by Con Riley
“Fucking marvellous” slides out, raw and honest.
“You want?” Vanya asks seriously while rainbows dance across skin. “Can have if you want.”
Jason nods—he wants, all right—but then he shakes his head very quickly. “No. No, I don’t want the belt.” Especially not when he sees the price tag. Smartening up so Chantel can’t look down at him is one thing, taking out a second mortgage is quite another. “I don’t think I’ll want anything for sale here.”
Vanya hums instead of pressing for a reason. “Maybe should try on outfit before making decision.” He turns to the counter again to utter a couple more sentences to the assistant before Jason can answer. “Come,” Vanya instructs. He gathers items and heads for a spacious, curtained changing area. Vanya places his selection on hooks and then stops, crossing his arms tightly after Jason pulls the curtain closed behind him. “I’m think you can try on your own.” He raises a hand as if about to pull the curtain open.
“No.” Jason grasps the fabric while toeing out of his shoes, his belt and jeans already unfastened. “There’s no way I’m trying any of this on and then parading around out there where everyone can see me.” His jeans drop heavily to the floor, weighed down by his cell phone and wallet. If he’s got to look like mutton dressed like lamb, he’ll only make a fool of himself in private.
The back wall is lined with mirrors.
It’s impossible not to notice Vanya’s tension.
“Uh, unless you usually wait outside for clients?” Jason asks while pulling his T-shirt overhead. “Like I said. Novice here. It’s up to you to tell me what’s usual.” Another thought makes him pause with his arms still raised and his face covered. People reacting like this in changing rooms had been common at school, right after he was stood up on that first date. In hindsight, Garry outing him had been an act of pure deflection, but the way some of his school friends had responded—frozen like Vanya is right now—had been pretty awful.
It’s the second time he’s been transported back twenty-five years in the last thirty minutes.
He slowly pulls his shirt back down, tugging the fabric over his chest and belly and yanking up his jeans before addressing it head on.
“Listen, just because I’m queer doesn’t mean you’ve got anything to worry about. I didn’t set this whole shopping trip up to jump you. I just want to get this over with, and I’m not going out there wearing anything that sparkles.” He glances up again when Vanya’s silent. “You know what ‘queer’ means?”
Vanya’s nod is fast. He speaks just as quickly, his voice carefully lowered. “Need to check—‘jump’ means…?”
“Well, it could mean getting someone alone to have sex.” He adds more clarification. “Only I’m gay, not desperate.” He searches through the pockets of his jeans for his phone. “Here.” He opens an app with a masked icon. “If a quick fuck in a changing room floated my boat, all I have to do is—”
“No!” Vanya covers the screen with his hand, his face blanching. “N-no.” He swallows again and lets go, suddenly sitting down on the bench. “Is very bad idea. Worst.”
“Having sex in a clothes shop?” Jason tries to lighten a moment that’s turned strangely heavy. “I dunno. It might be more fun than trying on these clothes.” He quits joking when Vanya’s silent. “I was kidding.”
“Is normal here to tell strangers?”
“No.” Jason shrugs as he removes his T-shirt for the second time. He takes one of the shirts Vanya selected from its hanger. “I assumed you guessed from our first conversation, but if we’re going to be up close and personal like this, it’s better to be up front.” Jason was already over getting judged before Vanya could have been born. He glances sideways where a mirror reflects his troubled expression. “Or we can call this quits.” He’s abrupt. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m not paying anyone who has a problem with it.”
Vanya’s nod is quick.
When he eventually speaks, Jason hears weariness rather than the judgement he half expected. “Is very different at home. Very, very different.” He takes the shirt from Jason. Under the changing room lights, his eyes shimmer brighter than the diamanté buttons he unfastens. “Couldn’t ever tell.”
Oh.
“That you’re gay too?”
When Vanya nods, Jason finally relaxes.
They reconvene in a nearby coffee shop where Vanya hesitates in front of trays of cakes and pastries. Jason prompts him to choose whatever he wants. Then he orders coffees and makes his own selection.
