by T. S. Easton
There was no way that damned contortionist was getting on today.
‘Turn it off,’ I groaned. ‘I can’t bear it.’
We were sat in the hotel room watching a streamed recording of the Donovan show on Brandi’s iPad. I was waving my hands around like a mentalist on screen, haranguing the poor Dr Kovac, playing to the audience. Gex howled with laughter.
‘You had them eating out of your hand,’ Brandi said admiringly.
‘I was talking absolute rubbish!’ I said. ‘And why didn’t you tell me my trousers were tucked into my socks?’
‘I thought that was British style.’
‘Are those orthopaedic socks you’re wearing?’ Mum asked.
‘It’s a long story,’ I sighed. ‘No wonder the contortionist kept looking at me in the green room. I thought she was out to get me.’
I watched myself stand, basking in the audience’s applause, face shiny, grinning like a maniac. I shook hands with everyone, acting like I’d just been nominated to run for president at the Democratic National Convention.
‘Well done, Ben,’ Mum said, giving me a hug.
‘This calls for a celebration,’ Brandi said, opening the fridge. She pulled a mini champagne out. ‘Anyone?’
I eyed Gex suspiciously and he shook his head.
‘I’m not sure I want champagne,’ Mum said. ‘I could murder a cup of tea though. I wish we had a kettle.’
‘I wish we had Hobnobs,’ I said.
‘What are Hobnobs?’ Brandi asked. ‘’Cause I know a British supermarket in Brooklyn. You can get all kinds of British food there.’
‘Ooh, we could get proper tea,’ Mum said.
‘Cadbury’s Creme Eggs,’ Dad suggested.
‘Chilli Pringles,’ Gex added.
‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re here to experience life in New York. We eat Philly cheese, we go out for coffee, we have waffles and matzo balls an …
‘Wonton soup,’ Dad said.
‘Er … exactly,’ I replied.
‘Maybe I could go and check it out for all of us,’ Gex began.
‘No,’ I repeated. ‘No one is going to the British supermarket.’
‘All right, Ben, you’ve made your point,’ said Mum.
‘Well, we have to celebrate,’ Brandi said. ‘Let me take you all out for dinner.’
Mum and Dad looked at each other. ‘We have tickets to Stomp,’ Mum said apologetically.
‘Well, thanks for inviting me,’ I said. ‘I love Stomp.’
‘And Keith and I are going to a basketball game, innit,’ Gex said.
‘Does no one ever think to invite me to anything?’ I protested.
‘Well, I’m inviting you,’ said Brandi with a sweet smile. ‘Just you and me for dinner. What do you say?’
I had just enough time before dinner with Brandi to catch up with the Knitwits! girls. Brandi gave me the address of where to meet her later and then I took the subway uptown to Alanna and Marie’s hotel, which is a lot nicer than ours. There is a homeless guy out the front but he hardly smells at all and offered me no advice when I gave him a quarter.
‘So great to see you!’ Alanna said.
‘We heard you on the radio,’ Marie said.
‘You heard that?’
‘Yeah, and we saw you on TV,’ Alanna said.
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah,’ Alanna said. ‘Did you … really mean all that stuff.’
‘Hmm, not all of it,’ I said, I think I must have been blushing. The girls were trying to hide their disapproval but it was clear they thought I’d been a bit of a numpty.
‘Well, I was sort of hoping I could use the podcast interview to clear the air,’ I said.
‘I think that would be a great idea,’ Marie said.
We ordered coffees in the lobby bar and found a quiet spot in the corner to record the interview.
‘So, Ben Fletcher,’ Alanna said. ‘Here you are in the US of A. The Big Apple. How are you finding it?’
‘I love it here, Alanna,’ I said. ‘It really is everything I’d expected and more.’
‘And you’ve caused quite a stir since you arrived,’ Marie said. ‘You’ve been interviewed on the Piper Donovan Show, tell us about that.’
‘Ah yes,’ I said, pausing briefly. ‘I … er … ’ I was suddenly tongue-tied.
