Free An English Boy in New York by T. S. Easton Page B

teeth. ‘I’ve never had so much fun.’
    Monday 13 th May
    There was a knock on my door at 8am. I pulled on the robe I’d found in the bathroom and shuffled to the door. Peering through the spyhole I was almost blinded by the sight of white teeth filling the view. Squinting, I opened the door.
    â€˜Hi, Ben,’ Brandi said. ‘Did I wake you?’
    â€˜No,’ I lied. I had in fact managed to get off to sleep sometime after 3am. Gex had still not returned and I woke a few times during the small hours, worried. I hoped he was with his cousin but without my phone there was no way of telling. Why on earth had I put it in hold luggage? It had of course occurred to me, soon after my bag disappeared into the bowels of Heathrow airport, that the check-in man and I had been talking at cross purposes. He’d thought I meant a stiletto
knife
. Not a Stiletto phone. The older generation doesn’t keep up with phone trends, clearly.
    â€˜Would you like me to wait
downstairs
for you?’ she asked. ‘While you get ready?’
    I stared blankly at her.
    â€˜Your media commitments? We have two newspapers and three magazines to see this morning. So, up and at ’em!’ she said cheerily. There was a note of panic in her voice. She was clearly wondering what kind of media-illiterate knitting weirdo she’d been lumped with here.
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘I’m nearly ready, come in. Excuse the mess.’
    I led her into the room and kicked a pair of Y-fronts under the bed.
    â€˜Sit here,’ I said, indicating an armchair. ‘There are no tea-making facilities, I’m afraid.’
    She gave me a funny look. ‘You want tea?’
    â€˜Well, I usually have a cup in the mornings,’ I said.
    â€˜So phone room service,’ she said, looking puzzled.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t want to cause a fuss,’ I said. ‘No time anyway. Interviews to do and all that. I’m going to have a quick shower. I’ll be right with you.’
    I was back out in ten minutes, still in my gown. It was only when I’d dried off that I remembered I didn’t have any clothes, other than the clothes I’d worn the day before. I couldn’t put those on again. I’d done a fair bit of sweating in that interview room. And I might have dropped a bit of the cheesesteak down my front.
    I’d have to bite the bullet and borrow some of Gex’s gear.
    â€˜I’ll be back in a minute,’ I told Brandi, dragging the suitcase back into the bathroom again. ‘Make yourself at home.’
    Brandi gave me a quizzical look, then picked up the remote and got stuck into
Judge Judy
.
    Inside the bathroom I opened the suitcase.
    It was worse than I’d feared. I was greeted by the strong smell of Lynx Africa body spray. On the top of the pile of clothes was a new Adidas tracksuit. White with black piping. Under that was a selection of Burberry caps, then a pair of low-slung jeans. A couple of hoodies, some long rapper-style T-shirts, another tracksuit, this time in gold with red piping, then some bling, pants and socks and at the very bottom, a belt with studs. Sighing heavily, I grabbed the jeans, the belt and one of the hoodies. After another moment’s hesitation I took a pair of boxer shorts.
    I didn’t want to wear white socks with my brown shoes and that stumped me for a while, until I remembered the orthopaedic stockings. Of course! Thank God I’d used a charcoal wool for those.
    Now. Could I be sure the boxers were clean? Gex wouldn’t have packed dirty underwear, would he? But did I dare sniff them to find out? Eventually I put them on back-to-front, just in case. The idea of my boy band touching an area of fabric that had first touched Gex’s boy band made me gag.
    Next, the jeans. By tightening the belt I could make the jeans ride higher on my hips but that left my ankles and too much of the orthopaedic stockings exposed. So I let the