lapels don’t fall right. The sleeves are too tight. Guy that’s lean like you, they’ll look terrific”
“You mean skinny.”
“No. You were skinny. You’re beginning to tend toward lean. Come on.”
We went into Louis’. A slim, elegant salesman picked us up at the door.
“Yes, sir?”
He was wearing a pale gray-beige double-breasted suit with the jacket unbuttoned and the collar up, a round- collared shirt open at the neck with the blue paisley tie carefully loosened, Gucci loafers, and a lot of blue silk handkerchief showing at the breast pocket. He had a neat goatee. I decided not to kiss him.
“I’d like a suit for the kid,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Come with me.” If Louis’ were a New York restaurant, it would be the Tavern-on-the- Green. If it were a municipality, it would be Beverly Hills. Lots of brass and oak and indirect lighting and stylish display, and thick carpet. As we got into the elevator I said softly to Paul, “I always have the impulse to whiz in the corner when I come in here. But I never do.”
Paul looked startled.
“I got too much class,” I said.
We bought Paul a charcoal three-piece suit of European cut, black loafers with tassels, nearly as nice as mine, two white shirts, a red-and-gray striped tie, a gray-and-red-silk pocket handkerchief, two pairs of gray over-the-calf socks, and a black leather belt. We also bought some light gray slacks and a blue blazer with brass buttons, a blue tie with white polka dots, and a blue-and-gray-silk pocket handkerchief. Under pressure they agreed to get the pants shortened for the evening. The jackets fit him decently off the rack. I offered the elegant salesman a check for seven hundred fifty dollars. He shook his head and took me to the front desk. A far less elegant young woman handled the money. The salesmen were too dignified.
“We’ll have those trousers ready at five o’clock, sir.”
I said thank you, and the salesman left me the clerical ministrations of the young woman.
“I’ll need two pieces of identification,” she said. She was chewing gum. Juicy Fruit, from the scent. I gave her my driver’s license and my gumshoe permit. She read the gumshoe permit twice. We got out of the store at three ten.
“Ever been to the Museum of Fine Arts?” I said.
“No.”
“We’ll take a look,” I said.
At the museum I offended a group being taken through by a guide. I was telling Paul something about a painting of the Hudson River School when one of the ladies in the group told us to shush.
“You’re disturbing us,” she said.
“Actually you’re disturbing me,” I said. “But I’m too well-bred to complain.”
The guide looked uncomfortable. I said to Paul, “It’s like a Cooper novel. The wilderness is lovely and clean. It’s romantic, you know?”
The whole party glared at me in concert. Paul whispered, “I never read any novels by that guy.”
“You will,” I said. “And when you do, you’ll think of some of these paintings.”
He looked at the painting again.
“Come on,” I said. “I can’t hear myself think in here.”
At five o’clock we picked up Paul’s clothes at Louis‘. The elegant salesman glided by as we did so and nodded at us democratically. We drove over to my apartment so he could change.
“Change in my bedroom,” I said. “And when you get through, bring that crap out here.”
“My old clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Which outfit should I wear?”
“Your choice.”
“I don’t know what goes with what.”
“The hell you don’t,” I said. “We picked it all out at Louis’.”
“But I forgot”
“Get in there and get dressed,” I said. “This is a decision you can make. I won’t do it for you.”
He went in and took twenty minutes to change. When he came out he was wearing the gray suit and a white shirt He carried the red-and-gray tie. “I can’t tie it,” he said.
“Turn around,” I said. “I have to do it backwards on you.”
We stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom and I tied his tie.
“All right,” I said when I ran the tie up and helped him button the collar. “You are looking good. Maybe a haircut, but for the ballet it’s probably the right length.”
He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was sun- and windburned, and looked even more colorful against the white shirt.
