by Jamie Knight
Just as I see part of my mopey, moody expression on my side of the window, Melissa chuckles and says, “Brighten up there, Mr. Gloomy.”
Though I don’t feel much like smiling, I do.
“That’s better, my dear,” she says to me. “You’re on a date with me, after all. You could be a little happier about it.”
While I hear that she’s trying to be happy and playful, I also hear a bit of sadness and irritation, as well. She really does want me to be happy and is frustrated that I’m not.
Fuck. She doesn’t deserve my bad attitude on this date because of something my dad did. My dad has no right to ruin my love life like this. Not today. Not now.
Get it together, Tommy. You’re not his little boy anymore. Your Melissa’s boyfriend. Start acting like it. It doesn’t matter if you have two hundred dollars with you, or two.
I sit up off the window, happy to see that there are some parking spots beginning to show. While they stand out like bald spots in the surrounding packed parking lot, they are a pleasant sight. Especially after we’ve been bobbing and weaving through aisle after aisle of cars.
I’m not happy about the lack of money, but I can’t take that out on her. I can’t hold onto it too much.
I look over at her and find a warm smile for her.
“I am happy to be on a date with you, Melissa,” I murmur, putting my hand on hers — the one not having to manhandle the wheel.
“I’ve just had some things going on since last night, but they don’t matter. Not right now,” I add, not wanting to disrupt any of her good mood.
But unfortunately for me, she already looks concerned.
She turns to me and asks, “What kinds of things, Tommy?” as we finally find a parking space, and settle in.
As she turns off the car to study me, I wish I hadn’t opened my mouth. I wish I hadn’t even let that much slip, seeing the concern and anxiety on her face. It’s almost completely replaced the joy that was there a second ago.
“It’s nothing, Melissa,” I whisper. “It’s nothing. Nothing I want to discuss right now,” I add, giving her my most pleading look. “Maybe later, okay?”
Melissa crosses her arms, frowns at me a bit. “Tommy…”
“I’m sorry, okay?” I know I look even more helpless than before and probably more pathetic, too, but I don’t care. “It has to do with my dad, with stuff she did to what I had planned for today, but…”
I sigh in frustration and anger.
I really, really don’t want to do this right now. I really wish I would’ve kept my mouth shut. I just want to try to go on with the date, as less-than-perfect as it is now before I regret calling it off.
Melissa seems to get the hint and says, “Okay. It’s all right, honey. Let’s just go have some fun. Let’s just go get this date of ours started, huh?”
She brightens all of her features just for me. Smiling, she picks my hand up to kiss it.
“Let’s,” I say and kiss her hand too. “I’ve been waiting all week for this. For you. Everything else can disappear for a little while.”
Our shopping extravaganza begins the moment we make it across the parking lot — a wide and expansive sea of black asphalt glittering in the early morning sun — and to the “oasis” of fashionable stores, immaculately-laid cobblestone, all surrounded by the intermittent statue or water feature.
Stepping onto the sidewalks here is like stepping into the halls of an outdoor palace, an open-air bazaar almost. Doors to shops are open freely to the people streaming by.
For the first half-hour, Melissa and I do nothing more than scope out what shops are here and what kinds of clothes they have to offer. There are a few fancy formalwear shops. Alongside these, there are name brand clothing stores, each with shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear worth more than my entire wardrobe.
Mixed in with these types of clothing stores, there is also a trendy, teenage-geared store; one with a lot of black leather, Japanese comic book icons on T-shirts and other gift items, as well as the obscure reference to 80s and 90s cartoons.
Part of me is definitely interested in visiting that shop — mostly for the nostalgia and maybe for a few pieces of clothing to balance out my for-work wear.
Just as I start to get excited about walking in there and using this store to break the ice of spending my money, I remember I don’t have as much money as I wanted to spend. It’s even more painful and humiliating when I take out the envelope, look into it, and see how empty the envelope looks, now that it’s not stuffed to the brim with bills.
“I shouldn’t have gotten out of the car,” I mumble, stuffing the envelope back in its place of shame on my person. “Had I just driven away the moment I saw Dad at home, I’d have my full five thousand dollars with me still.”
Melissa perks up at these words.
“Interested in any of these shops, Tommy? Or not?” she asks, seeing my dark glower.
Something that doesn’t match the sparkle of the early-morning sun.
I shake my head.
“I don’t know my way around places like this,” I say.
It’s a dodge to the way I’m really feeling — that I really shouldn’t be on this date being as poor and pathetic as I am at the moment — but it’s also a little true.
While I’ve gone shopping before, I’ve never gone to someplace this nice, ritzy, and high-class.
Out of the corner of my eye, I check out Melissa’s outfit. Even while being casual in a t-shirt and a thin pair of slacks, she looks pristine and flawless, like she had someone else dress her for a photoshoot today.
“I don’t really go to places like these for my clothes,” I admit, feeling even more miserable about myself and my complete lack of class.
But Melissa only draws me closer to her.
She laces her fingers in mine, and to all of my self-hating energy replies, “Don’t worry about anything, honey. That’s why I’m here. To help you get used to shopping at places like this.”
