Remember the Mexican Hijinks?

"That was some stunt you pulled Gabe, look at the papers!"

He glanced casually at the picture on the front page and thought again that he photographed well. He'd gone for "deer in the headlights" (flashlights as it had eventuated) and he'd owned it.

"What are you smiling about? The repercussions for your uncle have been massive. This does not reflect well on him, let alone us. Darn it Gabe, I can't deal with this right now. Go away, I've got a function to organise. Only God knows how I'll think of an appropriate flower arrangement now..."

That was it. No: "what in tarnation were you doing in Mexico?” No: "how in tarnation did you get to Mexico?" Nothing. He thanked whoever was responsible for giving him such self-involved parents as his mother started muttering to herself about petunias and he became invisible. Things would have been much harder without them.

The way Gabe saw things, he was born into such an influential family for a reason, and he'd be a fool to put such an opportunity to waste. Had America been a monarchy he'd have loved it; Shakespeare had given him a taste for the “in line to the thrown” stuff, but the way things were probably suited him better. He headed to his war-room. The border-crossing had been a last minute gem of inspiration. It was like a taste for his uncle, an entree of the pressure that Gabe would be putting him under. That and it was pretty fun.

He came to the door and cursed Blu-tack. “Gabez funplayland!” was enthusiastically etched into the middle of the door. He picked up the Cameron Diaz poster from the floor and pressed firmly against its corners.

The war-room could only be accessed from within Gabe’s bedroom and that suited him fine. He’d long ago told the cleaners and maids it didn’t need any attention, despite that not being entirely true... The carpet was barely visible beneath scattered pages of notes, documents, manuals and blueprints; there were chip packets, glasses and cans – some empty, some not so empty – and an apple core place strategically on top of a Jim Beam can on top of an upturned glass on top of an empty packet of Doritos. There was also dust. He had tried dusting once but it just kept resettling after a while and he saw no point in dusting all his life. But he was happy for it, it was his, and it had a mini-fridge. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took in his messy freedom.

He felt compelled to take all his clothes off.

“...Dude, what are you doing?”