by Damon Suede
“Yeah.” Ruben knew he was trying to seem friendly and chill. “Just so’s you know, I don’t speak Spanish. At all.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. My parents were big on the American Dream thing when they got to Florida. My mother only fights in Spanish and my pops won’t speak it at all.”
“We say that you’re in real estate, maybe, visiting from Sao Paolo but you were raised in Miami.”
“We’re Colombian.”
“Medellín, then.” Bauer squinted, his make-believe motor warming up. “Banking family, but you’re a prodigal. Cars and women. Our parents know each other from Grand Cayman. Offshore confrères.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” They were alone in the apartment but he couldn’t shake the sense that even now Bauer was using him to put on a show for someone.
“You shouldn’t. You’re a black sheep. Relax!”
“Not likely if you want me protecting anything.”
“Let’s say you’re a new investor who’s on the fence. Best if they think you’re a potential client, someone I’m planning to do business with rather than an existing partner. That way you’re on their side, not mine.”
“Makes sense. I don’t have to play dumb, just be dumb. Keep an eye.”
“But scary.” Bauer brushed something off Ruben’s shoulder and squeezed it. “A little loco. Good suit, they’ll piss their pants.”
Ruben wondered who “they” were. Who was this show for precisely? He wondered if Bauer had even made that part up yet. Still, as long as the check wasn’t make-believe, he could play along.
Bauer walked them back down toward the elevator.
Talk about a meal ticket. Bauer didn’t care what he spent to make Ruben blend in. Maybe this made some kinda sense. Summer job, nest egg. Get a place, a girlfriend.
In AA there was a rule about not dating in your first year of sobriety because it stole focus from your recovery. Wisdom in that, definitely. Ruben had struggled with it, but going to meetings and dealing with the divorce hadn’t left him time for much in the way of social intercourse. Hell, any intercourse, if you got down to it, but at eleven months he saw the wisdom. Who wanted to date an addict? No one healthy, no one sane.
Dating as a drunk had been hard enough. Now he’d need to unlearn all his dodges and learn how to get a chick while sober. Still, a new city and a new job seemed like a solid start. Price tag, plan. Maybe he was finally ready to dip his toe.
At the door, Bauer asked offhand, “You wanna grab dinner, maybe?” His voice sounded casual, but his eyes flashed like teeth in deep water.
A free meal sounded terrific, actually. Eating at his brother’s meant takeout and keeping the cat from rolling around in his mu-shu pork. And free always meant delicious. Yet the impromptu invitation hit him funny and made him feel irrationally powerful. “Nah, you got somewhere to be, I’ll bet.”
“Oh.” Bauer blinked at him, hand locked in midair. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Eight still okay?”
“Your call, man. We’re right here waiting.” Dimple again.
“I’m an early riser.” Ruben ignored the hinky feeling.
“I figured. Shopping first thing, then. Beat the crowds.” Bauer nodded. “You’re here.”
As Ruben stepped onto the elevator, the gleaming box felt even more claustrophobic and precarious, as if his new boss had trapped him in a coffin balanced on a radio tower. Any second the doors would close and he’d be stuck, suffocating in midair.
Finger hovering over the button, he had the sudden urge to quit, call the whole thing off.
When he turned to say the words, Bauer extended his arm and shook hands once, sealing the bargain.
All the way down, Ruben wondered exactly what he’d bought and what he’d sold.
CHAPTER THREE
TIGERS EARN their stripes and keep them by choice.
The next morning, Ruben woke up before the alarm, tangled in the sweaty sheet. He could hear Charles sawing logs in the next room. Next stop: sleep apnea if his brother wasn’t careful.
Ruben drank a big glass of lukewarm water. Instead of coffee, he did his mini-circuit of push-ups, crunches, and pull-ups on the bar he’d hung in the bathroom doorway. A hundred each and he needed to piss at the finish. He rinsed quickly, forgetting to shave but not remembering till he dried off. Bauer didn’t care about his stubble.
Instead of breakfast, he grabbed a cup of crappy java from a bodega and took an empty bus down Park around seven thirty. Ruben had never had reason to travel this way before. As he watched, botánicas gave way to boutiques, dumpsters to daffodils. He considered his borrowed clothes and tried to see them through these eyes. Bauer’s building was only thirty blocks south, a mile and a half away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the moon. He hopped off the bus two blocks early, wondering exactly when the Iris surveillance spotted him.
