that
before
I did the interview,â I pointed out.
âDonât worry about it. Itâs not as if anyoneâs going to check,â she said.
âI hope not,â I said. âI donât like lying.â
âReally? Youâre pretty good at it,â she said. Denise came and gave us our coffees. This time Denise smiled at me. She looked a bit perkier than she had last night.
âDid you get some sleep?â I asked her.
She laughed. âI sure did.â
Brandi raised an eyebrow as the waitress walked off.
âWhat?â I said.
âQuite the ladiesâ man, huh?â
âNo, itâs just that last night  â¦Â â I stopped. âOh, whatever, itâs not what you think!â
âYouâre lying again.â
âNo Iâm not.â
Brandi took my hand and squeezed it. âIâm just teasing. I think youâre amazing, Ben. I really enjoyed today.â
âYeah, me too,â I said.
Back at the hotel, I walked into my room and my first thought was that weâd been burgled by someone with reverse-OCD. Someone had taken every last item out of Gexâs suitcase and distributed it carefully around the floor so that everything was exactly equidistant from everything else. Even though Gex hadnât slept in the bed last night the bedclothes were messed up and in a heap at the foot of the bed. There was also an odd smell.
Gex was sitting at the table by the window, sending a text.
âSo the wanderer returns,â I said. âI missed you. Not.â
âAll right, Bellend,â said Gex, looking up from his phone. âWhaddup?â
I shook my head and surveyed the mess again. âHas Tracey Emin moved in?â I asked.
âTracey who?â Gex shrugged. âNah. But we do have a visitor.â
I heard the toilet flush and a strange man appeared at the door to the bathroom.
âBen, dis is Keith,â Gex said. âKeith, Ben.â
âYo,â Keith said.
âHi  â¦Â Keith,â I said, slightly nervous. Keith was a big lad with greasy hair and a huge leather jacket. So he was a gangster?
âKeith is just his gang name,â Gex said.
âReally?â I asked. âKeith doesnât sound very  â¦Â gangy.â
âItâs a cool name here in the Apple,â Gex said knowledgeably.
âWhere are Mum and Dad?â I asked.
âThey went to some place called the Googlehome.â
âThe Guggenheim?â
âWhatever.â
âSo you the knitting guy?â Keith asked.
âEr, yeah,â I replied. I wasnât sure I was happy about Gex volunteering all this personal information about me to Jimmy Soprano here.
âMy mom knits,â Keith volunteered.
âEr, OK.â
âI love my mom,â he said.
âGood,â I replied. âMe too. I mean, I love my mom. Not your mom. Not that your mom isnât loveable also.â
Gex started whistling through his teeth, which is Gex speak for âshut the hell upâ.
âHey, I need a coffee,â Keith said. âLetâs go to Starbucks.â
âLet me go and see if my parents are back first,â I said.
I wandered down the hall and knocked at their door, but there was no answer. They must have still been at the Guggenheim, or maybe theyâd gone out to dinner. This was why it was so frustrating not having my phone. How did people cope in the 80s, before mobile phones? I shudder to think. And I worry about the human race in the event of an extraterrestrial attack. All the Martians would have to do is take out a few phone masts and weâd all forget what we were supposed to be doing and start wandering about aimlessly.
Anyway. Out the three of us went, onto the streets of New York.
For some reason Gex was nearly wetting his pants about going to Starbucks.
âWe have two in Hampton,â I pointed out. âOne in the high street and one at
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