The Tailor's Razor

11. Cat Burglar

It's probably June by now
45°27'52.04" N, 9°11'22.59" E, up in the piping of Lo Stivale [Eng. 'The Boot']

Will's great-grandmother had always told him Milan was "Equal parts Melbourne and Sydney, with plenty of Prague to boot" chortle chortle she'd go on. Now, Will had never been to the ancient and puissant capital of the Czechs so couldn't really add anything to old Mama Taylor's statement, but he could see the influence of Australia's Twins in the grey stone and wonderful chaos of the city. It was a lovely locale, the perfect reprieve to summer and indeed would have been awesome if not for the cost of living. Madison was keeping a low profile from her family by avoiding her credit card so after the air fare neither could afford a single dish in the city centre, settling for kebabs and fried rice in an outer suburb. It wasn't bad, with grand boulevards and beaux-art apartments, but the only place that wouldn't break either's bank was a steambox-of-a-hostel they had to sneak Mahdo into. The owners were a respectful Lebanese tribe who wanted to keep their premises clean so the dog had to be hidden in an ensuite. A trio of Canadians fell in love with his big, black smile, not that there were many people immune to his canine charm.

Victims of his romanticism, the trio were more than thrilled to babysit the big beast while Taylor and Madison headed off to a show in the city; Dolce & Gabbana's cruise collection was being shown off in a grand pop-up at the foot of the Duomo. It wasn't too difficult to find, looming like a prickly pear over the action with floodlights casting the deepest, most Gothic shadows across its façade. It was a bright frame for the beautiful bodies that flitted through the warm evening. Overhead a flock of birds mimicked the gaggle below, twisting as Taylor was caught in the faux-flash of a photojournalist.

"Scuse me, mate?" he blinked painfully, but the colourfully-dressed fellow spouted a stream of incomprehensible Italian.

"Uh... scusi," Madison stuttered, "Me no comprehendi the Italiano."

"Oh, of course," he said in the heaviest Italian drawl they had ever heard, "I was only asking how your friend describes his look. It is so fresh."

Taylor inspected his polo and the stripy shorts that didn't cover half his thighs, "Uh... Vinnie's Chic, mate."

"Si. And your tattoos, where did you get them?"

"Goulburn Correctional."

"Goulbourno Correzionale," the droll photojournalist said into the recorder on his phone, "Grazie."

"Cheers."

"No no, you say prego."

"Prego, mate."

"Roll the tongue."

"If you promise to put me on the cover I'll roll whatever you want!"

They laughed like madmen, the photojournalist realising "You're Australian, aren't you?

"Yeah mate, Will," shaking his hand Taylor explained he was a journalist too.

"No!" he beamed, saying his name was Luca, "I was just going backstage to talk to some of the designers. You should come. Cigarette?" he pulled out a packet of Camels.

"Thanks mate, prego," without the roll, "But I quit."

"Appunto."

Madison, ever eager to involve herself in the repatriations, awkwardly said "I don't smoke either. I'm Madison, by the way; American."

"I could tell," with Luca's cigarette swinging from between his lips he mumbled "This way my friend."

His indifference to Taylor's American friend notwithstanding, Luca was a pretty chill guy and seemed to know just about everyone they passed, the models fawning over his swarthy good looks. He assured Will, as they followed each other's Instagrams, that he was a father now who would not dream of looking at another woman beside his wife. Will wasn't so sure he could ever be so faithful; in the tents behind the catwalk there were beauties galore, a band of six-footers wandering past in regal indifference. Luca waved them away, explaining to his Australian apprentice that the icy look in their eyes testified a coldness that would possess "Their very bones". He tried to focus on the beautiful American by his side but when a Ratajkowski-lookalike walked past he considered throwing in the towel.