“Mr. Oso.” At the awning, a towheaded doorman he hadn’t seen before waved him straight into the building and handed him a package to carry up. Creepy. In the elevator, he stared front and refused to look up at the camera.
Upstairs, he expected Bauer to be waiting, but nothing. He heard a woman’s sharp voice to the left, in the office maybe.
Ruben found the lady on the phone: blue-black skin, high cheekbones, and a ballerina’s poise. Ballbuster, that one. Not what he would have expected of Bauer’s staff, but up in this penthouse expectations kept getting kicked over. She touched a glowing earpiece and nodded. “You see?”
He set the box on the table, and she frowned and ran her hand along one edge as she talked to the air. Leaning in, Ruben realized the package had been sliced and resealed. She held up a finger at him and nodded impatiently. Impeccable suit, heart-shaped face that looked much sweeter than she sounded. “And that’s all we’re asking you to do, Mrs. Blantin. Mmph. Now, my eight o’clock is here, so I’m going to have to let you go. We’ll talk next week.” She hung up and held out her hand to shake as she walked over to him. “Anxious divorcee. Apologies…. I’m Hope, and you’re Mr. Oso.”
“Ruben, yeah. Hi. I’m—”
“I’m glad he took this situation by the horns.” Journal on the desk. Files in the cabinet. She never stopped moving. A gorgeous tornado.
“You’re the—”
“Assistant. Yes. I would’ve met you yesterday but you weren’t expected and I had classes. Columbia Business. I transferred from library science, and the goddamn professor never lets me forget it.” She rolled her eyes like he understood.
He didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Great.” Ruben shifted his weight, unsure if he should sit or find his new boss.
She leaned in, conspiratorially. “Andy’s upstairs in the shower. Bad night.” She said it as if Ruben knew the full dossier on her boss’s history and psychological profile.
Ruben stood very still for fear the tornado would scoop him up and tear something off.
She shifted one of the big floating screens and tapped on the laptop. “Can I get you a coffee? Juice? No? I’m hoping you can help me keep him on his schedule.”
“Sure. If I can, I’m—”
“Happy to hear it.” She glanced at her watch. “Now, I’ve got to get down to his lawyer by ten, and the car’s already downstairs. You’re going shopping this morning.”
Ruben shrugged. “Whatever he needs.”
“What you need. I’ve set you up with Joysann as your shopper. I didn’t know your sizes, but I sent over the photos at six to get her started.”
“Umm. Sure. I’m….”
“Me too, Mr. Oso.” She shook his hand, one firm pump with her slim hand. “It’s terrific to meet you. Back by twelve.”
He wondered if that meant she would be back or he should be, but decided Bauer would clue him in.
Instead of going upstairs, he retreated to the kitchen, found a skinny man slicing leeks. The chef? Another employee, whoever it was. They raised hands at each other but said nothing.
Uncom
fortable, he drifted back to the office but didn’t sit down. He leaned over the resealed package he’d delivered. The cut was razor clean, and someone had glued—
“There you are.” Strong hands gripped his shoulders and squeezed, sending a jolt of electricity all the way to his knees.
Ruben turned.
Bauer’s hair was still damp from the shower, with that stubborn cowlick wrestled into submission. He looked down the hall but asked Ruben, “Breakfast?” He stood there buttoning a pale blue dress shirt over his muscular chest.
“I’m good. I met Hope.”
“Great. I meant to introduce you, but I overslept.” Bauer rolled up the sleeves as they climbed the stairs. “The financial markets operate in every time zone, so I keep odd hours. Sleep is for amateurs.” He tucked the shirt into his jeans. “Hope keeps me in one piece, for the most part.”
“She is something.”
“Victoria’s Secret model for two years till she got bored. A dancer for like two seconds. Exotic, not ballet. We met at Jaded. Now she’s with me while she works on her MBA.”
Ruben assumed Jaded was some bar, maybe a disco. Hope didn’t act like any stripper he’d met. He nodded. “She said we’re meeting someone named Joysann.”
