An English Boy in New York

by T. S. Easton

  11.15pm

  So. It’s late. I’m back at the hotel. Brandi could see I wasn’t in the best mood after the phone call to Megan so we grabbed a cab and she dropped me back.

  Gex and Keith are still out. I have no idea where they are but they’ve clearly been ordering food off room service because there was a tray outside the room with the remains of two meals. None of the vegetables had been eaten off one plate. Inside the room there are empty beer cans and crisp packets everywhere. I’d have to talk to Keith and make sure he paid for all of this. I’m certainly not, Gex doesn’t have any money and I can’t ask the Knitting Guild to cover the tab. I should have just come to New York on my own. I wouldn’t be any lonelier and there’d be a lot less clutter. Though I wouldn’t have the contents of Gex’s suitcase to plunder either. I took another pair of clean boxers from Gex’s case by way of revenge.

  Friday 17th May

  9.12am

  I woke early and took advantage of the continuing absence of Gex and Keith to get on with Fat Tony’s cerise Hoopie. I did about twenty minutes before the headache got too bad. After a brief internal struggle I got up and found the Bloomingdale’s bag. Rummaging in the bottom I found what I was looking for. The blister pack of Canadian paracetamol. I took one and went and had a shower. By the time I’d finished the headache was pretty much gone and I felt mildly floaty. I sighed happily and got back to the knitting, only to be interrupted again by a phone call from Gex, who said he and Keith were having breakfast in Dino’s and would I like to join them?

  ‘I’m busy, Gex,’ I said. ‘I have to do this Hoopie. Then I’m off to KnitFair.’

  ‘You have to come down and have breakfast wiv us,’ Gex said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cos both of us is skint, innit,’ he informed me.

  The BlackBerry went off just as Denise brought my waffles

  Please call. I’ve left her for good. Like you asked. I don’t know what to do now. I need to talk to you. G

  Uh oh. Surely I should say something to Brandi about this? But she’d made it clear she didn’t want to know about G’s texts any more. What had she said? It’s just too painful to think about. Even allowing for the tendency of New Yorkers to overstate things, it seemed clear she didn’t want anything to do with the guy. Against my better judgement, I showed Gex and Keith the most recent text.

  ‘The guy’s in bits,’ I said. ‘I’m worried about him.’

  ‘He shouldn’t of messed her around then, innit? Gex said.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ I asked. ‘Should I tell Brandi?’

  ‘Nah, man,’ Gex said. ‘I think you should hit reply, tell him where to go.’

  I raised my eyebrows doubtfully but Keith nodded his head. ‘Yeah, good plan.’

  ‘Is it really a good plan?’ I asked. They nodded enthusiastically, in synch.

  I pressed reply and stared at the screen, thinking.

  ‘What are you gonna say?’ Keith asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll let him down gently, I suppose.’

  ‘Ben’s good with words,’ Gex said. I glanced up at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. ‘He’s a spod,’ he went on, righting the universe.

  I texted.

  Please stop. We were great together, but it’s over now. B.

  Taking a deep breath, I pressed send.

  ‘There,’ I said. ‘It’s done.’

  ‘Do you Brits not get the idea of a balanced diet?’ Keith asked, nodding at my waffles. ‘Waffles for breakfast, Philly cheesesteak for lunch and dinner.’

  I shrugged. ‘I like it.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Keith said, looking at my belly. I just happened to be slouching a little so maybe my shirt was pulled a bit tight.

  ‘You saying I’m fat?’ I asked.

  Keith pulled a face. ‘Listen. You eat nothing but waffles and Philly cheesesteak, you’re gonna pile on the pounds. Law of nature.’

  ‘Look here, Jamie Oliver,’ I said. ‘I’m not taking dietary advice from a citizen of the country that invented bacon milkshakes.’

  The BlackBerry buzzed on the table. We all watched it for a moment. I glanced nervously at Gex before picking it up.

  ‘It’s him,’ I said. ‘G.’

  ‘What’s it say?’

  ‘It says, “I can’t believe you got in contact. I’m so happy. We WERE great together. When can I CU?”’

