by J Rocci
DAPPER GENTLEMEN
J. Rocci
Copyright © 2017 by J. Rocci
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Author's Note
I’m partial to dapper gentlemen myself, so this story was a joy to write. It’s light, it’s soft, it’s loving. This story was originally published by Torquere Press in 2012 as part of the Charity Sip Blitz 2012, with previous proceeds going to NOH8. I’m making it available for free now, so please wrap yourself in a mental fluffy blanket and enjoy.
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DAPPER GENTLEMEN
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"It's autumn in New York," Delaney Bixby crooned along with Billie Holiday, executing an abbreviated box step around the antique barber's chair at his station while he swept the floor. "It's good to live again..."
Foot traffic was starting to pick up on the sidewalk outside the shop, the legs of passersby just visible at the top of the concrete stairs leading down to the shop's main door. The front windows were open, letting a cool September breeze waft in the scent of leaves and Italian spices, and Delaney didn't care if he was overheard singing his lungs out. He was in too good a mood.
Tucked away in the basement of a Manhattan row house close to New York City's financial district, The Dapper Gentleman was a call to the early 1900s. Delaney had decorated the interior of the barber shop himself, from the elegant wood-paneled walls and floor tiles checkered in black and white, to the antique walnut bureaus that served as each of the five stations, and the brass wall sconces. It was narrow and small, but it was his and more than ample to cater to his select clientele. He was exclusive and in high demand and madly in love. Life was good.
The sun was setting and the shop was glowing from the warm lights overhead. In the far corner, a restored gramophone played Ms. Holiday's record just loud enough to drown out the sounds of the restaurant kitchens readying for their evening hours. As the Italian restaurant above him awakened, Delaney was slowly closing down for the day.
Twisting his broom, Delaney twirled around in place and used the handle as a microphone. His wingtip shoes squeaked on the tiles, and he had to laugh when he caught a glimpse of himself acting like a fool in the work station mirror. He pulled a funny face, then laughed again when he realized that he just did a pivot step through his neatly swept pile. He went for his dust pan and finished without further dancing.
He'd dismissed his employees for the day, ignoring both knowing smirks and affectionate ribbing, and now all he had to do was wait for his final appointment. A smile graced his lips as he set aside the broom and dust bin, and started selecting the glass bottles of oils he wanted at his work station in anticipation.
His fingers lingered over the brand new strop hanging at waist height from the bureau. He took a moment to enjoy the suppleness of the leather, amazingly soft even though it was straight from the production shop. It was a high-end strop he'd been eyeing for a few months now, and it had been waiting for him on the kitchen counter that morning when he'd emerged for the day.
A horn honked outside, startlingly loud even for the city, and he abandoned the station to turn down his record before going to close the windows. Even though it was September, the heat of the summer wasn't far behind them, and winter wasn't on the horizon just yet. The windows were single pane in wooden frames and screeched as he pulled them shut, reminding himself to work building maintenance into his schedule on Sunday, the only day he was closed.
The last window pane was stuck in place and he huffed, giving it a careful tug. He’d discarded his old-fashioned white uniform smock and changed into a tailored pinstripe waistcoat that matched his pants, sliding sleeve garters up his arms to keep his white cuffs clean, but he didn't want to risk soiling his clothes with window grime. He had plans after work, and they didn't include running home through rush hour on the subway to change.
Expensive Italian loafers came into his view as the owner walked down the concrete stairs from street-level. Halfway down, the man stopped and a broad hand pushed the window closed from the outside.
"Thanks!" Delaney stepped back with a grin, reaching over to unlock the door as his last appointment appeared on his doorstep.
"You should talk to your landlord about replacing those," Richard said absently, tugging at his silk tie like he hadn't loosened it as soon as he left his office. His deep voice was always a shock for Delaney to hear, even after all these years, but it matched the grave demeanor Richard presented to the public.
Dressed in a bespoke gray suit, Richard was the epitome of a high-rolling Wall Street investment banker. He fairly vibrated with repressed energy, and his gaze was piercing, dissecting. His clothes were finely tailored, his thick black hair was carefully styled, and his hands were routinely manicured. He was obviously particular about his appearance and only wanted the finest service. He also seemed like a man in need of a relaxing time after a long day.
Delaney was more than happy to oblige on all accounts.
"So, what would you like first: shampoo and a trim, or a shave?" he asked as he motioned Richard in, accepting the man's briefcase as Richard shrugged out of his suit jacket. Their fingers touched as Richard handed that over as well, and Delaney felt his cheeks heat when Richard's gaze turned knowing.
The jacket went on a padded hangar in the coat wardrobe, but Delaney took a moment to assess a scuff on the obviously new briefcase. The case was heavy, covered in shiny black leather with gold-plated locks and the monogram "RJB" on each. Delaney hefted it gently, setting it on an open barber chair. "This looks like it's held up well enough."
Richard's normally serious face relaxed marginally and he unknotted his tie completely, pulling it free from his collar. "It's not like I drag it about on the subway. But imagine my surprise when I found it waiting by the door this morning."
"Hmm." Delaney waved a hand at the empty chair. "Have a seat, please."
Settling in, Richard leaned back in the chair and rested his shoes stiffly on the heavy metal footplate, looking for all the world like a man who'd had a difficult day but was trying not to show it. Delaney would have to fix that.
"I should have time for a shave, I think," Richard mused as Delaney tied a barber cutting cape around his neck, carefully tucking it over his collar with a soft cloth.
"Is there somewhere you need to be later?" Delaney asked, surprised. He met Richard's gaze in the mirror before he reclined the chair.
Richard lifted one broad shoulder elegantly, cape rustling, a smile lurking at the corner of his full lips. "I have a very important date."
Delaney arched a curious eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "Then I'll definitely forgo the hair-styling and focus on that wicked stubble you're cultivating."
"I thought it made me look rugged?" Richard asked with an innocent expression.
Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Delaney stepped over to his counter. "I don't think you can use the term 'rugged' when you're wearing a suit that was hand-sewn by a little Italian man especially for you."
Barking out a laugh, Richard conceded, "I appreciate those who are masters of their craft."
The angle of the chair should have made Richard's smoldering gaze look ridiculous, but the man could pull anything off with aplomb and Delaney licked suddenly dry lips. But he refused to let himself be distracted by an inviting look.
Instead, he turned on the tap in the small porcelain sink mounted on the wall next to his station. He let the water warm while he opened a tub of shaving cream. The smell of sandalwood filled the air, light and inoffensive.
Wetting his hands, he worked the cream into a thick lather before stepping up to Richard, who lifted his chin to the proper angle without having to be told. Delaney spread the lather along Richard's jaw line and frowned at the tension he could feel under his fingertips. He slowed his movements, massaging the lather in as Richard's eyes dropped shut.
This close, Delaney could admire the aquiline profile of Richard's nose and the thickness of his eyelashes, his broad forehead and the widow's peak of his hair. But Richard was still lying stiffly in the chair when Delaney leaned lightly against his forearm on the armrest. This close, Delaney could feel the heat of his body, even through the barber's cape.
Knowing a trick that usually worked, Delaney focused on the planes of Richard's