He stood with his microphone behind the railings separating the press from the red carpet. This was his first time at a main celebrity event, so he was very anxious. He fiddled with the tag that hung on his neck; the word "Press" was inscribed in bold letters on the surface of the tag, and on his green polyester shirt was inscribed "Pulse," the company he worked for.
The celebrities were yet to arrive.
"Look, Michael... breathe!! You got this!" a man far taller than him who held the large camera said. He was Michael's lens handler for the day.
"I know, Jan, I know," he assured, heaving heavily. He fondled the microphone for a bit and mumbled some words to himself, nodded, and then sniffed.
"We just need one big celebrity, Michael, remember that. It's the Met Gala, bro... a lot can happen," Jan said and raised the camera, resting it on his shoulder.
"Is it rolling?" Michael asked, looking at the camera's lenses with a nervous smile.
"Yes," Jan simply said, smiling broadly at Michael, who didn't know how to feel.
The paparazzi lights started flashing... the celebrities had started arriving. He peeped to see a female celebrity he didn't recognise posing in a well-tailored dress. They took a few flashes of her as she climbed the steps, smiling and waving. In no time, she walked towards a camera... another media team were interviewing her. Michael sighed, relieved and worried at the same time. He had not studied the celebrity names well enough; what if this was how the night goes? What if he ends up not knowing 90 percent of the celebrities that waltzed in there? He was only sure of recognising bigger names in the industry. But he doubted that he would get a chance to interview them. He, after all, heard that the bigger celebrities knew the exact interviewers they were meant to go to.
Four more celebrities walked in. Michael recognised one, so like everyone, he began to call her name... she wasn't a big name, but she had that media presence all the same.
"Kristal! Kristal Sunny!" he called amidst the many interviewers that were chanting her name. She waved and smiled, posing at every step for any camera that cared to flash its lights at her.
She walked up a few steps and Michael thought,
"Just a few steps and she would be here," he whispered, and Jan cheered him on.
"You go, Mike!" he yelled quietly, nodding.
"Kristal over here!" he called again, and for a second she flashed her gaze upon him, smiled, and waltzed past him.
He sighed and ruffled his blonde hair, his cheeks warm with embarrassment.
"That was rude," he said, and then suddenly there was a blinding flash of camera lights. Someone worth it had just stepped into the scene. Who was it? Gotta be a big name! So Michael braced himself for the calling... he had to shout louder than the rest lest his voice got drowned in the frenzy.
The celebrity came into view now.
"Holy shit! It's the mog God!" Jan yelled, and Michael peered excitedly. There was only one person that men referred to as the "mog God," and that was him... THE MAX DUVAL, crowned world sexiest man by Variety magazine last fucking year!
"Oh my God," his breath hitched, his heart skipped a beat. What was he going to do now? Everyone was yelling his name. There was no way he could scream louder than them... his voice was too thin for that.
"God, forget it," Jan said, gently caressing his shoulder.
"He probably is going to walk to Essence for the interview," he added, and Mike looked up at Essence's media crew, and for a second he could have sworn that he saw the interviewer smile maliciously in his direction.
"Let's yell for the next lady," Jan said, shifting his camera steady. Mike raised his head, looking past Max Duval towards the female celebrity taking pictures behind him, Sheryl Sept. He at least knew her; she just started going viral last year.
But then he just couldn't take his eyes off him... Max Duval... the man that honestly shaped his thoughts and types on men... the man that was one of his early celebrity crushes from childhood... he usually commented,
"Wait for me to be legal, daddy," on his Instagram page when he was like fifteen, five years ago. But Max hadn't taken any interviews yet, and he was climbing up the steps... soon he would be on his side of the steps. He had to scream as loud as he could, even though the call for his name had already subsided down. People at the lower part had started screaming Sheryl's name.
Patiently, he waited. Soon he would be there... Jan had gotten the memo and steadied the camera.
"1, 2, 3, Mr Max! Max Duval over here!" he screamed in a voice that startled both himself, Jan, the paparazzi around him, and other celebrities around the area taking interviews or walking up the steps, and that included Max.
Max stopped climbing, and his gaze geared towards Mike, and after what felt like the longest time, nothing happened, and then he shifted the pace... towards him! Mike's breath hitched. He could hear Jan's nervous quiver behind him.
"Oh my God, we got him," he muttered, and Jan whistled and giggled. He clicked on something on the camera, and Mike nodded; he knew they were on.
Max arrived to them smiling. He was in an oxblood suit... well-tailored and chiseled, and even through it Mike could notice that dense sleeper build. Max was drop-dead gorgeous in person; there were no wrinkles in sight.
"Hello," Max said in a deep voice that soothed Mike. Suddenly, Mike felt confident.
"Uh, hi," he replied, smiling. Not nervous this time, he was confident.
"I must admit, I didn't think you would answer me," he said and pointed the microphone to Max's mouth. Max smiled and spoke into the mic.
"You were the loudest, I had to," he replied, and Mike could feel the tingle in his throat.
"Sorry about that."
"No problem."
"So how are you feeling tonight, Mr Duval?"
"I feel good. How do you feel?"
"Oh, I feel fine, sir."
"Me too!" Jan yelled from behind the camera, his voice laced with admiration. They both looked at him and laughed.
"Quick question, what does it feel like to be Max Duval?" Mike asked, confident now.
"You know, a lot of workouts, a lot of busy schedules, a lot of fun, and an awful lot of sleep," he said, chuckling between words, wearing that one smile that had once seduced Michael when he was five years old. Mike breathed hard; he had to stay professional.
"That sounds like a fun life!"
"Yeah! It is, I guess."
"Can I just say you look spectacular tonight, sir," he said, and then he saw Max gaze at him, their stare lingering for a second too long.
"Well... uh, thank you," Max replied.
"And I mean it. At 40 years of age, you sure do look amazing. Literally nothing has changed since when I saw you when I was little," Mike said, and Max feigned a frown.
"Well, I will take that as a compliment," he said, and then they both broke into a laugh.
"Well, how old are you?" Max asked, and Mike, between chuckles, told him that he was 20.
"So what are we wearing tonight?" Mike asked, and Max rubbed a palm around his cloth quickly.
"We are wearing custom Givenchy tonight."
"I must say I love the fit."
"Yeah, text me on Insta. I would totally give it to you," he replied, and Max brought out his phone and swiped.
"What's your Insta?" he asked, and for a lingering moment, Mike was speechless.
"Uh... Mike14," he said, and after a few swipes and taps, Max switched it off and placed it in his pocket.
"There... I followed and texted you," he said, and Mike was short of words.
"You can say thank you in the text," he added and walked off. Mike smiled, stared at the camera, and smiled again. Jan cut the feed and then looked at him, speechless.
Mike brought out his phone and looked at the notification.
"Max Duval just followed you back."
"New message from Max Duval."
His breath hitched, and he opened the text.
"Look, I leave in fifty minutes. Come to Resident Hotel and take the suit."
"Room 409." Mike's mind went wild. Was it what he was thinking, or was it just genuine fulfilment of promise? No matter, he was going anyway, and so he replied
"Ok."