“Barney’s menswear. Excellent. She used to dance with Hope. Great gal. You’re not carrying, are you?”
“To go clothes shopping? No.” Ruben didn’t add that he saw no need for a gun to prevent imaginary stalking.
Bauer snapped his fingers. “Shoes.” He headed up the spiral staircase and Ruben trailed after him.
When he caught up, Bauer was kneeling in a giant closet tying his laces. Even zillionaires tie their shoes. “This should only take us an hour. One sec.” He turned right into a bathroom bigger than Charles’s entire apartment, its walls lined in slate and the granite tub deep enough to hide a cheerleading squad. Without comment he unzipped his fly, flipped the toilet lid, and took a piss.
Fuck’s sake. Ruben turned his back before he had to look at any whiteboy peen.
Bauer sighed and coughed. “Sorry, man. I’m not private about most things. And we gotta get used to each other, right?”
“Sure. No worries. Still finding my feet.” He could hear Bauer finish and put himself away.
Bauer paused to rinse his hands and dry them before heading down to the elevator on the main floor. Waiting, he poked at his iPhone, muttering to himself.
Ruben scrubbed a hand over his shadowed chin. His black stubble made him look like a gangster. “I should have shaved this morning.”
“No, it’s good.” Bauer laughed. “I’m not offended. Actually it’s more believable that you wouldn’t shave every day. You look meaner this way.”
“What’s ‘mean’ mean?”
Bauer thumped his shoulders and kneaded them. “Scary. Powerful. I don’t want you to look like a cop.”
The elevator slid open silently and they stepped on. Again the car descended in such quiet Ruben felt like an actor standing in a silver box while God changed the set outside.
“You think I look like a cop?” Better than robber, at least.
As they crossed the lobby, one of the young doormen nodded at them amiably. “Your car, Mr. Bauer?”
“A cab’s fine. We could almost walk, but it’s freakin’ hot. Right?” That last question was aimed at Ruben, who didn’t feel like he had any say.
By the time they reached the curb, the younger Asian doorman was holding open a taxi door.
When you’re loaded, the world just falls into line.
Bauer slid across and Ruben followed. The doorman shut the door with a quiet thock and rapped it to signal the driver.
“It’s only twenty blocks, but this time of day the sidewalks are more crowded than the street.”
“My first New York taxi.” He hadn’t the money to waste.
“Yeah? Cool.” Bauer smiled and raised his voice toward the driver. “Barney’s. Madison and Sixty-first.”
Ruben had heard of Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s but apparently this was the classier option. On the way, he couldn’t stop thinking of the goddamn purple dinosaur.
When the cab stopped, Bauer passed a twenty dollar bill for a seven dollar fare without waiting for change. He stepped through the department store door Ruben swung open for him.
No dinosaurs. A smattering of white, groomed shoppers like a music video. Most department stores in New York were for working people, but this place was a plush safari.
Ruben caught a couple people staring at them. Either he really stuck out or Bauer had pissed off a few of his neighbors.
Oblivious and laser-focused, Bauer navigated the cosmetic counters and hooked left to a bank of elevators. He pressed the button and Ruben stood next to a table of neckties, trying not to feel like his parents were buying him clothes. He picked up a lustrous tangerine tie, cut wide with a thin gold diagonal. Alexander McQueen.
Bauer gave a nervous laugh and relaxed. “I never know what to buy.” Spoiled rotten.
Ruben knew plenty about clothes. A hundred, maybe? Hundred-thirty? He paused to lift the tie and flip its tag: one hundred and eighty-five American dollars and no sense. For real. To purchase a seamed strip of tangerine silk that might get worn a half-dozen times. He’d lived in apartments where that was a week’s rent. Keeping his face neutral, he dropped the tie quickly and carefully back to the table.
“Why not?” Bauer plucked the tie off the table. “You’re gonna need a couple anyways.” What the hell was happening? He grinned. “Sixth floor, I think.”
The elevator doors glided open and Ruben pressed 6. “What exactly are we buying, here?”
“Hmm. Hope suggested three suits to start. A blazer. Couple pairs of pants. Some casuals. A tux is overkill, but dress shirts that fit you.”