“Is that everything?” the barista asks as he slides a flapjack onto a plate, but when Jason looks over his shoulder, Vanya has wandered over to a chiller full of sandwiches and wraps. He seems no closer to making a decision when Jason gives up waiting. “I might be a minute,” he warns the barista.
Vanya jumps when Jason stands behind him to say, “I thought personal shoppers were meant to be decisive.”
“Only about clothes.”
“So I see.” He watches Vanya examine the display of food, his lips moving slightly.
Perhaps written English is a hurdle.
“Can I help you out with something?”
“No.” Vanya still seems torn between an amply filled baguette and a more meagre sandwich. Jason decides for him, scooping up a couple of the baguettes just as a rush of customers converges. His quick step out of their way leaves him crowding Vanya, whose exhale is a surprised puff. It’s a moment of unintentional intimacy that lingers until Jason asks, “Are you trying to save me money by choosing the smallest sandwich? I thought you were meant to help me spend it.”
Vanya’s chin tilts, his hair the softest brush against Jason’s bruised cheek. “I’m think I would buy my own.”
“Next time,” Jason promises. “Now stop shilly-shallying.” He pulls a couple of twenties from his wallet and pays.
Vanya follows him to a table. “Shilly-shally is not a real word,” he says when they sit. He tips three sugars into his coffee and pockets several extra sachets. “For later.” He shrugs and then touches the edge of the chipped enamel plate Jason’s flapjack rests on. “Business that charges five pounds for cake on hipster tin plate can spare sugar.”
It’s another indicator that Vanya’s not exactly stupid. After all, he’s not the one who just blew close to thirty pounds on food for someone he’s already paying by the minute. It’s hard to feel churlish about that when Vanya takes his first bite and lets out a sound that’s pornographic. Mayonnaise smears his lips that he wipes with the tip of a finger, sucking it carefully clean like he doesn’t want to waste a single speck of flavour.
Jason startles at a sudden kick to his ankle.
“Eat,” Vanya orders like he’s the one calling the shots in this business transaction. His tongue flicks out to catch another stray, creamy drip, curling the same way Jason imagines it wraps around brand-new words in English. “Stop shilly-shally,” Vanya tries out slowly, a lone eyebrow lifting. “Or is time not money today?”
Jason would pay a lot right now to take the rest of the day off. He’d empty his whole wallet and buy the contents of the chiller if that meant sitting here for longer. But there’s nothing good that can come from staring like some weirdo each time Vanya takes a mouthful. He’s clearly got no clue that, even with his cheeks bulging like a well-fed hamster, he’s by far the best sight in this city.
Jason should focus on the reason for this meeting, but it’s hard to find clothes motivating while Vanya eyes his flapjack with such transparent longing.
Some people go for twinks, Jason knows. He’s never been one of them, but Vanya’s more than an air-brushed mental image. It’s not only the way he enjoys his food that’s totally consuming. Jason clears his throat instead of suggesting they continue shopping and pushes his plate across the table as a delaying tactic. Vanya hardly hesitates, any restraint a faint pretence before he eats with gusto, half the sticky slab of flapjack gone in two quick bites before his chews slow. He nods when Jason final
ly asks, “So… did you plan to take me to another boutique like that last one?”
“Yes, but might be big mistake,” Vanya’s eyes slant upwards over the rim of the coffee cup that masks his smile. “Next place has more sparkles.”
“More? I’m not sure that can be possible. Besides, I’m not sure Moreton-in-Marsh is ready for me in glitter.”
“Moreton-in-Marsh?” Vanya chases crumbs around the plate before licking his finger again. “This is a real place?”
“Yes. In the Cotswolds.”
Vanya just blinks.
“It’s a town a few hours west on the train. Our house is way out in the sticks, deep in the countryside, so I’m not sure it’s the right place for crystal-studded anything, to be honest.”
“Countryside is where you will wear new clothes?”
It makes sense that he needs to know these details. “Yes. I was thinking I’d go down on Friday to see Chantel.”
