Finally clothed, Troy and I are hurriedly making our way to the hotel reception desk.
‘I told you Dylan likes to use the names of important people,’ I explain breathlessly as we rush across the lobby.
‘Yeah, and military titles and the Cyrus family,’ Troy adds.
‘Well before he got really famous, he’d rather pun than claim to be a member of the Cyrus family. The problem was people were either offended or too embarrassed to say the names he came up with so he had to stop, but last night he was trashed and most likely showing off. It’s going to be a funny one, I just know it.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Troy says with a chuckle as we approach the reception desk. The grumpy-looking older woman is still behind the desk, the one who seems to fill her co-workers with fear. She’s wearing a lilac twin-set and a neat little pearl necklace, and she’s looking down her nose at my outfit before I’ve even opened my mouth.
‘Good morning,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m looking for a friend, he checked in last night.’
‘Good afternoon,’ she corrects me. ‘I am Mrs Williamson, the owner of the hotel. I imagine you’re with the festival people?’
‘We are, and what a lovely hotel you have,’ Troy says, offering a hand for Mrs Williamson to shake.
She looks at his hand with distaste before turning back to me.
‘The name of the friend you are looking for, what is it?’
It’s bad enough that this woman thinks she clearly has better things to do than deal with the ‘festival people’ who are overrunning her hotel, but what I’m about to do…
‘Mike Oxlong,’ I reply.
Mrs Williamson taps a few buttons on the computer.
‘I’m sorry, we have no one staying at the hotel under that name.’
‘Do you have a Master Bates?’
‘No.’
‘Ben Dover?’
‘No.’
‘Hugh Rection, middle initial G?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Nicole,’ Troy says, taking me by the arm and leading me away from the desk. ‘It was worth a try, we’ll find him some other way.’
‘Excuse me,’ Mrs Williamson calls after us. ‘Could your friend’s name be Juan? Juan King?’
I spin around to face her, my jaw practically on the floor.
‘Did you say–’
‘I did,’ she interrupts me. ‘You think I don’t see what is going on here? Room 239.’
Mrs Williams smiles at us briefly before waving us away from her desk as some non-festival people arrive to check in.
As we head up in the lift, Troy finally breaks his straight-faced silence.
‘I can’t believe what just happened,’ he says.
‘What, exchanging masturbation puns with a little old woman? Happens all the time.’
We both burst out laughing. I’m not sure how this day could get any weirder. Don’t get me wrong, it is still absolutely vital that I find Dylan and get him on that bus for 6 p.m., but even if I don’t find him, it’s been a fun night. Troy’s right, it’s been an adventure – and it’s not over yet.
I knock on the door of room 239. A girl answers who looks like she has just time travelled from the crowd at Woodstock, circa 1969. She’s a proper hippy chick, not Dylan’s usual type but then again neither was Misty. Oh, and her nose is bright red, so she’s definitely the girl we’re looking for.
‘Hello, I’m looking for my friend,’ I say hopefully. ‘His name is Dylan.’
‘Oh, I know Dylan. We shared a beautiful night together.’
‘So he’s here?’ Troy asks, trying to peer inside the room.
‘Afraid not,’ hippy girl tells us. ‘He’s popped into the town.’
‘Why?’ I ask. What could he possibly want from the town? I don’t think that prostitute will still be hanging around.
‘He was admiring my pleasure beads,’ she explains. ‘Would you like to see them?’
I think I say no about as quickly as Troy says yes, but it’s too late. Hippy girl disappears into her room and returns with her pleasure beads which, thankfully, are around her neck.
‘Wearing these beads will bring you pleasure. I bought these from Groovy Baby in the town centre just yesterday, and they brought me Dylan. He’s gone to buy some.’
‘That man does not need any help finding pleasure,’ Troy says with a snigger. I elbow him in the ribs. ‘Well, because he’s found you,’ he assures the hippy chick, but she’s not buying it. Then again, she did steal him from a prostitute so I doubt she’ll be going out and buying wedding magazines any time soon.
Thankfully she’s too far out (stoned) to care, and she happily gives me directions to Groovy Baby.
‘Be sure to pick up some pleasure beads while you’re there,’ she calls after me.
‘You don’t need them,’ Troy tells me with a wink. ‘You’ve got me.’