by Damon Suede
“Any friend of Mr. Bauer.” She snapped a measuring tape and—srip-swip-thit—swiftly checked his shoulders, chest, arm, waist, neck, even squatted and slid her hand straight up his fucking inseam, just barely jogging his nutpouch.
He flinched and coughed.
“Sorry.” She giggled from her knees. “No hernia.”
Ruben swallowed and turned. In the mirror he could see Bauer’s blush.
“Broad in the back. Arms too. Serious rugby legs, papá.” Joysann stood and jotted numbers in her little journal. She blinked at Ruben. “I’m impressed you got him outta the house.”
In the mirror Bauer blinked, and a strange expression locked his oversquare jaw for a minute.
Huh. File that away.
She tipped her head and scanned Ruben’s physique. “Definitely no Italians and no Japanese. Hugo Boss, I’ll bet. Maybe Paul Smith.” She bit her slick lower lip.
Ruben let her slide a double-breasted navy blazer onto him. He’d never even touched clothes this expensive. Light and crisp on his shoulders. He looked taller in the mirror.
Apparently Joysann disagreed, squenching her face like a cat’s butthole. “Ugh. Those buttons. I knew the double breasted would suck.”
Bauer agreed with her. “Slicko. Sleazo.”
Ruben stayed mum. The fuck do I know? Florida wasn’t known for its elegance. And bodyguards didn’t wear double-breasted ’cause they made drawing a weapon near impossible. Single breasted you could get to a shoulder or hip holster. Either way, Joysann nixed it.
She tugged the offending garment off him and rehung it, returning with another: gray polished cotton with three buttons.
Even pushing his arms into the sleeves and letting Joysann settle the lapel, Ruben could feel the difference. “Oh my God.” The words slipped out on an exhale of the jittery splurge excitement fizzing in him. “That feels fantastic.” This one looked so good that his dick seemed bigger.
“You like?” Joysann returned with a clacking handful of hangers and let Bauer fuss at Ruben’s back.
He tugged at the vents; his fingers brushed over Ruben’s ass but Ruben pretended not to notice. “Color’s great, but it’s a little, I dunno, real estate agent.”
“You must be a good friend.” She explained to Ruben, “He’s being an asshole, trying to impress you.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I’m crushed.” Bauer covered his heart. “Ruben is one of my oldest friends, and he doesn’t want to spend a week in New York naked.”
Ruben grinned at her as she peeled the gray off him. “Not the whole weekend.”
Joysann tapped her teeth with the pen, taking another look at the rack. “And this is the Boss.”
Another summer wool, this one with a tonal pinstripe, black on black. Bauer nodded.
On the hanger, Ruben thought it looked kind of meh. Expensive, sure, but he wasn’t going to a funeral. And then Joysann settled it on him.
Wings. The jacket held him aloft.
In the mirror, Ruben saw a warrior, a hitman, an archangel. He didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it.”
Bauer laughed loud, his white teeth glinting as he ran a firm hand down Ruben’s back right to the top of the boxer briefs. “Okay, then.” He turned to Joysann with his dimples carved hard. “We have a winner.”
The jacket exuded the kind of calm sophistication Ruben had envied his whole life. “Joysann, I think I just died. You’re an angel,” Ruben gabbled like a teenager. He couldn’t help it. He turned to preen and gloat.
“I wouldn’t say angel, Mr. Oso.” Joysann stared at his bunching thighs and calves.
Oops. Yeah. Underpants. Embarrassing.
Again, Bauer smoothed the back of the coat over Ruben’s spine slowly, brushing hard with his hand from neck to the curve of Ruben’s butt.
She shrugged. “Hugo Boss. I had a hunch.” She made him try on two more with the same label: a slate gray and a three-piece olive check. A phone rang on the wall and she answered it.
Bauer tugged at the vent and brushed the back. “Boss.”
Feeling awkward, Ruben watched his own muscular legs in the mirror. “I never understood why people get so weird about clothes. Till now.” He tightened his quads and pretended he couldn’t feel the shopgirl’s frank appraisal. Pushy broads always turned his crank.
Bauer lifted one lapel and thrust his hand around the side almost to Ruben’s armpit. It slid cool and firm across Ruben’s pec and ribs.
