Author: Anna Martin
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/anna-martin/page,8,529683-the_lost_boy.html
“Make it there, you can make it anywhere,” Ben said with a smirk.
Stan laughed. “Exactly! And one day I’d like to work in Paris again, and I’d love to spend more time reporting on what’s happening in places in Africa, because seriously, Ben, some of the work that’s coming from African-influenced designers is just stunning. I’ve been planning a trip back to Nairobi for at least six months. But I think for the rest of my career, I’m going to have to be in New York twice a year at least.”
“But you want to come back and work in London again.”
Stan nodded and pulled his hair over his shoulder. “Yes, I think I do. I decided to leave London for good reasons, so I don’t regret that. Now seems to be a good time to be back, though. I’m at a different place in my career, and I think I can move forward here.”
“You’re famous,” Ben said, like he was only just realising it.
Stan shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m seeing respect for what I do in the industry I work in. Which is nice, of course. You’re famous.”
Ben made a face. Stan laughed.
“It’s not…” Ben started, then shook his head.
“What?”
“It’s not what I wanted.”
“I know,” Stan said softly, carefully.
“I can’t say that without sounding so incredibly fucking ungrateful, though. I didn’t want it, and Stan… I lost.”
“You lost?”
“So much more than I gained.”
Stan turned his hand over and lifted it, palm up. After a moment, Ben slipped his hand into Stan’s and squeezed.
“You regret it,” Stan said.
Ben nodded, then made another face. “Sometimes. I think about where I would be if we hadn’t made it. Probably still here, probably still doing the same jobs we were doing before. I don’t even know if we’d still be playing together as a band.”
“I think you would,” Stan said, absently drawing patterns on the back of Ben’s hand, now he had it in his own.
“Yeah. Maybe. I hate where things are at the moment.”
“Have you spoken to them?”
Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I keep wanting to, but the last time I had a conversation with Jez, it turned into a massive row. I knew right from the start that this was their dream we were chasing. Summer and Jez in particular. Geordie was in it because Summer was, and Tone was in it for a laugh.”
“They’re a better band for you being with them.”
“Yeah. They used to say that all the time. It made it hard to back out. Especially after the first album.”
He fell silent, and Stan made a decision.
“Let’s go shopping,” he said, standing and pulling Ben to his feet at the same time.
“Where?”
“Bond Street.”
Ben made a face. “Jesus. Why would we do that?”
“Because I just got paid,” Stan lied easily. “And because all my nice clothes are in New York, and even though my roommate agreed to go into my room and ship me a bunch of stuff, it’s still going to be at least a week until I get it.”
That last part wasn’t a lie.
“I suppose we could do that.”
“You’re right,” Stan said, dropping Ben’s hand. “I used to dress up and look nice. And if I want to reclaim my stake on the London fashion scene, I need to look like I belong here.”
“And you want to go to Bond Street to do that?”
“It’s not a bad place to start,” Stan said with a smirk.
“How about Harrods?”
“How is that better?”
“Less… people.”
Stan decided not to push further. “We can go to Harrods. I haven’t been there in forever.”
“Okay.” Ben looked relieved. He pushed his hands into his pockets, but seemed to be standing a little taller.
Stan hailed a cab and waited until they were inside it before taking Ben’s hand again.
“Are you sure this is okay? We can always go home if you want.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “When have I ever not loved going shopping with you?”
Stan didn’t say anything to that and looked out of the window instead. But he was smiling.
They were dropped off right on Brompton Street amidst the bustle of a weekday afternoon in Kensington. It wasn’t as bad as it would be on the weekend, so that was something. Ben kept his head down, as was his habit these days. Stan had noticed.
Stan whisked them up to the first floor without pausing, keeping Ben moving so he wasn’t startled by anything. It was always calmer up here than the bustle of the ground floor, where the tourists roamed in equal numbers to the locals. Ben seemed to be coping okay. Stan hadn’t let go of his hand, and Ben hadn’t tried to get away. Stan liked feeling Ben’s hand in his, with its calluses from playing guitar and his long, strong fingers. He didn’t think about it too much. Just accepted that it felt right.
“What are we looking for?” Ben asked as Stan started wandering.
“A few staples, a few statement pieces,” Stan mused. “I need a pair of good black jeans.”
“You could always borrow these,” Ben said.
Stan had to look at him to know he was joking. Then he rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think so, darling.”
Stan tended to move quickly when he was shopping. He knew almost instinctively what he wanted and what was going to fit his shape. Years of shopping in the womenswear department with a man’s body had taught him a lot. And of course, his eye for colour and shape was well known.
It didn’t take long for a sales assistant to swoop down on them.
“I can take these to a dressing room for you?” she offered, nodding to the pile in Stan’s arms.
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can help with?”
“No, just let me know where you take it so I can find it later.” Stan gave her a smile.
“Of course.”
Ben waited until she was a safe distance away before he leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.
“Does she know who she’s dealing with?”
Stan gave an affected shrug. “Maybe. You can go look for things for yourself, if you like. Menswear is on the ground floor.”
