“I told you, I don’t care what I look like,” I say. “Neither does Toni, usually. It’s weird that T asked me to go shopping for this.”
“She knows you have me in your life now. She’s probably expecting me to transform you into a New York fashionista. I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint her. Sure, the raw materials are there, but if you won’t even put on a pair of kitten heels, I don’t know what I’m supposed to—oh, hey, that one might work.”
The black-and-purple dress is okay now that I’ve got it on. It’s not too short. But it’s got way too much lace, and it’s too tight.
“I can’t breathe in it,” I say. “See if they have it in the next size up.”
“You’re not supposed to breathe,” he says. “Did Marilyn Monroe breathe? No. She knew how to sacrifice.”
“Marilyn Monroe died. Give me the next dress.”
“No.” He comes inside the dressing room and pulls the curtain closed behind him. “We can make this one work. Here, hold your breath and I’ll rehook the corset. You did it all wrong.”
“Sorry. I’m not up on my vintage corset hooking techniques.”
He unhooks the back of the dress and does it back up again. “You’ll have to wear special underwear with this. A bustier, maybe.”
“How did you learn about bustiers in rural New Jersey?”
“It’s not that rural. We have YouTube. Hang on. I’ll see if I can find one.”
I do my best not to suffocate while I wait. Two minutes later Carroll is back, pulling the curtain closed behind him and clutching a purple witch’s hat and a black lace wraparound thing with bra cups. It looks like a torture implement.
“No damn way,” I tell him.
“Relax,” he says. “Trust me, the girlfriend will love it. Here, hold still.”
I put the hat on and try not to move while he jiggles the contraption under the top half of the dress. It’s kind of awkward, because we’re friends, but I’m not sure we’re necessarily the class of friends who can see each other naked yet. But Carroll spends the whole time muttering curse words about how the hooks aren’t working, and it’s about as nonsexy a moment as you can get.
“Ta-da,” he finally says.
It does look good. Plus it’s not as hard to breathe this way. Who’d have thought a torture contraption would lessen the pain?
“There’s no way I’ll ever get this on again without your help,” I say.
“It’s not rocket science. Get the girlfriend’s roommate to do it. I’ll draw her out a diagram.”
I give up resisting. I even let him pick out some close-enough-to-flat shoes for me with buckles on them that look sufficiently witch-like. Only after I’ve spent my entire credit card allotment for the month does he allow me to leave the store.
Carroll is grinning. I am, too, actually. That was more fun than I expected.
“I’m famished,” Carroll says. “You have to reward my expertise by buying me lunch.”
“I don’t have any money left. Your expertise has already cost me two hundred dollars.”
“Well worth it,” he says. “Fine, I’ll treat, but we have to go somewhere cheap.”
We wind up in a tiny Indian restaurant. Carroll has never had Indian food before, so I try to explain the menu and keep him from doing imitations of Apu from The Simpsons when the staff are in earshot.
While we’re waiting for our food, Carroll unrolls one of the huge paper napkins on our table. “Do you have a pen?”
I give him one.
“Leaving your phone number for the waiter?” I ask. Our waiter is in his seventies and keeps calling me “baby doll.”
“No.” Carroll chews on the pen, then writes at the top of the napkin.
“Aww!” I laugh and clap my hands, scaring the dog sleeping by the front door.
Carroll chews on his pen for another second. Then he writes:
I stop laughing. “Aww.”
Carroll ducks his head.
I turn the napkin around to read it again. “Can I keep it?”
“Sure.” He’s blushing.
My phone buzzes with a text. I glance at the screen long enough to see that it’s from Toni, but I’m sure it isn’t anything urgent. I tuck the phone away.
“Thanks for this,” I say. “I really, really love it.”
The waiter brings our food. Carroll starts eating too fast.
“Don’t do that,” I tell him. I fold the napkin into quarters and tuck it into my bag so it won’t get torn. I wonder if I can tape it up on my wall later or if that would be weird. “Seriously, slow down. It’s spicy.”
He doesn’t listen. Soon he’s reaching for the water, downing a whole glass in one gulp.
“You should eat some bread,” I say. “It’s better for dealing with the spice.”
His eyes are watering. “Thanks. I don’t know why I always make a fool of myself whenever you’re around.” He blows his nose into another napkin.
I laugh. “Probably because I’m already a way bigger fool than you’ll ever be.” I pick up one of those tiny ultraspicy peppers and act like I’m going to stick it in my mouth.