‘You made some comments we can all agree with,’ Alanna said, coaxing me.
‘Yes. I think I was right to suggest that hand-knitting had a bright future and that machine-knitting is not the only game in town,’ I said. ‘But I also said some things that should probably not, when all’s said and done, be taken too seriously.
‘Like what?’ Alanna asked.
Here goes, I thought. Time to put an end to this.
‘I’d like to clarify what I meant when I said I can knit faster than a machine,’ I said. ‘It was a reckless thing to say and any serious knitter knows it’s practically impossible.’
‘Hmm,’ Alanna said, nodding at me in agreement. ‘According to a press release from the Knitting Guild Association of America you are going to go head-to-head in a speed-knitting contest with the KnitMaster 3000.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘It’s sponsored by Priapia.’
‘Yes. I found that interesting, considering your views on home-crafting. Did you know Priapia are one of the major shareholders in KnitCorp?’
‘Erm, no, I didn’t know that,’ I said.
‘It just seems like you’re saying one thing, and doing something else. Even if you beat the machine, the only thing you’ll accomplish is to help promote the company that’s doing more than any other to drive the mechanisation of the knitting industry.’
I was totally wrong-footed. She was completely right of course. But I couldn’t pull out now.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’
Thankfully she let it go at that point and we moved onto other things, like animal cushion covers and the new book from ace male knitter Fabrice Gentile. I was hoping to see his lecture at KnitFair.
‘Thanks, Ben,’ Alanna said when we’d finished. ‘It was so great to hear your views on the rise in hand-crafting. Sorry if I put you on the spot.’
‘No, you’re right,’ I said. ‘But is there a simple answer? The big clothing companies aren’t evil. They give people jobs, they produce great clothes at prices everyone can afford. I just hope hand-knitting doesn’t get completely squeezed out by these new super-machines.’
‘Well, you didn’t hear it from me,’ Alanna said, ‘but I heard the KnitMaster 3000 isn’t all that. I heard it can’t cope very well with untreated 4-ply … ’ She glanced around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. ‘The loose strands clog up the workings, apparently. It breaks down a LOT.’
‘How do you know this?’
She tapped her nose. ‘That’s for me to know, Ben Fletcher. I never reveal my sources.’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I feel so relieved I’ve managed to correct the misunderstanding about me being able to beat a machine. How many people listen to this podcast?’
‘Oh loads,’ Marie chirped.
‘I’ll bet,’ I said.
‘Sometimes we have more than one hundred downloads,’ she went on.
‘Oh,’ I said.
Twelve million people had watched me telling Piper Donovan I could knit faster than a machine.
I was in trouble.
When I got back to the hotel I found Keith and Gex awake and the TV blaring. Keith held Monique’s bloodstained crochet, inspecting it carefully. He put it down hastily when he saw me.
‘Crochet,’ I said.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘I haven’t dabbled much,’ I said. ‘But I’m curious.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said, not looking me in the eye.
‘Are you … curious too?’ I asked.
He snorted, but didn’t say anything. I handed him the crochet and he took it slowly, still not looking at me.’
‘It’s OK
,’ I said. ‘No judgement.’
‘Girl!’ Gex yelled from across the room.
‘From me, at least,’ I said.
‘So what’s so great about knitting, and crochet and stuff?’ Keith asked. ‘You’re a fan, Tony’s a fan. What’s up with that?’
‘It’s relaxing,’ I said, my stock answer. ‘But it’s more than that. It … ’ I stopped for a moment to collect my thoughts. What was I trying to say? ‘When the pattern starts to take shape,’ I went on, ‘I can see I’m creating something. Something solid, something useful. Something that’s real. That comes from inside me. Does that sound dumb?’
‘Yes,’ said Gex.
‘No, I kinda get it,’ Keith said, frowning at Gex. ‘Maybe you could show me some time?’
‘Any time,’ I said.
