“No, it’s like this,” I managed to say while maneuvering myself into a chair with both hands full and my right shoulder straining to hold my Treo firmly to my ear, “I told the guy some time ago to call on me if he ever needed my help. Now he needs my help.” I dropped into the chair and dropped the bags I’d been holding. Once they were down I relaxed my shoulder and let the phone slip into a free hand.

“And you can’t reschedule for another time?”

“No,” I replied. “I’m on his clock.”

There was a rattling of noise nearby; Michelle quickly escaped from its direction, walking briskly towards me with an oh my god look on her face.

“Geez, you think the guy would need to travel with an entourage or something,” she remarked as she plopped down in the seat beside me.

“I hear a woman’s voice. Who is that with you?”

I switched the phone to my other ear so Michelle could be spared the conversation. “It’s my friend Michelle. You’ve met her before, Stacy.”

“Yeah, I remember Michelle. She’s the body builder.”

“Physical therapist, not a body builder.”

She ignored the correction. “For a moment she sounded like Stephanie.”

“How many times are we going to go over this?” I asked. “I haven’t talked to her since the night we were all at your house.”

“The night she got drunk and tried to make out with you right in front of me,” she reminded me.

“She’s probably still embarrassed,” I explained.

“No, now that the cat is out of the bag she knows that I was right all along. I was on to her from the beginning and now she can’t politely deny it any longer.”

I sighed. We’d been down this road before, Stacy and I. The girl had an overactive vein of jealousy, a vein that was gushing venom and hatred for Stephanie ever since that very drunk and regrettable evening.

“Look, that’s all well and good, but I’m here with Michelle and we’re helping out my old buddy Craig from work.” I elbowed Michelle and held the phone towards her. “Say hi, Michelle.”

“Hi Michelle,” she chimed.

“See?”

Stacy finally relented. “Well, a girl can never be too sure.”

“Oh yes, no woman can repel me when I’m on the town. Lock up your daughters and break out your chastity belt ladies – Reed is on the town and you can’t say no,” I deadpanned.

Stacy remained silent on the other side of the line.

“Okay, Crazy – I’m going to go now. Here’s an idea: Maybe you should LoJack Stephanie and that way you’ll know when she is anywhere near me.” I clicked off the phone before either of us said goodbye.

“Trouble in paradise?” Michelle asked while I felt around for the inside jacket pocket to drop my phone into.

“Women; can’t live with ‘em, can’t shoot ‘em,” I replied, repeating Steven Wright’s comedy bit.

“You guys aren’t prize pigs yourselves,” she shot back.

“Trouble with Officer Chuck?” Chuck was a Santa Monica policeman who Michelle had been seeing for several months. It was the first time I’d seen Michelle happy in a relationship, and that was saying a lot, for she was one of the most drop-dead gorgeous girls I’d ever known to go through life unsuccesfully in the relationship category. Her looks and ever-toned, ever-tanned body were nearly intimidating. So to know Officer Chuck was doing it for Michelle was a big deal.

“What can I say, he’s always busy,” she said with a faraway glare. I tried to match her eye line with the opposite side of the room before realizing she wasn’t really looking at anything. “I know, I know – he’s a cop, of course he’s busy – but lately I think he’s wanting something else.”

“Oh. You mean a threesome. Tell him I’m not working right now so maybe we can work something out.”

Michelle wasn’t in the joking mood when it came to her and Officer Chuck. “You interested in having Chuck go to town on you?” she replied with a straight face. “For a while I thought he wanted a relationship and I let things progress to that end.” She paused and curled some hair behind one of her ears. “But now I realize more and more he doesn’t want that, he just wants someone to occupy his time while he’s away from work.”

She picked herself off the seat quickly and turned ninety degrees before dropping back onto the seat facing me. She was really into the topic now; whenever there was something important she wanted to discuss, Michelle would do that re-adjustment so she’d face you and have your undivided attention. As a therapist she’d dismiss it as being proper posture with minimal back pain, but the move was her poker tell.

