serenity were, at once, invigorating and draining. I stayed an extra night after the shoot wrapped because I realized how tired I was, and also because it was such a beautiful place, it was hard to drag myself away.

With no other job lined up, I rented a 4x4 and a board and bummed around with the surf crowd. Met some cool surfers from El Salvador. It was insane what they were able to do on boogie boards.

I was staying in a beach shack where the only Wi-Fi was in the restaurant area. It was only available a couple of hours each day. I checked my messages. Most of them weren’t interesting, but there was one from Alfie which caught my attention. I checked my watch and calculated if it was a good time to call him in New York.

Alfie’s an old friend whom I’ve known since we were both hustling for work years ago. When we first arrived in New York, we were roommates and would often work as a team: him as a journalist and me as photographer. In a time before people called us to check availability, we would phone around agencies, magazines, and newspapers, trying to get our work noticed. We did so many freebie jobs, and work on spec, in the hope that someone would read our pieces and like them enough to pay us money. When that happened, it was such a buzz seeing our work published in print, especially in national or international press. What we submitted was always high quality, so, although it took way longer than we thought it would, we got to the point where editors would start calling us. That’s when we knew we had made it. Alfie got snapped up by The New York Times Magazine, while I chose to stay freelance. But there’s always the next new bright kid on the block, so I hardly ever turn work down because, you never know – the phone might stop ringing.

Alfie says hi, and we catch up a bit on what’s been happening.

“I saw you in Cosmo,” he says. “… with Ingrid, looking gorge.”

“Ah, yes,” I respond remembering the Poolside Exclusive launch party with a sense of unease. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Ah, shame. You look like New York’s most stylish couple. Should I be sad?”

“No. I’m not… She’s doing her best to get me back, though. It’s a bit awkward.”

“Okay, buddy. I get it. So that’s why the extended leave in Pe?ahi?”

“Kind of.” Trust Alfie to read between the lines. He was right, in a way.

I steer the conversation back to the point of the call and he asks if I’m available to cover a piece about the New York Cuban community. He fills me in with some details.

“Sounds interesting,” I say, sipping my cold beer and watching the surfers catching the waves.

We arrange to meet up when I get back to New York and go over the layout. He’s mapped out a double-page spread.

“I’d like some candid shots of real life,” Alfie says. “Up close and personal with what it means to be Cuban and a New Yorker. Capish?”

“I’m there.” By the time I finish my beer, I’ve already said goodbye to Hawaii and looking forward to my next assignment.

Chapter 11

Rosa

The fiftieth-anniversary celebrations of the Cuban Community Center are planned and prepped. The activities and events are based on a survey I sent out to our regular members and facility users, to gauge interest and expectations of how we should mark the fifty years.

Feedback was overwhelming. And now it’s down to me, because I was the one who asked the question, to organize a program of events for the whole year. I did not think that I was capable, or indeed worthy of such a task, but I am loving it. Although I feel as if I have created a monster that is taking on a life of its own.

Of course, I was a mess at the start. It seemed as though I was chasing my tail until I got my systems in place and some kind of plan to coordinate the various ideas. Now I even have a team of helpers, who are amazing. But still, I’m running around trying to keep on top of everything.

Turns out the article I wrote about the center turning fifty has sparked interest in the wider community. Yesterday I received a call from a guy at The New York Times Magazine who wants to come to the center and interview people. Nothing formal, he says. He wants to see what it’s like raw, real, and everyday. I ran his idea past Liza and got the green light, so he’s stopping by later this week.

I call Kendra and we arrange to meet up for a drink after work at a Mexican rooftop restaurant we both like in Midtown. I have so much to tell her about what I’m doing, but mostly, I just want to relax with my best friend, laugh, and talk about nothing. I treat myself to a ferry crossing from Edgewater. It’s more expensive than taking the bus but, when I cross the water, it always makes me feel like I’m going to another place, even if it is just the Hudson River. Being on the swirling choppy waves, the color of cold coffee connects me with Nathan. I know it sounds corny and I know I should just leave his memory in the past. But it’s almost as if he is still with me. I carry him in my heart. I’m not sad about it. It’s comforting somehow, and warm. Of course, I would never admit this to anyone. Especially not Kendra, which seems disloyal because she is my best friend.

When I disembark at Midtown, I lock away my images of Nathan and tuck them in a secret part of my inside world, like a photo or a cut-out from a magazine, that I can come back to any time, unfold at my leisure, and gaze at. No one needs to know.

Kendra is already perched on one of the brightly painted stools at a high table on the outside terrace, overlooking the river and surrounding rooftops. We’ve both been so busy lately, this is the first time in a while that we’ve managed to coordinate our times.

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