Bad Guys

or out, which Trevor must have figured out, too, since he was hanging back, positioning himself on the opposite side of the mallway, in front of an electronics store that sold CDs and DVDs. He pretended to check out the new releases set just inside the door. I parked myself behind a two-sided mall directory sign that offered sufficient cover while I kept watch on both the Banana Republic and the electronics store.

I figured I’d be in this spot for a while. Angie, like her mother, never went into a fashion store and walked right back out again. Whenever I happened to accompany either of the women in my household to the mall, even on a supposedly short errand to go into a drugstore to buy a lipstick, I always allowed an hour.

I usually killed time in a bookstore or grabbed a coffee. Sometimes I left the mall altogether, ran some other errand, maybe trekked over to some hobby shop that carried sci-fi models, and came back in sixty minutes. But this time, I was staying put. The only comforting thing was, this would be as much torture for Trevor as it was for me. Maybe trailing after Angie in a mall would be enough to cure him of stalking.

I was still standing behind the directory sign, one eye peeking around the side, when I realized a small girl in a puffy-sleeved dress, no more than five years old, was standing a few feet away and had been watching me for several minutes.

“What are you doing, mister?” she asked.

Terrific. Shirley Temple had blown my cover.

“Go away,” I said. I was about to say something else when I spotted Angie coming out of Banana Republic, store bag in hand. She headed in the direction of the Sears, the anchor store at the far end. Trevor picked up the trail, keeping to the opposite side of the mall walkway. She ducked into a Gap right next to the food court, so I walked over to a coffee stand that still afforded me a view of the front of that store.

I bought a large coffee, shifted over to where they had the cream and sugar and stir sticks, found a lid that fit, and when I looked up, there was Angie, standing right in front of me.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” she said, her head cocked quizzically to one side. Her question didn’t sound accusatory. The truth was, she seemed very happy to see me.

I was so rattled I was having a hard time speaking, let alone coming up with an answer.

“You? At the mall? Without Mom? This is totally unbelievable.”

Think. Think. Think. Was it almost our anniversary? No, no, that was months away. If I said that, she’d never believe it. Her mother’s birthday? I’d had a habit of keeping track of that one, but no, I was pretty sure we’d celebrated that only four or five months ago. Valentine’s Day had long since past, Christmas was still a couple of months off, and-

“I’m looking for clothes,” I blurted.

“Clothes?” Angie said. “You’re looking for clothes?” Then she looked upward, as if there was no roof there and she was looking into the heavens.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for flying pigs,” Angie said.

I attempted to look indignant. “I can’t shop for clothes?”

“Doesn’t Mom buy all your clothes?”

“Not all of them. I do know how to buy clothes on my own.”

She smiled. “Since when? You’re totally hopeless. You’re telling me you’ve come out here, on your own, to buy a new wardrobe.”

“I don’t know why that’s so incredible. I just had to have a coffee to fortify myself before starting.”

“I don’t think it’s incredible,” Angie said. “I think it’s wonderful. Because, let’s be honest, you could use a bit of sprucing up.”

“You think so?” My eyes were darting about, trying to find Trevor.

“I mean, you always wear the same sort of thing. You’ve got your blue jeans, but then, once in a while, if you really want to dress up, you wear your black jeans. And these pullover shirts you wear, I mean, what is it with these?” She was plucking at my top with her fingers.

“The thing is,” I said, “it’s been pointed out to me in the last couple of days, as recently as last night, in fact, that my fashion sense leaves a lot to be desired. An opinion that was not contradicted by your mother. So I thought, while she was out of town on this retreat thing, I’d pick out a few new things.”

“That is so terrific,” Angie said. “You know what?” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a bit of time. I’ll help you. Since we haven’t got five gay guys here to give you a makeover, it might as well be my job.”

“No, no, that’s okay, you’ve got stuff to do.”

“No, really, this’ll be fun. Let’s hit the Gap. It’s sharp, but not too flashy. Finish that coffee and we’ll go over.”

I didn’t see Trevor anywhere. Maybe seeing Angie hook up with her father had scared him off. I drank my coffee as quickly as I could, but it was still pretty hot, and it took me a couple of minutes. Finally, I pitched the paper cup into the trash and allowed Angie to drag me over to the Gap, wondering whether Joe Mannix had ever been dragged off a stakeout to pick out new pants.

“Okay,” she said, taking me first to a display of shirts. “I think you’d look good in something like this.” She held up, against my chest, a plaid, button-up-the-front shirt. “What are you?”

“What do you mean, what am I?” I was waiting for an insult.

Angie rolled her eyes. “Size? Are you large, extra-large? I’m guessing you’d take a large.”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” I said.

A salesperson wearing a “Gary” nametag approached. “May I help you with anything?”

Angie said, “My dad wants to get some pants, maybe some khakis?”

“Sure, they’re over here, if you want to follow me.”

Angie motioned for me to come along. Gary of the Gap said, “He’d prefer loose fit, you think?”

Angie nodded. “Oh yeah, no kidding.”

And I thought, Hello? I’m here, too. You can ask me questions.

Angie loaded me down with three pairs of pants, half a dozen shirts. “Go try these on,” she ordered.

“Honestly,” I said. “I think I’ll just get the shirts. I don’t have to try them on. They’ll be fine. But the pants, it’s a lot of trouble.”

Angie looked at me sternly.

I was directed into a changing room. I slipped off my shoes, pulled off my pants. I pulled on a pair of navy blue khakis first, and one of the checked shirts Angie had handed me. I tucked in the shirt, slipped my shoes back on, and grabbed the wallet from my pants. This has long been a fear of mine, that my wallet will be stolen while trying on new clothes.

When I stepped back into the main store, Angie was there with Gary.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You look terrific.”

“I want to take another look at some shirts up at the front,” I said.

“Oh sure!” Angie said and then, glancing at Gary, said to me, “I’ll be right here.” She and Gary were chatting, and it didn’t sound like the subject was fashion. Didn’t she already have a boyfriend?

I walked to the front, not to look at shirts, but to scan the mall. There were dozens of people walking past, but at a glance, I didn’t see anyone who resembled Trevor.

I returned to the back of the store, told Angie I hadn’t seen anything else I cared for. But by the time we got to the counter, I had five shirts, three pairs of slacks, a new belt, and five pairs of socks.

While Gary was removing all the tags and scanning the items, I said to Angie, “So, what have you been doing tonight? Did you come straight to the mall?”

“No,” she said. “I met a friend for coffee first.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, trying not to act too interested. “Anyone I know?”

“No.”

“A good friend, someone from school?”

“Just a friend,” she said. She spotted a rack of boxers. “You know what, you should get some of those, too.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for my daughter to be buying me boxers. That has to cross a line somewhere.”

“If I have to see you walking around the house in them, I should have the right to pick them. Here,” she said,