Chapter 2: Chapter 2
“I don’t think we’ve met—” Richie began, nervous of greeting the famously glamorous fellow student.
“We have now,” Ben had said, breathing a happy, beery smile over Richie’s face. “Save me from myself, won’t you?” He leant even closer and said in a stage whisper, “I think they’re journalists on the hunt for scandal. Comes to something when they have to create it themselves, eh?”
“Benjamin?” the female journalist whined. She looked more disappointed at being refused than her job should have merited. “A quote, darling?”
Ben straightened his half buttoned designer shirt, linked his arm in Richie’s, and turned back to stare at the woman. “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about,” he said blithely. “There’s a quote for you, though of course it’s not mine. Good night.”
Since then, Ben had never ceased to give Richie unequivocal friendship and help. After University, Ben had been snapped up for a career with a firm of aggressive venture capitalists, but he and Richie kept in touch. Of course, there’d been that brief, embarrassing moment last year, when Richie confessed his restaurant dream and Ben had offered him a start up loan. It had been sharply though gratefully refused by Richie—or, rather, by Richie’s anguished pride—and then they returned to being the best of friends.
Richie glanced at his watch again. Ben said he’d been to the bank several days this week, trying to negotiate an extension to Bubble and Squeak’s outrageously huge business loan. He’d been trying to make Richie’s advance order book look less like a black hole and more like a herd of influential diners, champing at the bit. Or that’s what Richie had assumed after he’d stubbornly refused Ben’s offer of investment. Again. And as a result, and without any apparent pique, Ben had taken time away from his own busy career to cajole the financial establishment on Richie’s behalf, and nurse Richie’s project along as best he could.
Richie felt familiar warmth at the thought of Ben’s care, even if he was sure it was only for Richie’s bank balance. Ben wouldn’t waste time to call, just to massage my ego, would he? Richie shivered, despite his inner warmth. Funny, but it always had that effect on him, hearing ‘Ben’ and ‘massaging’ together in a sentence. Oh but yes, he didneed to get laid.
But Craig—where was he, then? Master of Ceremonies, Purveyor of Publicity, as Craig Shepherd styled himself, with a grin as wide and infectious as typhoid, though obviously without the unpleasant side effects. He was also meant to be helping Richie out. Craig was the enfant terribleof his London promotions agency, but maybe Richie’s own situation had been too much of a challenge. And he doubted that even Craig Shepherd ranked himself above God.
He was another friend from University, a year above Richie, and had joined up with Richie and Ben in his last year. They complemented each other well, and the friendship lasted long after Craig, a notorious practical joker, scraped his way through graduation just a few precarious minutes ahead of being suspended. Craig was a breath of fresh air, athletic, charismatic rather than classically good looking, and always enthusiastic. Bloody exhausting to be with, really. But Richie smiled to himself. Riding alongside Craig on his madcap schemes was always a buzz. Craig was proudly and loudly out, too, which was a boost to Richie’s own courage in living his life as a gay man. In fact, there’d been a time when he had the beginnings of a crush on his larger-than-life friend, despite the fact Craig was rarely without a much more attractive acolyte on his arm or in his bed. Thank God Richie had never acted on his obvious, sexual desperation. How embarrassing would that have been?
Initially, when Richie tentatively suggested starting up his own restaurant, Craig had great ideas for publicity: social media campaigns, magazine interviews and articles, celebrity guests. He knew everyone, was on the fast track to success, and would take care of it all for Richie. Etc., etc
“Richie,” Craig had said. “You concentrate on the food and leave the pimpage to me. I know a guy at Time Out. And Angelina is in town that month, you know?”
Richie had laughed at Craig’s blatant confidence around celebrity. And Craig’s eyes had shone as he watched Richie laugh, as if glad to have made him relax; as if his bragging was a performance to enchant Richie. But was that all it had been, a performance? All these months later and now the actual day was here and…well. Craig had been rather evasive when Richie quizzed him about the advance bookings for tonight. In fact, downright shifty.
Richie grimaced. It wasn’t that he blamed his friends for being absent. They already had busy lives of their own and, after all, the restaurant was hisventure, hisrisk. And tonight, unfortunately, was entirely hisproblem. But he’d realised early on that his commercial flair was lacking in some areas, and he’d appreciated their help. He could create magic in the kitchen, but nothing but a mess in his accounts books. Nor was he comfortable with self promotion, preferring to be master in the kitchen rather than front of house. But it looked like he was on his own right now. No sophisticated Ben, no extrovert Craig. Just plain, hard working but rather unimpressive Richie. He looked around the empty restaurant, imagining he was a potential diner.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone