“Check this out.” Owen held out his arms to model a powder-blue blazer thrown over a Smokey the Bear T-shirt. “Looks pretty snazzy, don’t you think?” He thrust out his hip and struck a pose.
“Focus!” Cassidy clapped her hands. “Now, Adam, which do you think would look better with a red dress. Gray, black, or this pinstripe suit?” She leveled her chin and stared up at him like he was supposed to be making a choice between his children or something.
Adam rocked back on his heels and put his hands on the sides of his face. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “Can Victoria please choose?”
One look at me and Cassidy sighed. None of us exactly screamed “fashion critic.”
“Let’s try them all on,” she said, and added another suit in a different shade of gray to the pile. I started to sit down in one of the chairs reserved for people-who-hated-to-shop-so-much-they-could-no-longer-physically-stand, but just as my rear end grazed the cheap, red velour fabric, Cassidy snatched me by the elbow. “Not so fast. We need you in there.”
Owen was performing a slow pirouette in the mirror. “I think I’m going to get this,” he said, tugging on the lapels. “I look very dapper, if I do say so myself.”
“You’re missing the pants.” I pointed at his jeans, cuffed over a pair of untied sneakers.
“Ew, Tor. These are rentals. Someone else’s balls have been in those.”
Cassidy glared. Owen blushed and he tugged on the neck of his shirt.
Cassidy pulled Adam and me toward the back of the store to a row of dressing rooms. I cast Owen a help me look. He responded by waving, then returning to browse.
The dressing rooms of HP Gold Formalwear hadn’t been updated since back before that powder-blue blazer was in style. Four narrow stalls with full-length mirrors lined the back wall. The carpets were a sea of shaggy red. The store seemed really into the red motif. I guessed it was supposed to be fancy or romantic or something. It all looked as if it could use a good cleaning.
I thought about Owen’s “balls” comment. Something told me patrons would be even less pleased to learn that a dead guy had worn these clothes, not to mention while he was actually dead.
People were weird about getting too close to death. It was like it was contagious. There was a house down the road that took five whole years to sell because the former owner had killed himself in the kitchen. Even then, the buyers mowed it down and used the land for farming. Pretty soon, the field where we found the body would have its own urban legends, I imagined.
Cassidy stuffed a heap of suits onto a set of hooks inside one of the fitting rooms on the right and ushered Adam in. “You have to come out and model,” she said, closing the door behind her. We both plopped down on a bench—more red velour—outside of the fitting room.
Underneath the door, we could see Adam’s jeans drop to his ankles. I wondered if Cassidy would be horrified to learn how many times I’d seen Adam in his underwear.
Cassidy bumped shoulders with me and looked at me out of the corner of her eye with a small smile playing on her lips. “Paisley says I should worry about you.” At this, she rolled her eyes. “But you know her. She can be such an alpha bitch sometimes. It’s been such a freaking relief having you around. Seriously, Victoria.”
Seriously what?
Fabric rustled from behind the closed door, and I watched as a pair of socked feet stepped in and out of slacks. Cassidy kept her voice low. “If I didn’t know you two were practically siblings, maybe I’d feel threatened, I guess. I mean, I’d have to if y’all’s connection was more full frontal than familial.”
A strangled sound came from the dressing room. “Are you okay in there?” I called.
There was a grunt and then a pause before the door flew open and banged into the wall behind it. Adam stood in the frame. His eyes were dark pools, hooded in shadow. I recognized the clench in his jaw as the same look as after a recharge. Something was wrong.
The gray suit was too tight around the chest and not long enough in the leg. The hem hovered an inch above his tennis shoes. Cassidy crossed the space between them and led Adam to a larger mirror with three reflective sides so he could see the panoramic view. She hovered behind him and tugged one of the sleeves down over the cuff of his white dress shirt. “A little snug, but what do you think of the color?”
Adam mumbled something unintelligible. I didn’t think Cassidy was even listening, because without another word, she pushed him back into the dressing room. “Next! Don’t forget, the black suit goes with the black shirt.” Turning to me—“Did that color say Wall Street or James Bond to you? I don’t want to go too middle-aged corporate, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s strange. Menswear has always been very quiet around me.”
“Ha. Ha.” She sat down again and crossed her legs. “You know, no girl is too good for a dress. Not even you, Victoria Frankenstein. I could help you look for one.”