Ruben flinched, not ticklish, but conscious of being touched by a stranger. He’s petting me. In public.
“S’good.” Bauer grunted. His fingers pulled the shirt tighter across Ruben’s chest. His ash-brown hair smelled like fresh bread.
This was what every suit wanted to be. He would have committed crimes to buy this suit, and it came at no cost as part of this crazy job he still didn’t want.
Joysann put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Would you gentlemen like a beverage?”
Gentlemen.
“Uh.” Bauer looked up distractedly as he came back with the suit trousers and handed them over.
“Water would be great.” Ruben made the decision, feeling powerful because for the next hour his needs were her prime concern. It wasn’t love, but it felt damn close. The sense of numb power coursed through him like vodka.
Joysann nodded as if she’d read his mind. “Sparkling?”
“Mmh.” Ruben slipped into the trousers, zipped, and stepped back into his crummy loafers. The pants felt as sexy as the jacket. Sexier, maybe. The flat-front showed his goods in a great way.
Bauer nodded. “They can tailor everything while we do incidentals. Socks, ties. Casuals, maybe.” He spoke tentatively to the air as if expecting Ruben to be offended. He turned to check. “Okay by you, Oso?”
“Of course.” Ruben’s ridiculous pleasure spilled over. “I could get used to this, man.” They smiled at each other for some reason. Raggedy Andy wanted permission to spend a few grand to GQ the shit out of him for babysitting duty.
The carroty mustache kid ducked in to put two fizzy glasses on the table, then vanished again. The power of money at work.
Ruben snuck a look at Joysann, but her eyes were hidden. He moistened his lips and sighed. He usually hated shopping, but now he’d be happy to stand on pedestals all day spending Bauer’s money in front of a juicy audience. In the mirror, Ruben could only see Joysann’s creamy ankles. He imagined holding them together and pressing them back while he drilled for sweet oil.
Joysann pretended to crack her knuckles. “Let’s get him fitted, boys.”
Bauer pinched the shoulders of the jacket and shifted the yoke. He licked his lips and murmured, “Better, yeah?”
“A little snug.” Ruben glanced at the girl. “But I like that.”
He flexed and stared front, drunk with the indulgent attention. The pressure stretched the worsted wool over his wide lats and the shelf of his glutes. Thank Christ for the push-ups this morning. He’d been tempted to slack, but chin-ups and crunches before the sun came up had gotten his blood flowing in his brother’s dusty apartment.
She brushed his chest and shoulder, running a hand under the lapel up to his armpit, right over a stiff nipple.
Ruben flirted back, making the word a growl. “Yeah.”
She pulled out an oblong of grease marker and stepped behind him. He could feel her hands pinching and swiping the fabric.
Standing on the block in front of the mirror with Joysann perusing his assets turned him into a victorious gladiator being offered spoils and slave girls. He’d lost track of Bauer and that was just fine with him. A little privacy.
The grease marker dragged across his back as Joysann measured him like a side of beef with a feathery tickle that gave him gooseflesh and made his balls draw up.
Poor thing, trapped up here with all these uptight nimrods. Day in day out, she got twitchy head cases who fucked with the lights off. He’d seen the way she looked at him. She probably had a thing for rough d
udes, dark skin, sloppy uncut dick… wrecking her, wrecking her good. He’d be happy to oblige.
Bauer handed him another jacket, another pair of pants, and Ruben stripped down without batting an eye.
Who cares? He was in charge. He wanted an audience. Standing in his underwears felt like showing off. He just wanted to stand on this pedestal in this jacket for the rest of time while people brought him expensive shit he didn’t have to pay for. Guh. Now Ruben did have a tilted stiffy hidden under the tails of his shirt. Thank Christ for his fucking shorts holding it up against his belly or he’d be dripping on the dais. But maybe that was okay too. Maybe Joysann would get down and clean the mess he made.
Another suit, shuck, and swap. Ruben wanted to shop all day. This was better than booze.
Somewhere to his left, Joysann crossed her arms under her small high tits and made a soft surrendering sound. “Fuh.” She marked and plucked behind him, the sides, the waist, the hem. Through half-lidded eyes he could see slices of her tight body.