  ‘What?’ Gex asked. ‘Did he not read the part about it being over?’

  ‘I told you not to do it,’ Keith said through a mouthful of egg.

  ‘No you didn’t,’ I said. ‘You both said I should do it.’

  ‘Well, looks like you made the wrong call,’ Keith replied.

  I agreed. I was beginning to think I’d made a terrible mistake.

  ‘What should I text back?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Keith said. ‘You’ll only make it worse.’

  ‘Since when are you the Textmaster?’ I asked him.

  ‘You shouldn’t screw with other people’s relationships,’ he said.

  ‘They’re not having a relationship,’ I said, fuming at the fact that Keith had completely reversed his position. ‘She’s not even getting his texts. I am.’

  ‘Ignore them,’ Keith said.

  ‘He won’t be able to,’ Gex said. ‘This is Bellend Ben you’re talking about. He always sticks his nose in.’

  I stared at Judas, my mouth open. ‘Firstly, no I don’t,’ I said. ‘Secondly, you said texting back was a good idea. Both of you did.’

  Gex took a mouthful of sausage to avoid having to respond. I texted back as Keith shook his head.

  Don’t text me any more. U will never C me again.

  ‘There,’ I said. ‘That should do it.’

  But the BlackBerry buzzed again, almost immediately.

  I could come to your office? We could go to our bar?

  ‘What the hell is wrong with this guy?’ Gex said, leaning over to see. ‘He’s a nutjob.’

  ‘Oh God. What have I done?’ I said. ‘What if he turns up at Brandi’s office?’

  ‘Do you know his name?’ Keith asked. ‘Maybe I could pay him a little visit, along with a couple of pals.’

  ‘Thanks, Scarface, but that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I think I’m going to take your advice and stop responding.’

  ‘You wanna come downtown with us today?’ Gex asked. ‘We’re going on a Gangs of New York walking tour.’

  ‘You’re paying to go on a walking tour?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah. We’re just going to follow them around,’ Keith said.

  ‘I’m going to KnitFair today,’ I said. ‘But thanks.’ I was touched to be asked.

  ‘Do you have any tickets left for KnitFair?’ Gex asked.

  ‘You want to go to KnitFair?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, chewing on a piece of toast. ‘It’s free at least.’

  ‘Not today, though?’ I said. As nice as it would be to have some company, I wasn’t sure I wanted Gex following me around making stupid jokes.

  ‘Maybe tomorrow?’ Gex said.

  I shrugged and pulled out my wallet. I’d given my parents tickets for the Sunday but had a few comp tickets left. I handed one to him.

  It’s great that Gex is showing an interest. So why do I have such a bad feeling about this?

  11.43am

  I stood for a moment, gazing out across the cavernous hall. Katniss couldn’t have felt more excited the first time she saw the arena. I’d thought the Knit Fair at Olympia had been something special. I was wrong. At Olympia there had been rows of stands. Here there were streets. Olympia had a narrow mezzanine level for sales meetings and a café. Here there were three wide suspended boulevards with conference suites, lounge areas, bars and restaurants.

  I was glad I’d come alone to this bit. No one else would have understood. I didn’t have any meetings arranged for today. They were all tomorrow
and Sunday morning, on the Priapia stand. Today was just a chance for me to look around and soak up the atmosphere.

  I wandered the crowded streets for a while, listening to the conversations. Time flew and before I knew it I had to rush to get to lecture theatre 3 to listen to a Fabrice Gentile Master Class in which he revealed his new pattern for a Ruffled Dropped Stitch Neck Warmer. He is such an inspiration.

  Later on I attended a workshop on Demystifying Set-in Sleeves. As I was leaving the lecture room, who should I bump into but Gex! Following close behind him was Keith.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘The Gangs of New York tour people chased us away,’ Gex explained.

  ‘We think they may have been genuine wiseguys,’ Keith said quickly.

  This didn’t sound likely to me.

  ‘Where did he get his ticket from?’ I asked, pointing at Keith.

  ‘He doesn’t have one,’ Gex said. ‘He tailgated through the turnstiles.’

  I gasped. ‘You gatecrashed KnitFair?’