“Nah. I’m okay with this. I’m still impressed you could find so much for me in less than fifteen minutes. In one shop.”
“I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, I suppose you are.”
Stan gathered another dozen or so pieces before heading over to the dressing room the assistant had pointed out.
“We have our personal shopping department upstairs if you’d be more comfortable up there,” she offered as Stan started unloading things.
“No, this is fine. Thank you.”
Ben took a seat on the boyfriend bench and folded his arms over his chest, apparently endlessly amused at the interaction between Stan and the poor girl. Stan wasn’t sure what the fuss was about. He was being very polite.
While grinning over his shoulder at Ben, Stan ducked into the dressing room to change.
Stan had wondered how long it would be before someone figured out who he was; then he was treated to a visit from an old friend.
“Olivia,” he greeted, smiling as he kissed her on each cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” she agreed.
Stan had worked with Olivia in Paris. She had been a stylist who’d collaborated with Stan on several articles. Now she was one of the higher-up managers here.
“This is my friend Ben.”
Ben grunted at her. She smiled blandly at him in response.
“I didn’t know you were in London.”
“It wasn’t a planned visit,” he admitted, pulling his hair free of the neckband of the top he’d just finished buttoning. “If it was, I would have looked you up.”
“Can I give you a tip?”
Stan raised an eyebrow at her.
“There’s a show tonight, in Spita
lfields,” she said, tucking her dark bob behind her ear. “British-Nigerian designer, just graduated LCF with one of the best graduating shows I’ve ever seen. She does things with colours and textures that’ll make you drool, Stan.”
“This isn’t a work trip,” he said. Then turned to the sales assistant, who was still hovering. “I need a size seven, closed-toe heel. No straps.”
“Of course,” she said, and scuttled away.
Ben made another noise that Stan decided to ignore.
“You’re involved at LCF?” Stan asked Olivia.
London College of Fashion was to London what Parsons was to New York—the gateway through which new designers emerged. Stan had always kept half an eye on the university, even after he’d left the city.
“I was invited to their end-of-year shows,” Olivia said. “I wouldn’t normally bother, but I just broke up with Kaitlyn, and I needed a distraction.”
Stan made a sympathetic noise. “Does this come in a dress?” he asked, smoothing his hand over the burgundy satin shirt.
“Shin length,” Olivia agreed. “Two?”
“And a one. Please.”
She gestured and another sales assistant disappeared.
“It’s like you have minions,” Ben said from his seat.
Stan laughed. “They love it. I know I used to.”
“It’s at eight,” Olivia said, changing tack. “I’ll get your name on the attendees list. You have to go, Stan. It’s so your thing. Plus, there’s a few new designers showing and along with some familiar faces. I’m excited, which tells you something.”
Stan cast a glance over at Ben, who seemed entirely comfortable. He shrugged at Stan, and Stan wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Put my name down,” he said. “If I can make it, I will.”
“Excellent,” Olivia said and leaned in to kiss his cheeks. “I’ll make sure you have a plus-one.”
Both sales assistants reappeared at the same time, one with the burgundy dress, the other with several boxes of shoes. Stan spotted a pair of mustard-yellow Dolce & Gabbana pumps, and grinned.
He’d missed this too.
Chapter Ten
Ben watched Stan try on clothes and soaked himself in every moment of it. It helped that Harrods was calm and cool and a million miles away from his comfort zone.
Even though his skin crawled with the craving for something to take the edge off, Ben was in control for the first time in years. Normally in situations like this, he would find an excuse to take a couple of Valium and float through the tense, stomach-knotting anxiety in a haze of not giving a shit.
It had been a good cycle, for a while—cocaine to get him going and Valium to push him into sleep again when the comedown hit too hard and he couldn’t stop shaking. Being able to recognise both the cycle and his dependency on it didn’t stop his body from wanting it, though.
Maybe what he’d needed all this time was for someone to make him do something he wouldn’t ever normally do. Like go out in public while stone-cold sober, to a place where he might be recognised, and just sit and wait. He didn’t have a phone, so he couldn’t distract himself with Twitter or stupid games. This moment—the one he was living—was totally unavoidable.
The sales assistant girl gave him a small, friendly smile. Ben forced himself to return it.
“I like this one,” Stan said as he dramatically threw the curtain open.
The dress was black, falling to his shins with a cut up the skirt that exposed the long line of Stan’s leg. The top twisted at the waist, a strange angle and pleat of fabric that looked almost Grecian as it bisected Stan’s chest. It was very, very Stan. He looked incredible. Ben’s stomach ached with all the ways he didn’t know how to tell Stan that anymore.
“Me too,” Ben said. “You sure you want something black for summer, though?”
Stan rolled his eyes. “This is spring/summer.”
“What do I know.”
“Very little,” Stan said, but he was teasing.
“We’ll take it,” Ben said to the smiling sales girl. “And the shoes, and that dress thing, and whatever else he wants.”
“Of course.”