After that I went to see my parents to ask for some money. Mum let me in. Oddly, she was wearing a dressing gown even though it was far too early for bedtime. As I walked in I noticed a Bloomingdale’s bag on a chair and some frilly item of female underwear draped across the nightstand.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘He’s in the shower,’ she said. ‘We were just … having a nap.’
Dad came out of the shower. Spotting me he said. ‘Good timing, eh, Susan?’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about something, Dad?’
‘It’s not about bloody Dr Who again, is it?’ he said, exasperated. ‘I told you, I set it to record before we left.’
‘Well, now you mention it,’ I said. ‘Your answers last time we discussed this weren’t entirely consistent.’
‘Look, I found Dr Who on the TV guide screen,’ he said. ‘Then I hit the red record button. Done!’
‘But series record. You have to press it twice for series record. Did you press it twice?’
‘At least twice,’ Dad said. ‘Perhaps more.’
‘You’re only supposed to press it twice,’ I said, groaning. ‘If you press it again, it cancels all the recordings.’
‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ he said.
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ I grumped.
He’s such an idiot.
‘So this date with Brandi,’ Mum said.
‘It’s not a date,’ I said. ‘It’s a business dinner.’
‘Is that a thing?’ Mum asked. ‘I’ve heard of a business lunch, but not a business dinner.’
‘It’s very common in New York,’ I said airily.
‘And she’s paying?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
‘But I might need some money, just in case.’
‘What, for condoms?’ she asked.
‘MUM!’
‘OK, OK, sorry,’ she said. She reached into her purse, took out thirty dollars and handed it over, eyeing me strangely. ‘Have a good time. Be careful.’
‘Thanks. Yeah, you too,’ I said, trying not to look at the nightstand.
* * *
As I left their room the BlackBerry buzzed again. Damn you, G! I thought. I opened the message. But it wasn’t G. It was Melanee, the PR girl from the American Knitting Guild.
I saw you on the Donovan show. You were amazing! I’d love to meet with you soon to discuss some projects. We have some great ideas. Can we talk? Mx
I hesitated before calling. I hadn’t discussed this with Brandi. She’d gone out of her way to warn me about Melanee and the American Knitting Guild. She’d been so nice to me and the KGAA had paid for my tickets and everything. Also, I was counting on Brandi to pick up the tabs for room service and the minibar. I needed her on side. She mustn’t know about Melanee. But maybe she didn’t need to find out.
Not without reservation, I called Melanee.
‘Hi, Ben,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for calling!’
‘Er, no problem. You said something about projects?’
‘Yes of course. I realise your time in New York is very precious but I wonder if you could spare a little time to talk with me? Face to face.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘Now?’
‘Not now,’ she said. ‘I have a date tonight. Tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be at KnitFair tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Could we meet up there?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Swing by our stand.
‘Yes, OK,’ I said. ‘That sounds great.’
6.22pm
Before I got stuck into Fat Tony’s Hoopie, I called Marcus for an update on the Megan situation. It could have gone better. As soon as Marcus realised who was skyping him, he looked around guiltily and leaned towards the camera.
‘I’m not allowed to talk to you,’ he whispered.
‘Why not?’ I asked. But then I heard another voice.
‘Who’s that?’ Marcus moved aside and I saw Mrs Hooper peering at me. ‘Marcus, go and wait in the sitting room,’ she said curtly. Marcus scurried off.
Mrs Hooper sat and glared at me. She was magnificent when angry, but I didn’t feel I should say.
‘Hello, Mrs Hooper,’ I tried.
‘Why did you tell Marcus his gran was dying?’
‘I didn’t,’ I protested.
‘He says you did.’
‘I may have let slip that she was in the hospital. I didn’t know it was a secret. Sorry.’
‘Why were you even talking to him?’
‘He answered when I skyped on Tuesday. Megan wasn’t there.’
‘But you called him again?’
‘Yes. Well. You see it’s about Megan. I was worried about her.’ There was no getting around it, so I told her my concerns about Sean.
