Page 28 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

“This is my year, Nate! I can just feel it.” He clenches his fists in front of his chest like a prizefighter in the ring. “Right, then. Let’s get a drink… Rosa. Champagne?”

“Lovely. Yes please,” Rosa says before excusing herself. She walks off to the ladies’ room.

As soon as Rosa is out of earshot, Alfie turns to me with the biggest, saddest eyes. “Nathan,” he says. “I think I am in love with that woman. She is so hot; I can hardly contain myself.” He fans his face with his hand. “I took a chance on asking her to come with me tonight. I didn’t think she would, you know. But…” He clenches his hands into fists again. “… she doesn’t even have a boyfriend. Can you believe it? Which means that woman is single! Honestly, I can’t believe my luck.” Alfie lowers his hands and pulls his shoulders back. “Nathan. You are my oldest friend, and you can tell me honestly. Do you think I have a chance with Rosa? Go on… The truth.” Alfie closes his eyes. “I can handle it.”

I’m not sure how to answer Alfie about The Truth. Should I tell my friend what he wants to hear or say, ‘Get in line, buddy. Behind me.' I sip some Champagne to buy some time, but thankfully, I am rescued by a gaggle of journos from The New York Times Magazine. They work with Alfie and are fizzing as much as the bubbly wine about their nominations. The Truth question is swept aside and replaced with, ‘Who do you think is going to get Journalist of the Year?’

Chapter 23

Rosa

Alfie is a sweetheart. He came to pick me up from my apartment even though he lives on the other side of town. He held open the back door of the taxi as I waved goodbye to Donna, Marlene, and Dolores who gave me the kind of sendoff you would expect from the crowd of Beyoncé fans when she performed at the Super Bowl.

I feel fantastic. I never believed in the magic of The Dress, but now I do. And heels. I think it has something to do with being elevated from your normal height. It’s a mind trick. I actually feel taller, more regal. Just more. That is the magic of dressing up: it’s the presentation to the world of the best version of you.

I walk down the steps to Alfie and the waiting taxi, the way Cinderella must have felt getting into the pumpkin carriage. If she was a real person, that is. Alfie is nervous, but he needn’t be. I’m still the same Rosa who showed him around the center only a few weeks before.

“You look fantastic, Rosa,” Alfie says, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek and a guiding arm around my waist.

My roommates cheer and whistle from the doorway attracting interest from passersby. I wave and grin and settle into the back seat of the cab. Alfie climbs in after me and we are away down the street to my roommates’ fading cheers.

I tell Alfie that I like his article. He really captured the essence of the place and the people.

“I hope I did. It was Nathan’s photos that made the piece, though, wasn’t it? I don’t know how he does it, but every time it’s pure gold. The man’s a genius. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my friend.”

The mention of Nathan’s name causes me to smile involuntarily. Popcorn, ice cream, salsa dancing in the kitchen.

“We’ll see him tonight, probably. He’s up for a few categories.” This is news to me. I suddenly sit upright. My eyes are wide open. “Rosa, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine… I just remembered something.”

The rest of the journey to the Midtown Hilton is spent in semi-relaxed chat, although my senses are heightened by the possibility of seeing Nathan. Alfie asks me about my family and whether I would consider dating an older man. When I say that I prefer older men, he replies with, ‘Oh well, that’s wonderful,’ and appears to fall into a happy trance with a big smile and eyes wide.

I’m a bit overwhelmed when we arrive at the red carpet, but I hope I’m not showing it. Broad-backed, dark-suited security guards dominate the cheering crowds lined up either side, behind velvet-rope barriers, as Alfie holds the taxi door open for me. Flashes of light make it hard to see. Alfie offers me his hand as I climb out with, what I hope is, dignity and grace. Someone in the crowd yells, ‘Is that Rihanna? Riri! Over here!’ I have to concentrate on walking in my new diamanté sandals without wobbling. It’s a technique I had been practicing up and down my bedroom. I channel the spirit of my inner Lizzo and do my best to strut.

Inside the lobby, we are descended upon by cameras and people with microphones who ask questions from all directions. They talk to Alfie about his nominations, then they ask about me. Am I in the new Mission Impossible? Was it true I signed with Sony? Who was I wearing? How was working with Pharrell Williams? Could I be considered ‘A Date’ or ‘The Significant Other’? Alfie turns to me and smiles, telling the microphones that it’s probably too early to say. Then we are directed to stand in front of a banner covered in logos for more photos, before being swept along on a tide of media interest.

“That was the worst of it. We can relax now and enjoy our evening,” says Alfie, patting my hand, which is tucked around his upper arm. We make our way to the bar.

I’m still bewildered by the flashing lights and interview questions, it takes me a while for my eyes to adjust to the dim, intimate glow of the bar. Groups of people, chatting in twos and threes, are silhouetted with glasses in their hands. A tall, solitary figure stands alone. As we approach, his smiling eyes meet mine.

“Rosa? Is that you?”

My heart has leapt into my throat, and I have to swallow hard to suppress an eruption of joy from bubbling over, but it spills out as a giggle when I say, ‘hi’. It hadn’t crossed my mind that Nathan would be here tonight. Not until Alfie mentioned it in the taxi. Of course, now that I’m here, it seems obvious that he would be one of the guests and nominees. I suppose I had been trying to put him out of my mind and focusing on an evening out, in a beautiful dress, with Alfie. I excuse myself and go to find the ladies’ room in an attempt to calm down and re-apply some lipstick.

Two elegant women exit passed me when I go in. There’s no one there so I take advantage of the full-length mirror. I want to remember myself, looking this good and being at a fancy event in Manhattan. I’m so pleased I bought this dress. And so grateful to Kendra for paying with her card. She is such a special friend.

As I have this thought, one of the stall doors opens, and a familiar blond steps out in front of me.

“Rosa? Is that you?” says Ingrid, her brow furrows as she looks me up and down.

“Ingrid. Hi. Gosh. What a surprise.”

“You’re telling me!... Surprise.” Ingrid has lost her signature ice-cool demeanor and just looks shocked. We stare at each other in the full-length mirror. “Are you wearing my dress?” she snaps at me. “Is this some sort of a joke?” Ingrid looks around the ceiling. “Ah, yeah. I get it… Nice one.” She waves at imaginary cameras. “Oh, you guys! This is a setup, right?... And this is when I’m supposed to freak out… Is that what’s happening here? Have I just been punk’d, Ashton Kutcher? I didn’t think you did that anymore. Is that still a thing?” Ingrid turns to face me, looking directly into my eyes, her nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge. “Who put you up to this? Was it Larry? Haha. Well, Larry. The jokes on you, buddy,” she bellows at the ceiling.

Two women come into the ladies’ room, talking loudly, but when they see Ingrid and me, they instantly fall silent.

“Well, Ingrid, have a wonderful evening. I’ll see you later,” I say, seizing my chance to escape.

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