Me: It’s my day off so I’m pretty swamped with errands.
Lies. I’m not strong enough to pretend I never received the text and I concede that I’ll engage in conversation but I won’t hang out with him. I won’t make myself available to see him because seeing him will just confuse me more. I needed to put my foot down and in some ways Rico was right, I needed to get my head straight and that meant not letting Mikey consume it twenty-four seven.
Mikey: I wanted to see you.
No! No! No! I won’t do it. It’s time to practice self-control fuck at this point it’s more like self-preservation.
Me: Sorry babe. No can do.
Shit! I shouldn’t have typed babe. Too late, already sent the goddamn message. Oh my god! My fingers had a mind of their own as they drafted another text message. I was possessed that was my story and I was sticking with it. Yep, that’s it, I thought as I pressed send again.
Me: Why, what are your plans?
I threw my phone across the room as if it was on fire begging for the insanity to end. I covered my face with my hands. I should’ve ignored him.
Chime.
I groaned miserably.
Chime.
Go away Mikey.
I chewed mercilessly on my nails as I stared at the phone laying on the floor across the living room offensively singing. I’m not going to do it. I don’t care what his plans are hopefully they involved a plane ride to Tahiti. So why was I crawling across the floor to retrieve my phone? Because I was fucked up and it was all Mikey’s fault. It was his dark, mysterious eyes that sometimes showed traces of vulnerability. It was his lips and how they always seemed so inviting. It was his unruly hair that I wanted to run my fingers through, tugging on the ends as my body arched inviting him to do all sorts of wicked things to me. Take me!
Mikey: You suck. (Not really, but if you want to change that I’m sure I could do something to help)
Mikey: I can’t believe you are going to subject me to an afternoon of torture with Jimmy Gold.
Mikey: So much for friends. You threw me to the wolves. I’m disappointed Princess.
Poor Mikey. I could only imagine what my father had him doing. The fact that Jimmy was his chaperone didn’t sound very promising.
Me: Sorry. Jimmy’s not that bad. Try to ignore him.
Mikey hated Jimmy. He was the most colorful of my dad’s associates. He wasn’t really a bad guy he was an acquired taste being that he was eccentric and completely off the wall. Mikey’s head would be spinning in an hour.
I stared at my phone waiting for Mikey to respond, but he never did. I should’ve been relieved. It was what I had wanted right? I wanted to distance myself. I needed to. So why was I dialing my dad’s number with every intention of getting him to tell me where Mikey and Jimmy were headed? I wasn’t going to show up there. No, I was just curious is all. Just curious.
I remember as a kid going with my dad to Castle Clothes on 18th Avenue anytime he wanted a new suit or some new slacks. My old man never shopped in a department store nor did he have my mom buy his clothes when she went shopping every suit or pair of pants he owned were hand tailored by the master tailor in this little shop. He would spend hours being fitted for whatever it was, he was purchasing making sure if fit him just so. Then the salesman would have a selection of tailored dress shirts displayed for him, accompanied with matching ties and handkerchiefs. The days my father dressed casual he still wore a pair of tailored slacks a pullover shirt and his leather jacket.
It was an eerie feeling walking back into Castle Clothes without my father and an even stranger feeling standing in front of the mirror as the tailor took my measurements much the same way I used to watch him measure my dad. These last few days felt like an out of body experience. It felt as if someone had pressed the pause button on my own life and took me back in time to relive my father’s life. That’s why I had reached out to Nikki today. I needed her to bring me back to reality and being with her made me feel like Mikey and not so much like Val.
“Stand up straight kid.” Jimmy Gold said, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “And don’t look so fucking miserable will you.” He shook his head disgusted. “The suit doesn’t make the man, the man makes the suit, and a suit is only as good as the man who wears it.”
I rolled my eyes did he really think I was about to take fashion advice from a man wearing pinstripe pants a guinea tee and a mink coat?
“I’m not really a suit kind of guy.” I said grumpily as I spread my arms so the ninety-year-old man could measure me. It was pretty amusing to think this little Italian man was going to handcraft my suits at his age.
“Yeah, well jeans and a T-shirt won’t do anymore.” Jimmy proceeded to ramble. “Besides, you look pretty spiffy in a suit. Had all the ladies flocking to you at your mama’s funeral.”