“Chuck’s got two modes,” she continued, “work mode and not-at-work mode. Work mode is what it is; he’s a cop, so he works insane hours, like 70 hours a week. I understand that, I’m fine with that. I’m not competing for his time.” She pointed at my chest for emphasis. “You wouldn’t believe how many women resent cops they’re with because of how much time they put in on the job. They feel like they’re being cheated out of time they deserve. No, what’s bugging me is the time outside the job. He has no motivation, no drive to make his time with me mean something. For him or for me. It’s like he’s just whittling away the hours until he punches back in at the station.”

I sat there silently, not looking at Michelle. She generally was the kind of girl that wasn’t looking for solutions when she spoke of her problems. She just wanted someone to hear her vent and think things out aloud. Having known Michelle since grade school, it had taken me a long time to realize this about her.

When I finally looked over towards her I was met with big eyes and a do you have any suggestions? look. I guess this time she really wanted some ideas.

“Well, just as a devil’s advocate here, because I think the world of you, of course,” I began, which in turn caused Michelle to roll her eyes in a don’t patronize me fashion, “maybe if Officer Chuck doesn’t exhibit that sort of excitement over you it’s because you just don’t do it for him. Ever considered that?”

“I’ve considered it. I’ve considered a lot, let me tell you. I’ve lost much sleep over the whole thing.”

“Then maybe it’s time to consider cutting the cord,” I offered. “If you’ve thought about it as much as you say you have, the idea must have reared its ugly head.”

“It has,” she replied slowly, “and I have. But there’s times when I just don’t want to. I have this idea in my head of him and me, and sometimes it totally erases how things actually are. I guess I have to see things for what they actually are and not for how I’d like them to be,” she sighed.

“Spoken like a winner,” I added.

She smiled. “How is it we always end up talking about my relationship problems when I’m with you?”

“I don’t know if that’s accurate. After all, you don’t date that much so how can we be always discussing it?”

Michelle wrinkled her face and stuck out her tongue. “You’ve got your own little firecracker there, don’t you?” she remarked, tapping my phone through the jacket pocket.

“She’s something. I think it’s almost run its course,” I replied.

“But let me guess, you haven’t called it off just yet because she gives such a great blowjob.”

I nuzzled next to her. “You two been comparing notes or something? What did she tell you?”

Michelle punched me in the arm. “Shut up! I’ve met her. Stacy has a body built for one thing.”

“You should talk,” I retorted, adding a couple of Groucho Marx eyebrow raises.

“Hey guys, what do you think of this?” a voice from the other side of the room interrupted.

Craig emerged in a charcoal two piece linen suit, its cut very European in style, with tapered jacket sleeves and a high pant waist. He wore it well, but in it he looked more like today’s fad rather than a classic plate.

Michelle spoke up first. “It’s good but not great. I can’t see it being in style a few years from now.”

I just pursed my lips and shook my head. Craig hung his head low, turned, and walked away with the saleslady.

Craig was an intern under my tutelage at Chiat Day who’d made it through every trial one has in the world of free labor for college credit, and in the end came out with an entry level position in the department he had interned. Craig was an enthusiastic and dependable guy, but after four months on the job he found he was still being treated like an intern rather than a team member. As a sort of mentor, he sought me out and I suggested that perhaps it was his physical appearance, which at first he didn’t believe. But I maintained that if he wanted to be taken seriously in the world of advertising, he had to approach it with an attitude, an attitude that was as outwardly as it was inwardly. I told him it had to permeate every bit of his being and seep from his pores. It would have to come across in his thoughts, his demeanor, and his dress. He informed me his wardrobe hadn’t changed much since his internship days and we quickly diagnosed this problem one, one I’d happily help him correct. It felt funny say this despite being an unemployed guy – to suggest I knew the way to best climb the ladder in their offices.

Michelle got up and looked at a pair of leather gloves on a resin hand display. “I think Craig is going to have a case of sticker shock once he considers the price tag,” she noted.

“We’ll see how bad Craig wants what he wants when it comes to it,” I suggested. “What do you want, Michelle?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to be with Chuck the way things are, but I don’t not want to be with him.” She laughed. “So instead I’m here with you. I guess that’s my middle ground for now.”