Tux?
“You got an amazing build under there.” Bauer jabbed the 6 button again till the doors closed on them.
The praise pleased Ruben in an uncomfortable way. “My brother’s packed it on the last year.” He tugged at his collar. “But a lot of my stuff is being shipped from Florida.”
“Deductible.” For a moment, Ruben could see the number cruncher hidden under all the expensive grooming. Bauer watched the digits climbing on the elevator panel, elaborately polite for no reason. “These boys’ll get you hooked up.”
Ruben gulped. Boys? Right. ’Cause this was a New York department store; he’d seen makeovers on Bravo. He was embarrassed enough without a bunch of homos scoping his crank in front of his new boss.
For about two weeks after dropping out of boot, he’d danced in a queer bar, and he knew how aggressive dudes could get when they got a whiff of a ripped straight guy down on his luck. He’d grown up Catholic and, though he didn’t have a problem with gays in theory, the macho worship gave him the heebs. In his experience, queers were either clueless kids afraid of football or creepy geezers who wore too much Drakkar… or at least that’s how it had felt in the bar. The hot homos he saw on TV had never showed up to grope him and call him papi. Not that he wanted them to, of course, but getting sexually harassed by friendly jocks would have made the stripping easier to laugh off. No such luck. The first time some grampa licked his knee, he quit.
As they reached the sixth floor, a willowy carrot-topped boy with a mustache caught his eye, all of twenty-four and prettier than Ruben’s ex-wife. He squinted and moved in for the kill. Great. Bravo makeover in five… four… three—
“If you dressed differently.” Bauer eyed the pleated pants, also Charles’s.
“Man, you put me in whatever the hell you need. I am at your service. I’m like: free threads?” Ruben shrugged. “Done.”
Checking the other side of the menswear aisle, Ruben clocked a girl with a short cap of streaky blonde hair and a mouth like split berries. Yes, please.
The ginger kid had vanished. Her eyes glittered at Ruben and a saucy grin flickered at the corners of her mouth.
Thank you, baby Jesus. His cock swelled;
he fought the urge to shift it and hoped he didn’t get an embarrassing poky in front of the client. Was this hot slice gonna take his measurements? He hadn’t been with anyone in so long.
He squared his shoulders and tightened his abs under his belt. Would it be sleazy to cop her number while his boss paid a couple grand for his clothes? Ruben hadn’t gotten his ashes hauled in so long that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to get off beyond sex dreams and ninety seconds of salty midnight fireworks.
Then she saw Bauer and the smile caught fire. “Mr. Bauer!” Ruben and his sticky candle winked into invisibility, as if someone had pinched his wick.
What did that mean? Was his boss some kind of celebrity?
“Joysann.” Bauer raised a hand at her.
She crooked her pretty finger and they ended up in a large dressing room with a three-way mirror and a row of leather Ralph Lauren armchairs facing a dais. On one wall hung a rack of understated clothes on hangers.
Joysann’s eyes, smile, hands sparkled at them. Her lips were very pink.
Bauer flicked through the hangers, nodding at them. “This is my friend, Ruben Oso. He just flew in from Orlando, but his luggage is on its way to Cartagena.”
Instead of sitting to give them space as Ruben expected, Bauer hovered, which only made his arousal more awkward.
Joysann looked at Ruben. “Lose the pants, but keep the shirt and shoes so things hang right.” She was teasing him.
Really? In front of his boss. He sighed. Ruben draped his jacket over a chair arm, and started to kick off the shoes. He shucked out of his slacks and returned to her wearing the button-down, his red boxer briefs, black socks, and a pair of weather-beaten loafers. Unsexy as hell. Oh well.
Bauer considered Ruben in the mirror. “Shoes too, I think.”
Joysann didn’t blink, ready to stroke his ego till he squirted cash. “Hope didn’t know sizes, but she sent your photos.” She nodded at Bauer like she smelled fresh credit cards. She squinted at the rack and pulled a couple of hangers before she asked Ruben, “Forty-eight regular?”
“Uh, sure.” Ruben gave her a shy smile and stepped onto the dais with his back to the mirrors. He had his pop’s square build and sharp nose: pure Colombiano. “You think you can hook me up?”
