Page 5 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

“Excellent. You’re doing well.”

Really? Is this how he’s going to be the whole day? I’m so close to snapping out, ‘Excuse me, Mr Best Friend’s Brother Grump, I am not five years old.’ But I don’t. I bite down hard on my lip and send out a silent prayer to my grandma to give me patience and strength. It’s only one day. I can handle it.

At the marina security check, Nathan presents his ID. The officer checks his computer, then lifts the barrier allowing us through. We unload the eight bags. The taxi drives away. Nathan runs off to find the yacht we’ll be working on, and I wait with the bags.

The yacht is called Esmerelda and she is beautiful. Her sleek streamlined hull is white with blue stripes. She has two entertainment decks: upper and lower. Esmerelda is a billionaire’s boat. I can’t imagine the price tag. I hope I don’t break anything.

Nathan helps carry the gear on board where there’s already the buzz of activity. The crew are easy to spot in their smart blue polo shirts. There are other people too. Models, hair and make-up people, dressers, and technicians, I guess. Nathan leaves me on the lower deck with the bags, while he goes to find the art director and Poolside reps.

The sun is glinting on the calm morning water, evaporating wisps of mist. Ferries and other boats chug by against the New Jersey skyline. I breathe and take a moment to wonder at the beauty around me. I’m smiling and having to suppress my inner ‘Wow’.

“Rosa! What are doing? Get those bags up here…” No prizes for guessing who that is. Nathan calls down to me from the top of some steps. Right. I see how this is going to be. I’d better keep my head down and get through to the end of the day without being thrown into the harbor.

Esmerelda is released from the jetty, and we slowly make our way out into the mid-channel. No more time for sightseeing. I help Nathan secure the light stands with sandbags, and tape down the cables. He clips a diffuser to each lamp and turns on the power releasing a flood of sunshine onto the back of the upper deck. I stand up too quickly cracking my head against a tripod, catching my hair in the adjustment screw of the heavy steel bar. I wrangle free, leaving a trail of dark strands still stuck in the mechanism, hoping Nathan hasn’t noticed my humiliation, but, of course, he has and doesn’t say anything. He rolls his eyes and walks back to where his camera is set up for the first shot. I rub the sore place of impact on my head where I’m sure a small mountain is beginning to grow. A sound system pumps out thumpy dance music. It’s not helping my aching scalp.

A tall, ultra-thin woman in high heels sashays over and kisses Nathan on each cheek. “Hey Nathan, I was hoping it would be you.” Her shiny blonde hair flows over her shoulders. She flips it and pouts, catching me full in the face, making me flinch. My eyes water immediately.

“Ingrid!” says Nathan at the same time as my ‘Ouch’. “Great to see you.”

“Ahhh, sweetie!” Ingrid looks down at my streaming eye. “Do you have an allergy?”

“No. I…” I’m blinking rapidly, shielding my face away from the hair and the bright lights.

“I have eye drops,” Ingrid says, cutting me off. “I’ll get it for you.” But she doesn’t move. “Nathan, is this your new intern? She’s super cute!”

Nathan glances over to me briefly. “No. This is Rosa. She’s my sister’s friend. She’s helping out today because Kendra has hurt herself. Tripped.” I raise a hand in greeting but Ingrid’s eyes are firmly fixed on Nathan.

“Oh no! That’s awful. Is she in hospital?”

“No. Sprained ankle. Nothing serious.”

I tidy the empty bags, stuffing them one inside the other, then hanging them up, out of the way. The lump on my head is throbbing: my eye, still streaming.

“Give her my love, won’t you?” says Ingrid as one of the stylists comes over and says something about lip gloss. “Catch up soon, okay?” Ingrid holds a hand beside her head, telephone-like, and smiles as she walks away. “Call me!”

“Sure…,” says Nathan, peering through the viewfinder of the camera mounted on a tripod.

The boat gains momentum and continuous rising and falling motion in the surging river currents. Nathan places me approximately where the models are going to be, between the spotlights, so he can get a light reading. I’m a lot shorter than the three leggy girls who are lined up to one side, so I stand on tiptoes, wobbling slightly, trying not to fall over. I feel ridiculous and it seems like an age until Nathan gives me a thumbs up, and I scurry away behind the camera again, where he hands me the round flat bag.

“Okay. This is the reflector. The idea is to stand out of camera shot and angle the light where I tell you. Mostly at the model’s face, but… just listen to what I say, and yeah… We’ll be fine.” He doesn’t sound convinced but nods over at the art director and Poolside rep. “So, the first outfits are almost ready.” Nathan checks his watch. “We’ll do each one separately, then I’ll group a few together… Got it?”

“Got it.” I unzip the bag and what looks like a mini spring-loaded trampoline falls out onto the floor. One side is gold and the other is white.

“Rosa. What are you doing?” Nathan frowns as I grapple with the reflector, trying not to look like a dimwit, but the shiny circle seems to have a mind of its own. Finally, I have the pesky disk under control, and I go over to stand beside a spotlight ready for instructions.

Ingrid is the first model. She is poised on the mark between the lampstands. She tosses her hair around which streams out on a soft breeze. I stand well clear, but Nathan waves his hand at me, indicating I should get closer. He scowls as he looks at the screen on the back of the camera.

“Yes,” Nathan says to Ingrid and not me. “Just like that. Tilt to the left. Good. Now turn to me. And flick your hair. Once more, please. Good… Rosa. Give me light on the face please.” I try to get the reflector to angle the light. “No. higher. Today, if that suits?” Some onlookers start giggling. I’m at the front, getting hotter and more flustered under the lights, trying to get the stupid reflector to behave. “Alright. Hold that. Lean forward… a little more. That was great. Thanks… Alright. Next one.”

Nathan clicks through the images on his camera while the next model gets into position. He makes some adjustments. The morning light magically illuminates the blue-green Statue of Liberty against a New York backdrop. I see why we are here. It’s a stunning location. The wind starts to pick up. The reflector is acting like a sail and flaps around. It’s like a skittish horse and I’m holding its reins.

In the next shot, the models lean backwards over the shiny chrome rail. Click. Hair streaming out, carefree, cherry lipstick smile. Click. Click. Oversized sunglasses, red, white, and blue; stars and stripes. Click. Painted red fingernails reach high; high-pitched laughing. Click. So gorgeous; so glam. Click, click, click.

I watch Nathan in action. He is a perfectionist alright, directing the models with precision and capturing every moment with cool confidence. Despite his grumpiness, I can't help but admire his command. He is captivating; in his element; driving the show. And I am in awe. I surprise myself with the attraction of his manly form. I notice the width of his shoulders and his muscular arms and the way his combat pants fit around his…

“Rosa! Can you concentrate for five minutes?” Nathan’s voice borders on exasperation. “I need light on her face, now, please!”

Holding up the reflector again and I give myself a shake. I couldn’t feel more out of place. Surrounded by the tribe of Barbie long-legs who are all size zero and absolutely drop-dead, I feel fat and ugly. Did I regret having the extra slice of pizza at dinner last night? Maybe. But, as Tia says, we are all beautiful in our own way and we shouldn’t compare body types. Still, I feel awkward, dowdy, and not pretty at all.

---