“At end of this week? Is not long.” Vanya would look stern if milky foam didn’t dot the bow of his lip, highlighting a moue of disappointment once his cup is empty.
There’s no justification for Jason to sit here any longer. He lingers instead and it takes a moment to process Vanya’s next question.
“Mama would like fiancée?”
“I….” It’s almost impossible to answer. Regret that he can’t ask his foster mum himself sneaks up, a sudden slap of loss he thought he was well and truly over. “I don’t know, exactly.”
“Why not?”
It’s a simple question that provokes an honest answer. “I have no idea what sort of person she is.”
“Must be hard,” Vanya muses. “Marrying a man when his brother hates you.”
“I don’t hate her.” How could he? He’d struggle to pick her out from a crowd of strangers. “I don’t know her, that’s all.”
“How long they date for?”
“I’m not sure.” Jason rubs his temple, fingertips grazing the aching edge of his brow. It throbs when he says, “I went skiing in February, and when I got back, it was too late. She’d already moved in.”
“Too late for what? To give house-warm present?”
Too late to save Andrew from another shitty decision.
Too late to protect the home they’d grown up in from someone who might try to claim it in a third divorce settlement.
“Too late to get my brother to think about what might happen. He can barely know her, and his office is based in the city, so it’s not as if he’s down there at all during the week. He can’t have any idea what she’s doing with the place when he’s not there.”
“He has place in town too?”
“Yes. He’s here Monday through Friday.”
“This is why you worry? She is in your house alone?”
“I’m not worried.”
Vanya lets out a small snort of disbelief. “Sound very worried.” His tone shifts to gently mocking. “Lots to worry about for brother. Has good job and two homes. Marrying pretty girl who might not be a bitch.” He’s contemplative. “Has health and wealth and maybe soon some babies—”
“No.” Jason’s aware his dismissal sounds abrupt. “You don’t know what it was like. He almost had to sell our place to pay off his last wife. She seemed nice at the start too.”
“Married before?”
“Twice. I still don’t understand why he wants to go there again. He’s better off on his own, like me.”
Vanya smooths out his crumpled napkin and says absolutely nothing.
Jason fills the awkward silence. “He was a wreck for ages.”
“Bad break up is good reason to be lonely?”
This time it’s Jason who doesn’t answer; he’s thought about Garry too many times today already.
Vanya quietly adds. “So, need one new outfit very soon. Not fancy with crystals. Not dirty like work clothes. Something that says you respect fiancée, but only a little?”
“Yeah.” That sounds about perfect.
“Should have talked like this before.” Vanya cups his chin in his hand. “I’m think first clothes shop was worst choice. I’m waste your time.”
“No. Not at all. I didn’t know what I wanted either. It’s been good to talk it over. Get a bit of perspective, you know? And even if we only found one shirt to buy there, it was good that you got to talk too.” That had seemed like a big deal back in the confines of the changing room. “Listening to you wasn’t a waste of my time at all.”
And there’s that rare smile—bright and warm and natural—but it shuts down all too quickly when Vanya admits, “Still have to charge.”
“Of course.” Compared to the prices he saw online, Vanya’s time is a steal. Jason slides crisp bank notes across the table, and this time Vanya takes them. He’s still staring at the neat roll in his fist when Jason asks, “So what about finding the perfect outfit for me?” He nudges the bag holding the one item he agreed to purchase, despite its eye-watering price tag. “I need a complete outfit by Friday.”
Vanya opens the bag, staring inside like he’s seeing its contents through new eyes. “Is a good shirt. Best for dinner at fancy restaurant but,” he eventually agrees, “maybe not best for first meeting in country.”
“Do you know another place to shop that’s more my style?”
“Maybe. Will have to research.” Vanya stands, slowly, like he’s just as reluctant to end this meeting, hesitant when he offers, “I’m think we could meet again tomorrow. If you still want?”
If Jason still wants?
There’s no question about it.
Chapter Nine
The next day, Vanya makes sure to be early, but Jason’s already outside the department store, leaning against a wall like he’s been waiting a while.