  ‘Sure did,’ Keith said proudly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was interested in the crochet stuff.’

  ‘Sure you were,’ I said sarcastically.

  ‘Ben,’ Gex said. ‘Why is it only you who can like craft? You’re stereotyping us.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘So do you want to come to the buttons and ribbons lecture with me?’

  ‘You’re joking, innit,’ Gex said, looking aghast.

  ‘Fine, please yourself,’ I said. ‘Just stay out of trouble, OK?’

  1.01pm

  OH MY GOD, it is amazing here. Madison Square Garden is massive. This makes the London Knit Fair look like a Wednesday afternoon knitting circle at Liss community centre. There’s an entire pavilion devoted to socks. I’ve also seen the crocheting monkey. I had to join a long queue and we all shuffled past as this tiny monkey put the finishing touches to an antimacassar. I’m no expert, but some of the flanges looked a little sloppy.

  2.15pm – coffee break

  Interesting.

  I’ve just spent quite a while observing the KnitMaster stand. They were demonstrating the KnitMaster 2000 which is the model they have on sale at present. There were half a dozen white-coated boffins scurrying about adjusting machines and answering people’s questions. They’re not unveiling the KnitMaster 3000 until Sunday, when it goes head-to-head against yours truly. After ten minutes of watching the 2000 I was convinced there was no way I would have a chance. It was knitting a pair of trousers with an exquisitely tight weave. Quite impressive really, but all I could think of was the forthcoming humiliation of losing to this machine in a head-to-head DeathMatch. What had I been thinking, even considering the idea? Publicity was all well and good, but if you end up looking like a trash-talking lunatic then it’s going to backfire, surely?

  I suppose from Priapia’s point of view they don’t care. If the machine buries me then they get into the papers and the money they’ve invested in KnitMaster will bring them a good return. If a miracle happens and I win, then they’ll have an option on my Hoopie design and will cash in on that.

  I guess that’s how you do business. Maybe I’m not cut out for that world.

  I was just about to turn away when something odd happened. The 2000 suddenly stopped and let out an urgent buzzing noise. One of the technicians hopped over and started prodding and poking in the innards. Finally he bashed it on the top and it started working again, to a round of applause.

  I swung by the Knitting Guild Association of America’s stand after that to catch up with Brandi, who’d been quiet lately. She was in the middle of a meeting, so I hung around waiting until she’d finished, looking through brochures and catalogues.

  ‘Hi, Ben,’ she said. ‘It’s like Stressville, Idaho, here.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d have time for a cup of tea,’ I said.

  ‘She shook her head. ‘Sorry, today is my busiest day. I’ll have more free time tomorrow, and Sunday of course.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  ‘Can I take a raincheck on that tea?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  2.55pm

  Have just sat down for a well-earned cup of tea on my own. There’s an email I need to send. I had toyed with the idea of leaving Joz in the dark but my inherent good nature won out in the end.

  Hi Mr McGavin,

  I’m emailing because I need a favour and I thought maybe we could make a deal. I’ll knit you a Hampton scarf if you could drop by my friend Joz’s house and have a look at his electrics. The lights keep going out and Southerly Electricity say they can’t find the problem.

  What do you think?

  Best wishes,

  Ben Fletcher

  That done, I sighed happily, able to relax for the first time in ages. I was looking through some of the catalogues I’ve picked up when I heard the most almighty crash somewhere in the hall, followed by screams. I hope Gex isn’t involved. I’m on the mezzanine, so should be able to get a good view.

  3.15pm

  Gex is involved. A brightly coloured marquee has been brought down over on the far side. I can see Gex remonstrating with a group of security guards. What is he like? I’ll have to go over and sort things out.

  3.30pm

  I made my way over to the collapsed marquee, which turned out to be the Andean Weavers’ Collective stand. Mostly alpaca wools in reds and browns, now squashed. From somewhere in the wreckage, slightly muffled pan flutes could be heard, still playing. I could also hear a faint squeaking noise.

  When Gex saw me he waved me over.

  ‘I had nothing to do with it, innit,’ he said. Keith stood to one side, trying to look innocent.