Usually he went for Spanish chicks ’cause they were so much more sensible: unfazed by sex and serious about family. Plus they didn’t automatically treat him like a mechanic or a pimp. White girls could get so uptight and judgmental about the little shit. But not all… every once in a while, he found one that wanted a ride on the wild side. Joysann seemed to have a fever for the flavor. She kept groping him hard.
Ruben calculated his options. Maybe he could send Bauer to pick out socks and drag this piece off to the john or a maintenance closet.
Suddenly, Joysann reappeared beside the mirror but the hands were still on him. She hadn’t been measuring him at all.
My boss.
Bauer’s touch, a man’s hands. Everything else had been in his head. Pathetic, is what. Worse, the rough, impersonal groping had gotten him so boned up his oblong knob showed through his shorts.
You needta get laid, boy. And his boss obviously had serious boundary issues.
Now Ruben felt exposed in the mirrors. He tried to forget the intensity and pressure in his groin and focus on the new clothes.
The swishy ginger salesman came back and Bauer popped to his feet, pleased with himself. Joysann winked as she watched Bauer touching him. “Nice.”
Shit. She thought they were together, as in, boner-buddies. Why? She knew Bauer, and he had hot chicks in and out of his place, chicks that ended up in the paper. Ruben had seen the Page Six clippings online.
“You boys need anything else from me?” Her smile was genuine, like she dug the thought of big dudes together doing things. She tasted her lower lip. Jesus. She thought they were fucking, that Ruben was a butt hustler getting spruced up on whitebread’s dime.
Bauer signed something without looking at it. He was looking at Ruben’s eyes in the mirror. “I think you should do it, Rube.”
“What?” Ruben twisted in surprise.
“The fourth suit. Can’t hurt to have options.” Bauer held up a shoebox. “Footwear?” He hadn’t finished the overhaul. Without waiting for an answer, he knelt again like a servant before the dais and removed Ruben’s old loafers carefully.
Joysann looked at Bauer kneeling and those smooth hands on Ruben’s body. “Listen to your man, there.”
“We’re not— He’s my—” Ruben dug around trying to find an explanation that wouldn’t blow his cover. He grimaced. “We work together.”
“You sure do, papá.” She gathered clacking hangers. “Oof. You two work together like—pow. I totally get it.”
Jesus.
“Let me get these alterations started.” Joysann handed half the hangers to the ginger kid, who reflected her knowing grin. “You boys take your time.”
She gave her fantasy a thumbs-up as she walked away… probably to give them privacy to wrestle and make out. Fuck.
As soon as the salespeople were gone, Bauer laughed and dug in the shoe boxes. “That was awesome.”
“Dude.” Ruben raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He wanted to grab his pants, but didn’t.
“How you did that. Got her juicy, huh?” His voice had a predatory edge. He liked conning her.
Ruben pretended to laugh. “Sure.”
“Man! I love screwing with people like that. “
Did he mean the girl or Ruben or both?
“Yeah, uhh, Bauer. She thought we were—” Ruben spread his fingers and made a fist. “Together.”
“I dunno. Maybe. Who cares?”
Ruben shrugged. “Great. I’m some dick-lick shopping on your dime.” He could feel Bauer’s body heat against his shins. He needed to hit a meeting, talk to Peach, take a step back.
“Dude, you don’t look like anyone pays for you. Relax.”
“Uh huh.” He wanted to step back, but he could sense the dais edge under his heels.
“Our cards work. She’s bored and we’re two loaded guys.”
Well, no. “One.”
“Big deal. People see what they want. She just saw two rich jerks who fuck whoever, however we want. You totally sold it.” Bauer patted his bare calf. “This is gonna work.”
“What is?” The undercover just-buddies ruse. “Oh.”
Bauer held up a glossy oxblood shoe. “So?”
“Uh. No. Laces, if that’s okay.” Off Bauer’s look, he explained. “Safety. If I gotta move fast, I don’t wanna sprint up Park Avenue in my socks.” He didn’t look down, and prayed his borrowed socks had no holes.