She smiles, almost clicking her heels as she does. “Just let me take care of everything. I know you’re going to love what I pick out for you.”
As grumpy and worthless as I’m feeling at the moment, the way Melissa’s loving on me — the way she’s not letting me get my spirits down — it’s infectious to me, even in my moodiness. I can’t help but smile and blush a little.
“If I look even half as good as you do even when you’re trying to be casual,” I say, “I have no doubt I’ll love the clothes you pick out for me. I probably won’t even recognize myself.”
Melissa just grins.
“Maybe not,” she says, “but something tells me you’re going to love the new you, even if he is like nothing you’ve ever dreamed or imagined for yourself.”
With that, Melissa walks me into our first shop of the morning, a high-end clothing store geared mostly for men. They have semi-professional wear, but they are mostly business casual and vacation chic.
It’s an odd mix, but I’ve got no objections. I haven’t got enough money to object, nor enough willpower. If I’m going to make any use of this date we were supposed to have, I have to start shopping and buying something, even if my measly couple hundred dollars dries up here, and I’m shooting blanks everywhere else.
Maybe with some kind of shopping bag in my hand, Melissa won’t be so upset when she finds out that I’ve only got enough in me for one round before I’m done.
****
At our first shop, I buy a hat for myself. Not much of a hat person usually, I find a classy looking Fedora.
After trying it on in front of the mirror, Melissa insists that I buy it. I do, along with a nice casual button-up shirt. It has designs that go with the Fedora. I’m about to buy what I think is a no-nonsense pair of matching slacks, when I look at the price tag and realize these pants alone are more money than I have on hand, and then some.
“I like those on you,” she says, pointing out the slacks to
me and the way they look already, even with me just laying them in front of the ones I’m wearing. “You should get those too.”
She bites her lip.
“Maybe not for the office, but for some after-hours fun. That never hurt anyone or their wardrobe.”
She’s gone from biting her lip to biting one of her nails — an unusually stressed, but sexy motion for her.
I put the pants back on the rack, my hands sweating from the price tag as much as anything else.
“Nah.”
Melissa’s beautiful eyes widen. “You’re not getting those?”
I shake my head vigorously, hoping she doesn’t get a good look at the envelope I’m digging out of my pocket of shame.
“Why not? They looked fabulous on you!”
“I…” I don’t have enough money for those. And the hat. And the shirt. I don’t have enough money to continue beyond this store, I think miserably, but I know I can’t say that. Not without letting it out of the bag that Dad robbed me in my own driveway.
Quickly, I fill in a different answer. One I’m hoping she buys.
“I’m…saving my money for some other pieces of clothing.” I grin nervously here as if she could pull back my mask any moment and see how pathetic and poor I am. And when she does, she’ll decide I’m not worth falling in love head over heels for. “I’ll just get these. It’s fine,” I assert, though I’m not feeling fine at all.
I got out a big portion of my money, so I didn’t have to cherry-pick like this on my date. But here I am, cherry-picking, cutting the “fat” off of a shopping trip that already is mostly skin and bone.
Melissa studies me.
She looks confused and annoyed.
“You really don’t want them?”
I shake my head, holding the hat and the shirt closer to me.
“Just these. It’s fine.”
Melissa studies me a moment longer before grabbing those pants right off the rack where I left them.
“I’m buying these for you then,” she says.
“No,” I say, a little too loudly.
“No, pet,” I say again, quieting myself so that I don’t bring more attention to myself than I already have. “It’s okay. You don’t need to buy that for me. I said I was going to finance my own wardrobe, and I mean it.”
“And that’s fine. But I like the way you look in them, so I’m going to buy them for you, sir.”
Here, she lowers her voice. From behind part of the clothes rack we’re standing nearby, and out of view of other patrons, she runs her hand down my ass.
“You look unbelievably sexy, sir. And I’m not walking out of here without these pants.” I blush as she gives my ass a little swat. “It’s repayment for that lunch you bought me the other day.”
The color on my cheeks deepens, as does the heat coursing through my body.
Oh, my God! She is so deliciously bossy! And she’s not even my boss!
My heart begins to beat a little uncomfortably fast here.
And of course, she had to bring up that lunch! She’s going to use that as her reason to pay me back, even though today’s date was supposed to be my payback to her for everything she has done for me!
At this moment, I’m feeling a strange mix of anger, excitement, frustration, and desire. I really don’t know why, other than to say it’s because of how demanding she is with me, even while she knows I outrank her.
“Fine,” I say, pushing the slacks into her hands. “I’ll let you buy those pants for me, but only because you want to.”
These words come off as snappish — not as sexy as I hoped, but I make up for that by slipping my hand across the back of her pants as I walk by.
The blush that flares on her cheek a second later lets me know she got the message loud and clear: two can play at that game, and I’m not done with you. Not yet. Not ever.
Chapter Forty-One - Melissa
From the first store we visit, where I’ve just bought Tommy the sexiest, most casual slacks I think I’ve ever seen in my life and am now having fantasies about when he “models” them for me later, we head into some more shops.