  A security guard looked at me sternly, then he saw my VIP badge. ‘You two know each other?’

  I sighed. ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘Can you vouch for him?’

  Hmm, let’s see. I can vouch for the fact that trouble follows him wherever he goes. That it’s always me who seems to land in hot water afterwards. I can vouch for the fact that he’s self-obsessed, rude, unsupportive, misogynistic and likes to shoplift.

  ‘Yep, I can vouch for him,’ I said, with feeling.

  The guard pointed his walkie-talkie aerial at Gex. ‘I’ll be watching you, son.’

  ‘OK, Dad,’ Gex replied, unable to stop himself from inflaming the situation.

  ‘Thanks,’ Gex said when the guard had gone. The Andeans had managed to raise the canopy of the damaged tent now, the pan flutes seemed much healthier and the squeaking sound I’d heard was revealed to be a cage full of guinea pigs. Surely they don’t shear guinea pigs in the Andes? How many guinea pigs does it take to knit a scarf?

  I pulled Gex and Keith over to a quiet corner.

  ‘What the hell were you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘It was Keith, he pushed me,’ Gex said.

  ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘I’ve had enough of you two.’

  Gex and Keith looked at each other, like butter wouldn’t melt.

  ‘What have we done?’ Gex asked.

  ‘Well, let’s see. In the last week, you’ve taken me to a MILF bar and got me into a brawl. You dragged me all the way to Jersey in the middle of the night, to extract you from a card game, you raided the minibar and replaced the Jameson’s with urine and now you’ve nearly wiped out three generations of Andean guinea pigs.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Gex asked.

  ‘That’s enough to be going on with,’ I snarled.

  ‘Yeah?’ Gex said. ‘Well, well, you wore my boxer shorts.’

  I took a sharp breath. He knew about that? ‘Say what you like about me,’ he said. ‘But I ain’t never done nothing like that.’

  ‘You don’t wear another guy’s undergarments,’ Keith confirmed, looking grave. ‘That’s crossing a boundary, man.’

  ‘It’s a bit gross, sure, but don’t act like I snogged your girlfriend, or synched your iPod.’

  ‘That would have been e
asier to take,’ Gex said.

  ‘I cleaned them,’ I said, wondering how I’d got onto the back foot here. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘So why’d you hide it?’ Gex asked.

  ‘Hold up. Hold up! Don’t try to make this about me,’ I said. ‘Just get out, go back to the hotel. Stay out of trouble for two more nights. Don’t forget I’m on probation, OK?’

  Gex shook his head. ‘I’m getting out,’ he said. ‘But I ain’t going back to the hotel. And screw your probation.’

  He turned away, then back quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

  ‘And you know what else?’ he said, thumbing buttons. ‘There’s gonna be a contact killing.’

  ‘What?’ I asked in alarm.

  ‘A contact killing,’ he said. ‘I’m deleting you from my phone. There, you’re gone, man,’

  ‘Contact killing? I asked. ‘Is that a thing?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a thing.’

  ‘OK, then, I’m going to kill your contact,’ I said. ‘With prejudice.’

  I stabbed buttons furiously. He glowered at me one last time and stalked off. Keith following along behind.

  What a couple of babies.

  After that I swung by the AKG stand. With Brandi occupied on the other side of the hall, this was the time to strike. As I approached I saw an attractive Chinese girl standing talking to a large man in a floral shirt. I waited for her to finish, then stepped up.

  ‘Melanee?’ I said.

  ‘Hi, Ben,’ she said. ‘I recognise you from the TV.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘That was a car crash.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘You’re even cuter in the flesh.’

  These PR girls are so good at making people feel good about themselves, I thought. I had to remind myself she didn’t mean anything by it. Melanee ushered me over to a little table on the stand.

  ‘So can you do an event with us?’ Melanee asked.

  ‘What sort of thing did you have in mind?’

  ‘What we’d really like,’ she said, ‘is a demonstration of knitting in the European style, from an expert.’

  ‘Is this because you’re trying to promote the European style in the US?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘It really is a superior method, don’t you agree?’