“And I am your middle man,” I declared. “Not just yours,” I added, pointing in the general direction of Craig. “You’d think a guy could pick up a copy of GQ and Vanity Fair or peruse a few fashion websites and have a solid sense of what to go for. I didn’t know a middle man was required to connect Guy A with Store B.”

“Maybe that’s your calling,” Michelle suggested. “Fashion pimp. You could have business cards made, something with embossed lettering.”

My phone rang again. “Showtime,” I announced, assuming it was another call from Stacy to check where I was and with whom, but when I fished the Treo out I saw the call was coming from home.

“Hi, is everything all right?” I asked.

“I am fine,” my mother responded. “I just wanted to know if you would be home for supper.” For the better of two weeks my mother had been offering to cook a full blown meal but never rose to the task, mostly due to depleting energy and an afternoon malaise that caused hours of sleep.

“You don’t have to do that, I told you before. I should be home. I can make us both something.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s demoralizing to be in your own house and incapable of making anything.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re the best cook out there.” I wasn’t lying. 37 years of being a housewife had given her a wealth of experience.

“Why don’t we plan to have a big supper on Saturday, and you can do all the cooking and planning that you want,” I suggested. “No pressure – as big or as small as you want to make it.”

“That sounds nice,” she responded. “But that isn’t the only reason I am calling. If you are going to be around tonight I want to talk to you about some things, about taking a role in helping me out with the doctors and lawyers in our life. Well, my life.”

“Oh?”

“Well, it’s just that things have gotten so overwhelming with the way I am that I need someone who is, well, a…” she trailed off.

“A middle man?”

“I was going to say a shoulder to lean on, but middle man is good, yes.” She sounded tired, like she’d had enough of the day. I looked at my watch; it was just past three.

“We’ll talk about this more this evening at home,” she added. I said goodbye and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

“Not Stacy?” Michelle asked.

“No. That was my mother.”

Michelle perked up a bit. “Oh, was it? I wish I’d known. I would have said hello.” Michelle liked my mother a lot, and the feeling was mutual. She’d been around her periodically as Michelle grew up, but when Michelle’s parents died following her college graduation my mother stepped in to fill the maternal void, always checking in on her and making sure everything was going well. And Michelle appreciated that. Whatever bond they had was strengthened during that time to the point where Michelle was like another daughter in my mother’s eyes.

“How is she?” Michelle asked.

“She’s…maintaining,” I said reluctantly.

“For her, maintaining is good,” Michelle replied, looking to put a positive spin on the situation. “I need to drop in soon, maybe over some tea.”

“She’d like that.” Then, looking up, I noted, “Here comes the fashion model.”

Craig walked towards us with the part slink, part prance of a runway model looking to show off his wares. Michelle smiled in response to the newfound level of boldness Craig was showing. He unbuttoned the brown wool blend jacket and examined its stitching.

“It’s nice,” I announced. “Good, clean lines and a classy color, the kind that makes people take notice of both the guy who wears it and his intentions.”

Michelle laughed. “You sound like a copywriter.”

“No, that’s good, I like that,” Craig cut in. He was going for the sell.

I sat back in my chair while Craig further examined the detail and craftsmanship. That’s when he noticed the price tag.

“Uh, Reed? Can I talk to you for a moment? Over here?”

I got up from my chair and walked over to Craig stood in front of the hinged three-view mirror.

“This suit is almost three thousand dollars,” he whispered.

“I know. And it’s one of their less expensive suits, too.”

“That’s not what I meant!” he shot back. “It’s a lot of money.”

“Of course it is,” I agreed. “Dunhill makes a lot of quality items. Quality items cost money.”

“Yeah, but do I have to spend that much money?”

“Craig, don’t look at it as spending money on clothes, look at it as an investment: An investment in you and your professional future. You have to be an entire package, and by dressing this way you tell people you mean business. When they look at you they’ll know you’re thinking this entry level job is all well and good for now, but I have ambitions. Onward and upward. You’re making some decent money – more than the average first job earner in the professional workplace gets – so go ahead and saddle yourself with a little credit card debt at the outset. You’ll make it back in spades.”