These stores are more along the professional, business wear spectrum. Shops I’m familiar with myself, as I’ve used them to build my own wardrobe over the years.
But I’ve never gone there to try to shop for someone with Tommy’s measurements. Something that proves to be difficult, if not impossible, the minute we walk in, and the clerk gets to look at us. Especially when I explain to him that we’re here for Tommy, not for me.
The clerk’s an older guy with quite a tan on him but looks more like a track-and-field dad who is just working this day job until he has to go pick up his kids at school. He’s dressed nicely, but he has a down-to-earth quality like someone who’s knowledgeable about fashion but doesn’t necessarily live and breathe it.
He looks Tommy over and says, “That’s going to be quite tough to do, due to your height and your large chest muscles. To find something in his size that looks nice, but I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
At this, Tommy looks so embarrassed, like he is about to die or run out of the shop crying. I remember how he said his dad sent him to fat camp as a kid. He’s not fat anymore— just muscular and big— but I know he’s still self-conscious about it.
This is where I reach over and hold his hand.
As I do, he leans over and whispers painfully, “They don’t have anything in my size! This is exactly why I don’t go shopping at trendy places! They don’t have anything nice for fat asses like me!”
I slap him on the arm, scolding him.
“You hush,” I say, “and as for that fat ass of yours, I’m going to kiss it, then spank it if you don’t behave!”
I continue, “Let’s just go back there and see what he has before we say those kinds of things, hm?”
Tommy nods but doesn’t look optimistic. Begrudgingly, he lets me lead him after the store clerk, who has all but disappeared behind the racks of suits, dress shirts, and other kinds of jackets.
There are compartments in the wall for ties, cufflinks, bowties, and other accessories. We pass all of these, and head toward a part of the store labeled as “big or tall” and come to a stop.
There, the selection isn’t great. There are a few suits, and a few different designs, but not nearly the selection and pizzazz of the ones further up in the store. The ones for men with smaller dimensions.
I’ve never felt so angry or ashamed of being a normal size in my life. I’ve never been so aware of how little options there are for people like Tommy.
Poor baby! Now I feel like crying. Maybe it wasn’t a lack of love or trying on his part when it came to his wardrobe! Maybe that was really all that was available for him in his size!
As the store clerk is showing us through the various designs — not a very time-intensive or laborious task — I’m not really paying attention. I’m lost in my own angry thoughts.
There shouldn’t be this little to choose from! It’s a goddamn crime! What? Are people who fit within a certain height and chest dimensions the only people worthy of looking like they’re worth anything?
I guess so. I realize that now, but I can’t believe that’s the reality. I can’t believe men like Tommy are so out of options.
You shouldn’t have such dismal choices. You shouldn’t have such limited palettes of color or rolls of fabric to choose from. You should have the whole wide world at your disposal, no matter your size. No matter your proportions, you should be able to dress like a prince or a king, if you want to!
“Is that really all you have?” I ask, still not able to believe that we’re down to a total of four suits to choose from.
“Yes, miss,” answers the store clerk. “I’m sorry. We just don’t often have customers coming in here with such…”
“Fat asses?” says Tommy looking a bit like he did down on the legal aids’ floor. A little bit of red glittering i
n his eyes.
“Well, uh, no,” says the store clerk. “That’s not what I was going to say at all, sir.”
“You were, just not in those terms,” says Tommy, like he’s decided to put the clerk on trial. “I just made it easier for you.”
“Tommy,” I say gently, “that wasn’t what was meant. You’re not fat at all. I know you still see yourself as fat but you’re not and even if you were, you would still be just as handsome. You were always this handsome. Please hold on a minute.”
“I’m going to go wait outside,” he says, and storms away. “I’m not interested in any of this stuff.”
Before I can do or say anything to stop him, to keep him with me, he’s already started out past the racks of clothing, and out the store.
Now it’s just the clerk and me standing awkwardly in front of each other.
“I was going to say,” says the clerk, “before your boyfriend there stormed out, that I can get a catalog with more options for bigger-sized people. These are just what I have in stock at the moment, but not all the big and tall options available.”
I nod.
“I see,” is all I can say.
Part of my attention is wandering toward Tommy. Wondering just how far he’s gotten away from me. I look outside the windows and see that Tommy is not far. Only out to one of the benches by one of the many fountains, but he doesn’t look happy.
I turn back to the clerk and say, “This is obviously not the selection we were hoping for, but I do like those and those.”
I point to the two suits I think will suit Tommy. One has paisley designs inlaid into the fabric lightly, but they add an interesting shine to the suit. I also see one that’s navy, with white along the trim. That’s the second one I point out.
“I will be paying for those, but first, I need to go and wrangle my baby inside from his sulking place by the fountain.”
The store clerk gives an awkward, uncomfortable laugh at this, but I go to collect Tommy anyway.
He sees me coming, goes to move away, and make my job harder, but I don’t let him. I grab onto him before he gets too far.
“Come back inside,” I tell him.