Page 25 of Spread Your Wings
“So do I. I don’t believe in the devil, though. People are bad enough on their own, and then they want a, you know, something to blame it on.”
“A scapegoat,” Sammy said. “The devil made them do it.”
“Yes, scapegoat.” Mustafa leaned closer, his breath hot in Sammy’s ear. “No devil made me want you.” Mustafa excused himself to the 747’s restroom. Sammy’s cheeks still felt hot when he returned. Fortunately, their conversation turned to more banal pastimes, like video games, books, and movies. Mustafa’s favorites were Tetris,Crime and Punishment, andThe Terminator.
“NotWall Street?” Sammy teased.
“I like action movies,” Mustafa said. “Wall Streettaught me how to speak English.ConanandTerminatortaught me I don’t have to speak.”
Sammy’s breath caught in his throat, from the intensity in Mustafa’s eyes.
“Actions speak louder than words, yes?”
Sammy nodded, but his tongue would not work to form words.
“Maybe I will show you tonight. Are you staying with friends, or at a hotel?”
“Hotel,” Sammy said with a cough.
“Good. A hotel room with you will be fun.”
They took the train from Heathrow to Hyde Park corner. The Lanesborough Hotel still resembled a hospital on the outside.Inside, a porter took their bags immediately and escorted them to the counter to check in. All Sammy had to do was say his name, and they took care of the rest. He looked around the posh lobby, the paneled walls and inlaid ceilings, tiled floors, and crystal chandeliers. He wondered how in the hell Bex had gotten him such a great deal.
He and Bex had shared their Queen obsession over three summers at CNN. Then Bex had graduated from Harvard University and moved back to London for her first assignment. She had been Sammy’s mentor, and one of the first to encourage him to be honest with his coworkers about his sexuality. Sammy couldn’t wait to tell Bex about Nicole.
As soon as Queen announced the tribute concert, Bex had called him. It was the middle of the night, but he didn’t care. She offered to buy the tickets for him, if he didn’t mind hanging out with her and her local friends.
Bex was the friend who would camp out at the concert venue to get good seats while everyone else stayed in luxury. Bex’s family had a title. Sammy couldn’t remember it, but it sounded ancient and important, if nowhere near the British crown. With the title came land and money. Bex could afford the hotel, he knew. She was also the frugal friend who sought the best deals for everything, which was one reason Sammy loved her.
“This is nothing like the Holiday Inn,” Mustafa whispered in Sammy’s ear as they followed the porter through halls filled with rare paintings and antique fainting couches.
Sammy shook his head, too awed to speak.
Their room was on the main floor. They passed a gorgeous sitting room with lavish green drapes. The Victorian furniture was covered with embroidered pastoral scenes. Sammy made a note to stop by after they paid the porter, but there was no need. Their suite also had a sitting room with similar furniture. The porter pointed to the two adjoining doors. “Bathroom.Bedroom’s in there. Enjoy your stay.” He bowed and almost left the room while Sammy struggled to find his voice.
“Thank you,” Mustafa said, pressing a bill into the man’s palm.
“Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant afternoon.”
With that, the porter bowed again and stepped backward out the door. He closed them inside with all the luxury.
“You didn’t have to pay,” Sammy said, digging in his pocket for the pound notes he’d exchanged for his remaining Marks.
“I did,” Mustafa said. “You may be a spoiled American, but I have worked in the hotel industry all of my adult life. Tips are essential.”
“I was going to tip him, I just…” Sammy faltered, gesturing around the room. “Look at this place!”
“In my experience, the more lavish the hotel, the more the establishment treats waitstaff like peasantry.” Mustafa crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. Sammy had never seen him so angry.
“Thank you for paying,” he said. “I’m sorry it looked like I wasn’t going to tip him. I promise, I would have. I’ve just never stayed anywhere this nice before.”
“It’s not the Holiday Inn,” Mustafa agreed. He tilted his chin and gave Sammy another once-over, making his face burn. “I’ll forgive you, this once.”
“This once?” Sammy squeaked.
“Well, if you forget to tip our server at dinner, I may forget to blow you afterward.”
Sammy blinked. “Dinner?”