“That’s a lot of credit card debt if you ask me,” Craig said with a shaky voice.

“You asked me for help, and so I am giving it to you. Buy five suits that you can mix and match and cough up the 13 grand. You have to put your best foot forward. Oh, that reminds me, we’re going to need to get you some shoes as well. I know a good place in the garment district. Quality leather and great stitch work at a fraction of the cost.”

“Then why couldn’t we have gone to the garment district for the suits as well?” he asked.

“Because they don’t have quality suits. You have to go where the quality is. If you bought your suits from bargain guys they’d fit improperly and people would know just looking at you’re not a serious guy because of the way you look. You want to be your best.”

Craig shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t have a need to be the best. I don’t just want to be like the rest.”

“Hey, don’t blame me, I don’t make the rules.” I pointed at Michelle. “Blame her, blame the women. It’s their eye for attention that’s cause for this.”

“Oh?” both Michelle and Craig said almost in unison.

“It’s all a metaphor for them, usually a metaphor for relationships. They see a guy in a baggy, wrinkled suit – or worse yet, a badly-kept pair of shoes – and they think to themselves that this guy can’t maintain anything beautiful in his life. Then they see a guy like yourself, a go-getter in a slick tailored suit and polished oxfords and they think here’s a guy with an attention to detail, an eye for the finer things. I bet he would show that kind of attention to detail in a relationship. I bet he’d show that kind of attention with me.”

Michelle shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Gawd,” she muttered.

“Try to deny it,” I dared her. “That’s why women are suckers for men in uniform.” I paused. “Guys like Officer Chuck.”

Michelle shot a glare at me.

“They go for the man in uniform because his uniform is well fitting and polished. He’s made up impeccably because he’s told by his boss to look that way, not because he is that way. But women see that and assume something else, whether it’s true or not.”

Michelle didn’t offer up a rebuttal.

“Let’s worry about how the ladies feel about my look later,” Craig decided. “Besides, if I am going to throw down that amount of money on a wardrobe I’ll have nothing left to use on women anyhow.”

“You do have to worry about how the ladies feel about your look,” I protested. “Who’s your boss? A lady. Case closed,” I declared. “Now go find yourself another couple of suits.”

“Perhaps something in navy blue,” Michelle suggested. “Every occasion calls for navy blue.”

“Good call,” I noted. Craig walked back towards the waiting sales staff.

“Honestly though, did you have to bring him to Dunhill? You could have taken him elsewhere.”

“No,” I responded, wagging a cautionary finger at Michelle, “he would fare no better at Fred Segal or Jil Sander. Nordstrom would have done a shitty tailor job, and Ferragamo would have plain ripped him off.” I smiled. “Besides, I’d be bored at all those places. Dunhill at least gives me something to do.”

“Like what?” Michelle asked. She was answered almost immediately by the slender Asian salesgirl who appeared by her side to address us.

“Can I offer you anything from the humidor, sir?” she asked in a low, polite voice.

“Yes, a double corona. Maduro if you have it.” The girl nodded in response.

“And anything for you, ma’am?” she asked, addressing Michelle. “Coffee, tea, Pellegrino?”

“Oh…uh, Earl Grey. Please.”

“Make that two,” I added. The girl disappeared.

“They do that here? I like it,” said Michelle.

I nodded and removed my Dupont lighter from a pocket. “A quality suit maker and cigar manufacturer. That’s a hard combination to beat.”

“Since I’m occupying a chunk of your afternoon I feel I owe you a drink or something. Maybe we can have a cocktail over at the Biltmore after we’re done with Craig.”

I declined the offer. “Not necessary, but appreciated nonetheless. I’m thinking I owe Stacy a visit. Besides, if this thing is over maybe I should cash in one last time, since she’s built for that kind of thing according to you.”

Michelle smirked. “Just be sure to wear some shoddy shoes, otherwise she might not know that you’re through, mister know-it-all.”