“Keen,” Vanya teases, so caught up in Jason’s warm grin of welcome that he almost hugs him, like he would a close friend, arms outstretched before he slams his mental brakes on. “Sorry.” He backs up, grasping Jason’s hand to shake instead of hugging. “Wasn’t think.”
“No problem.”
Jason sounds neutral about their near miss, but his handshake lingers, lasting long enough to leave a tingle once he lets go.
Vanya’s voice comes out unsteady. “A-are you ready?”
“I’m always ready.” Jason pushes away from the wall to stand straight and tall, the grey in his stubble glinting when clouds part over Bond Street.
“Will see,” Vanya says quickly rather than stare. Under his stubble, Jason’s plainly handsome this morning, especially when his eyes crinkle like he’s pleased to see him. Vanya leads the way across the street rather than watch those crinkles deepen. Jason follows, both of them dodging black cabs that honk. Vanya only stops walking briskly when Jason grinds to a halt outside their destination.
“Wait. This is what I’m paying you for?” Jason gestures at the Marks and Spencer signage. “You know this shop is on just about every single high street, don’t you? I could have come here myself.”
“I’m think you could have but you didn’t.” Vanya enters the store and checks the floor plan by an escalator. “Or you wouldn’t need me.” They travel upwards to a menswear department. Vanya heads for a section holding the last of end-of-summer clothing. “I’m chose this store after research,” Vanya admits over his shoulder, not mentioning that research took place in a library before he returned to a squat Jason helped him locate without knowing. “Computer put this store at top of search list.”
“What the hell search terms did you type in?”
“Boring clothes. Older man. No diamonds.”
“I’m not old. I’m forty-four. That’s nowhere even close to past it.” Jason stops dead, blocking the way for impatient shoppers.
Vanya tugs him out of their way into the sale section. “Was joking.”
“Very funny.” The way Jason’s expression shifts is slight, yet common on this island. Vanya translates it with hardly any trouble now that he’s spent so long people-watching—Jason’s pisse
d off at his comment, but he won’t call him on it, his faint smile a pale imitation to his bright grin of greeting.
For the first time in forever, Vanya doesn’t shy away from provoking anger.
Instead he selects a polo shirt from a sale section in palest primrose and confronts Jason’s annoyance head-on. “What is worst search term? Boring? Or older?”
“You make me sound old enough to draw my pension.”
“Still feel young?”
“I am young. Well, I’m not old. Fuck.” Jason scrubs a hand through hair that’s still mostly black. “I definitely don’t feel old enough for this place to be my only shopping option.” He pauses by a full-length mirror. “Is old really how I look to you?”
“To me?”
Jason’s nod is fleeting. He doesn’t meet Vanya’s gaze in the mirror.
“Want me to tell what I see?” Knowing that Jason’s gay as well makes it easy to be honest. “I’m see one of the best men I meet in Britain.”
Jason raises a hand to the last of the bruising around his eye. “You can’t have met many people.”
Refusing to take a compliment is very British as well. Vanya simply ignores it. He selects a pair of black jeans from another rail and insists, “One of best men I meet, and very, very good brother.”
“Stop it now.” That faded bruise competes with a sudden flush of rose pink.
“No. You ask so I’m tell.” Vanya chooses a belt—unadorned and simple, this time—and continues being truthful. “I’m see someone who tries when he doesn’t have to.” He ignores Jason’s demurral. “Someone spending money to make best impression for family. This all tells me more than I see on surface. Now, take clothes. Try on.”
“You’re not coming?”
“No.” This is a family store in the heart of London, after all, appealing to the masses, not a tiny boutique where no one thinks twice about personal service. “Will wait here.”
Jason takes longer than seems necessary, given he’s only trying on three items. Vanya fills time by retrieving a shirt that’s fallen from its hanger. He also refolds a sweater as if he’s helping Kaspar, but hearing a woman’s voice nearby—Russian and dearly familiar—has him frantically peering between garments. He shoves them apart, hangers screeching and shirts slipping to the floor all over again as his heart quits beating.