‘You were jealous of Sean, so you ask her little brother to spy on her and while you’re at it tell him his gran is at death’s door?’
‘I don’t think I used those words exactly … ’
Mrs Hooper shook her head. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Ben,’ she said.
I hung my head, feeling lower than a depressive worm.
‘Sorry,’ I repeated. ‘Is Megan cross with me?’
‘I’m afraid she is,’ Mrs Hooper said. ‘We all are.’
‘Is she there?’
‘No, she’s not.’
I waited for Mrs Hooper to go on to tell me where Megan was but she said nothing. My heart sank. She was out with Sean. I knew it!
‘I’ve got to go, Ben,’ Mrs Hooper said. ‘I’ll tell Megan you called. I’m not sure she’ll want to speak to you just now, though.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Hooper,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
But she’d gone.
I’ve really screwed up this time. And it’ll take more than a bit of super-fast knitting to put this right.
7.01pm
As I got ready for my dinner with Brandi (which involved stealing a fresh set of boxer shorts from Gex and liberally applying Gex’s Lynx Africa to my armpits), I couldn’t stop wondering and worrying whether Megan was at this very moment out with Sean. But without Marcus, how could I spy on her now? I needed another operative. Freddie was no good because he has the IQ of a goldfish, so I skyped Joz.
‘Why is it dark in your house?’ I asked as he answered. ‘Is the electricity off again?’
‘It’s the middle of the night.’
‘Oh, sorry,’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘As it happens, the electricity is off again. It’s cold here. Mum and Dad don’t know what to do, we can’t afford to pay for an electrician and Southerly say there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Gosh that’s terrible,’ I said impatiently. I hadn’t phoned to listen to Joz’s sob story. I needed him to do my bidding by spying on my girlfriend.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I need a favour. I need you to keep an eye on Megan.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s been seen with Sean.’
‘Sean? I hate that guy.’
‘Yeah, so could you please go around and see if he’s at her house?’
‘Sure, I’ll go tomorrow.’
‘No. Go now.’
‘It’s nearly midni
ght!’
‘She only lives a couple of streets away from you!’
‘I’ll go in the morning.’
‘But I think she’s out with him tonight!’ I protested. ‘You need to catch her in the act.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not doing it.’
I thought quickly, what could I offer him?
‘I know,’ I said. ‘What if I could solve your electrical problems?’
‘You’re going to fix the electricity from New York?’
‘No, but I know someone who can help you.’
‘Who?’
‘You don’t need to know the details,’ I said. ‘Just trust me. Will you go and check up on Megan?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Thanks, Joz. Leave the electricity to me.’
‘You’d better not be bullshitting me,’ he said.
‘Call me when you get back,’ I said.
‘He sighed. ‘OK,’ he said and hung up.
7.43pm
I was to meet Brandi outside the subway entrance at 29th Street and Lexington. I arrived ten minutes early and she was ten minutes late. I was wearing the suit. I’d hummed and hawed about possibly plumping for Gex’s gold tracksuit with the red piping but in the end figured the suit was probably the better choice.
‘Ben?’
I turned. Brandi looked amazing. She’d gone to town on the make-up and wore a tight-fitting spangly top and I would say that she was slightly overdressed if you can apply that term to someone who’s wearing a skirt only four inches long.
‘Hi, Brandi,’ I said.
‘Hi,’ she said, going for the double-cheek kiss which I managed to get right for once. ‘Nice suit.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Nice … skirt.’
Why had I said skirt? I meant top. I was suddenly very sure that this wasn’t a date but also that Brandi thought that I thought it was.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘The restaurant isn’t far.’
‘So,’ I said as we walked down Lexington. ‘That guy G is still texting.’
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ Brandi said.
‘It’s OK, I’m just curious. I hope you don’t mind me bringing it up?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said, nodding.
‘What does he do?’ I asked.
‘He’s like, really rich. He runs his own company. He wrote some neat software for e-readers to display magazines better.’