Bauer fished in the tissue of another box on the floor. He guided one foot and then the other into buttery black wingtips and then tied them.
Like I’m a science project.
“Good team.” Bauer squeezed his foot through the shoe. “I’m a leaper, you’re a looker.”
Ruben scowled at the compliment. “I’m no looker.”
“Before you leap, I mean. You check things out. Gonna keep me outta trouble.”
Ruben hadn’t thought this excursion through. Being broke sucked, and he knew that the clothes would make a difference, but some part of him resented that hot shopgirl misreading the situation so completely. Deal with the devil, deal with the devil. Part of him wanted to go out there and flash a weapon or punch a paparazzo so she wouldn’t think—
Even with the shirt and briefs, somehow those glossy shoes made him feel even more exposed. The new soles were slippery as oily glass.
Bauer crouched closer. “Those’ll work.” His shark eyes glittered in the mirror as he stood straight up right in Ruben’s personal space, all of eight inches between them.
“No.” Ruben shifted back in the slick-soled wingtips and almost pitched off the back of the dais. “Whoa!”
Bauer grabbed and gripped his arm.
“Sorry.” Ruben looked down at the gleaming wingtips his boss wanted to buy him.
“Y’good?” Bauer let go and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Okay?”
Ruben stepped down onto the floor with a fake smile. “Fingers crossed.” But whether those twisted digits meant he was hopeful or lying, he couldn’t have said.
SOMEHOW IN the course of that first day, Ruben got tricked into a sleepover.
After they got back from Barney’s, he spent the afternoon watching his new boss make phone calls and standing outside shut doors when Bauer ejected him. The cook made a mango shrimp salad for lunch, which he ate by himself.
Apex Securities didn’t seem like any business he’d seen. Phone calls, yes. A couple visitors in eight hundred dollar loafers. The stock market stream on the monitors. But nothing that looked like 9–to–5 grind.
At sundown, he could hear raised voices: Bauer speaking harshly and Hope countering, and silences from what he assumed were someone on the other end of the phone. Without thinking he drifted closer, eavesdropping by default.
Suddenly, his boss emerged from the office, flushed pink and tie askew. “There you are.” As if Ruben had been hiding. He took off his jacket.
Ruben started making exit noises. “It’s late….” He shifted his weight awkwa
rdly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t go, man. You should just eat here. Crash if you want.” His voice sounded casual, but the way he said it, Ruben knew how planned it was. Bauer was angling for something.
But what and why?
“And I’m off.” Hope walked out of the office in a trench, flipping her hair out of the collar. She held a small gunmetal attaché case. She looked between them. “You boys good here?”
Ruben nodded, unsure what she meant.
“Thanks, doll.” Bauer saluted her. “You’ll have a bite, then.”
The hell? Ruben waited two breaths before he looked up at his boss.
“I mean, it’s not like I don’t have space up here.”
Ruben nodded. Two guest rooms upstairs and one down the hall. The idea scared the shit out of him. He wanted to stay and needed to run.
Bauer pointed. “Stop panicking. I don’t believe in the wrong side of the tracks, Rube.”
Ruben shrugged. “I grew up in South Miami. Both sides of the tracks were wrong.”
His boss didn’t elaborate. His waist buzzed and then he was talking to the air again, holding up a wait-a-sec finger at Ruben and speaking loudly in French.
Without waiting for a reply, Bauer walked back toward the office. The door shut behind him.
Ruben knew he didn’t need to stay. Better that he go home and try to get some rest. He already felt off-kilter, and a vague thirsty pressure rose in him that he recognized. Insidious and powerful, the itch for one drink to take the edge off. What could it hurt? The idiot urge to medicate his anxiety was a golden oldie by this point.
Stop right there, kiddo. Peach in his head.
Ruben drifted into the dining room, where the flame teak table was set for two with sterling utensils and minimalist bone china, $750 a place setting, easy. Three glasses at each chair, for water, white, and red respectively, and each light as a tulip.
He spun the glass like a blossom in his blunt fingers.
“All the way from Prague.” Bauer spoke right behind him. His breath smelled like orange peel.
Caught. How does he materialize like that? Ruben tried not to tense and put a couple feet between them. “Nice.”