“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 had 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.
At the end of the show, Ben applauded, like everyone else, then sat back to watch the last two shows.
“Did you like it?” Stan asked when they were finally done.
Ben nodded. “The second one.”
Stan beamed. “Yeah. That’s what Olivia sent me here for.”
“I guessed as much. Do you want to go talk to the designer?”
“Maybe.” Stan made a face.
“Why not?”
“We can just slip out now, if you want.”
Ben wanted. But he could keep pushing for a little while longer. “No, you should go talk to them.”
“Okay.”
Stan slipped his hand into Ben’s and squeezed, then didn’t let go while he went to find someone with a clipboard to make an introduction.
Stan’s name was enough to get them backstage. At that point, Ben realised that Stan was now a pretty big fucking deal in the fashion world. He’d been on the up-and-up when everything went to shit in their relationship. The same clearly hadn’t been the case for his career.
“Stan.”
Stan’s hand fell from Ben’s.
“Colin, it’s good to see you.”
He exchanged kisses on the cheek with an older guy wearing a tan suit with a very loud shirt under the jacket.