“Ben—”
Ben raised an eyebrow, knowing for sure he wanted to do this. He wanted to do something nice for Stan. “You bought me clothes when we got here. I’m just returning the favour.”
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“I don’t care.”
Stan looked like he was struggling for a moment, and then he huffed. “Thank you.”
Ben grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Ben waited until they got back to the flat, arms loaded with bags of clothes and shoes and makeup—Stan had wanted to stop by the makeup counters before they left—before asking the question that had been grating on his nerves all afternoon.
“Do you want to go to this fashion show?”
Stan dumped all his bags by the door and went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“I don’t mind. Do you?”
Ben was taken aback. He’d been carefully practicing how he’d convince Stan to go without him, how he’d be fine on his own in the flat and how he’d make sure Stan knew he wasn’t going to go out looking for drugs. Because he wasn’t.
“I wasn’t invited.”
“Yes, you were,” Stan said. He got two mugs out of the cupboard and teabags from the little tin next to the fridge. “Olivia said she’d put down a plus-one. That was her subtle way of asking me if I’m fucking you.”
Ben choked on his own breath. “What?”
He desperately tried to remember Stan’s response to Olivia’s question, and couldn’t.
“Like I said, she’s subtle about it.”
“Oh.”
The kettle clicked as it boiled.
“So, are you coming?”
Ben wanted to say no. If the quiet, sombre interior of Harrods nearly gave him a panic attack, then a fashion show in the middle of Spitalfields was not going to set him alight with joy.
“I don’t know.”
“If you’re worried about people approaching you, you shouldn’t be. It’s going to be fashion people, Ben, and if there’s one thing I can tell you for sure, it’s that they’re all going to be falling over their feet trying to look cool. Most of them will pretend not to know who you are even if they do. I promise you’re not going to get mobbed by rabid fans.”
“It’s an industry event?”
“Yes,” Stan said and passed Ben a cup of tea. “Boring fashion people who are going to be reporting on the clothes, not who’s wearing them. For once.”
He blew across the surface of his own mug, then sipped. Ben did the same.
“Stan, I’m going to regret saying this for the rest of my life. But I don’t have anything to wear.”
Stan tipped his head back and laughed, a full-belly laugh that Ben felt all the way down to his toes. He hid his own smile behind his tea.
“Wear your jeans and a black T-shirt,” Stan said. “No one will know what label it is anyway. And if anyone does recognise you, they won’t expect you to be wearing anything other than that.”
“I guess.”
“You should come,” Stan said gently. “I promise I won’t abandon you.”
Ben felt those words too, but in a different way.
“Okay,” he said, and was surprised to find he didn’t instantly regret it.
There were a lot of people at the show. More than Ben was expecting. Apparently it was some kind of big deal, and there were people around who were there to be seen, as much as they were to see the artists at work.
Stan had introduced himself to the man with the list as Stan Novikov and guest, and Ben wasn’t sure whether to be amused or insulted by that. He stuck with amused. Stan was an infinitely bigger deal here than he was, which was fine by Ben.
He decided to skip all the free alcohol that was being passed around. Ben had never found a particular affinity for booze in the way he ha
d for drugs, and even when he was messed up around drugs, he could still go out for a pint with Tone and have the evening end civilly. While he was figuring out what his body was doing in terms of his addictions, Ben thought it was probably a better idea to avoid it.
So he drank orange juice like he was a five-year-old. Stan did as well, so he didn’t feel too bad. As they slowly walked around the room, Ben remembered that Stan didn’t drink much anymore. Maybe he wasn’t just blending in for Ben’s sake.
The show was being hosted in a building that threw old and new together in a clash of architectural styles. The brick walls were the pale yellowish colour that could be found all over the Spitalfields area, and inside was more industrial, black and steel, with poured concrete floors. Ben found himself looking up, admiring the lighting design in this really interesting space.
Stan touched his elbow to get his attention. “It’s almost time. We need to sit down.”
Ben followed him to their seats.
The spaces that had been reserved for them were next to the aisle, just one row back from the front. Stan settled easily in his uncomfortable chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. Ben stared at his legs for a moment. In the black dress from Harrods, Stan looked stunning, and just spending time with him was stirring up all sorts of old desires. Ben worked hard to keep them in check. He had enough to deal with at the moment without complicating this tentative, fragile thing he was working on with Stan.
While others in the front row clutched notebooks or phones to make notes, Stan adopted an engaged-but-bored expression and simply watched. The first show was all menswear, very avant-garde stuff that Ben wasn’t sure about. He liked designer clothes, but only if they fit in with what he felt was his own particular style. This show was heavy on the mesh and Lycra. Lots of very interesting, totally unwearable designs.
Ben felt the change in Stan’s posture when the next show stared, and he suddenly understood why Olivia was so insistent that Stan attend.
This designer’s collection was made up of pieces that could be taken off the model and worn the next day almost anywhere in London. Even from Ben’s uneducated standpoint, he could recognise the African influence in some of the patterns, though the designer had worked them into shoes and sports jackets and sweatpants that were the clothes of the street kids from South London. A true fusion of influences.