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“I love that jacket,” I protest. Fine, so maybe it’s a little derivative and passé, but I still love it.
Lee walks it across the room and drops it in an empty cardboard box. “We’ll call that themaybepile.”
I get the feeling that box will be sitting at the curb this time tomorrow.
His passive-aggressive approach to personal styling continues as I try on different iterations of curated outfits. Each one elicits onlyslight variations of disappointed grimaces until I’m standing in my bra and underwear amid a knee-high pile of war crimes Lee apparently regards as personal insults to his taste.
There’s one bag he hasn’t opened yet, so he tears into it with a disappointed huff. I’m taking a second glance at the clothes still hanging in my closet when he gasps.
“What is this?” Lee holds up clumps of fabric in two fists.
Apprehensive, I respond, “Clothes?”
He beams at me. “Finally!”
From the bag, he lays out a black graphic T-shirt, a long cardigan, and a dark gray pair of cutoffs. Basically something I’d wear to ride my horse or do chores. He then grabs a handful of necklaces from my dresser and throws them at the outfit with a pair of booties compiled on my bed. The relief that washes over him is visibly intense.
“Clothes,” he declares happily.
His phone buzzes on my nightstand. As he goes over to read the message, I notice a secret smile tug at his lips.
“Who’s that?” I ask, because I’m nosy.
“George. A new friend.”
“A special friend?”
His smile grows wider. “Could be.”
“He coming to the show?”
Lee laughs at me and shakes his head. “Not that kind of friend.”
“Ah. I see.”
“We’re meeting up after the show, though.”
“Got a picture?”
Lee beckons me over and opens Grindr to show me his new friend’s profile. I lean in for a better look. George is handsome, except for one glaring deformity.
“What’s with the cop ’stache?” I demand, aghast.
“Oh, babe, I know,” he grouses. Lee places his finger over the lower half of George’s face. “But see? Perfect.”
I laugh. “Maybe you can talk him out of it.”
“If things go really well, I’m shaving that thing off once he falls asleep.”
“Lee, mate!”
Jack suddenly bursts into my room while I’m still standing in nothing but my bra and underwear. My hands fly up to fight over what to cover more.
“You got any ibuprofen? I’ve a headache throbbing behind my left eye. What’s up with that? It’s driving me mad.”
I turn sideways in the hopes I might become invisible to him. Like camouflaged prey in the forest. Except I’m more like a pale, freckled deer in the headlights. Our eyes meet in the mirror on top of my dresser. His quickly flick away at realizing I’m not exactly dressed for company. They return, though. Only for a second. Something flashes across his expression that I can’t read. Then it’s gone.
“Put some clothes on, ay?” Jack says with an unbothered grin. “This is a family establishment.”
