Sunflower

20

We arrive at my stylist Jay's flat and, per usual, everything is meticulously showcased around the room. Suits line a hanging rack on one wall, a second rack on the opposite wall holds shirts and jackets while a tabletop is covered in neat rows of perfectly folded shirts, watches and other accessories. 

Jay is impeccably dressed in fitted trousers, a snug burgundy shirt and leather Gucci loafers.

"Hero," he says, standing up and giving me the standard two-cheek kiss greeting. "I've got some great stuff for you today." He looks at Charlie whose hand nervously squeezes mine. "And who do we have here?"

"Hey Jay, how ya going?" I reply and then add, "This is Charlie." I panic realizing I have no idea how to introduce Charlie to people. It's too soon to say "girlfriend," but "friend" doesn't sound right either. I decide to say nothing as Charlie extends her hand to Jay.

"Hi. It's nice to meet you," she says.

"Oh sweetie, I don't shake hands," he says, ignoring her outstretched hand and gives her a kiss on each cheek. "Come in, come in. You can sit here on the settee," he says directing her to his tiny couch that's covered in white linen. 

Charlie takes a seat, a look of anticipation perched on her face.

Jay turns to me. "Alright Mr. Hero, shall we start with the suits?" He pulls a navy and black patterned one from the rack and stares at me expectantly. "Do you want to change in the other room?" he asks, unsure of how exactly to handle the presence of my guest today.

"No, I'm cool to change here," I say, answering the question he really wants to ask. 

I undress, leaving my briefs on and slip into the suit, piece by piece. Jay stands in front of me, forehead creased in concentration as he straightens the lapel and pulls at the sleeves. When he turns to peruse the row of footwear options on the floor, I swivel my neck to check on Charlie and raise my hands and eyebrows at her.

She nods approvingly and winks at me.

Jay drops to his knees, adjusting the cuff of my trousers and helping me into a pair of silver trainers. He steps back several paces and studies me. "What do we think of the shoes, Charlie?" his eyes never looking up. 

I turn around to face Charlie, giving her the full perspective before she casts her vote.

"Obsessed," she says definitively.

This seems to please Jay who says, "I agree, but Hero you CANNOT wear socks with these, do you hear me?" He's still not over the time in Brazil I wore white socks during the press junket. In my defense, I didn't have any other clean socks. I roll my eyes before promising not to wear socks.

"This boy nearly killed me when he wore white fitness socks with black Commes trousers in Brazil," he says horrified, addressing Charlie. "You're lucky I didn't drop you then," he teases, playfully swatting my ass. "Okay, this will do," he says as he picks up his Polaroid camera and starts photographing me. I slip into model mode and give him a few different angles, then he lays the developing photos on the coffee table in front of Charlie. "Next!"

"Did Dolce send you anything?" I ask, curious if the brand whose show I walked in in Milan was willing to loan me clothing.

"Did they ever!" he purrs and plucks a forest green velvet tuxedo from the rack. "Isn't it grand?" he says, practically salivating. "I was saving it for last but why wait?!" 

He helps me into the suit which comes with a black dress shirt and bowtie. He studies me for a second and then reaches for a pair of black Chelsea boots, saying "The suit needs to be the hero" to no one in particular and oblivious to his own pun. He steps back and his eyes go wide. "Exquisite, don't you think, Charlie?"