Half Share

by Nathan Lowell

  It did not exactly feel natural standing there looking at myself in the mirror while this stranger watched me, but it was as if that part of my mind were numbed. I knew it was weird, but the weirdness did not seem to matter. “Yes.” I nodded slowly, still looking at myself in the mirror. “I think I do.”

  “So, are you ready to try on clothes?”

  I nodded.

  “Very well,” he said and slipped the robe back over my shoulders. “This way, please. I think we are done measuring.”

  “Measuring?”

  He nodded to the glassy sensors in the flooring and walls. “Of course, Monsieur. I must know your physical dimensions, just as you need to know your spiritual ones.” He peered into my face. “Yes, I think we are ready.”

  He led me back out to where the women were seated. It was a little disconcerting to be in public wearing not much more than a robe, but it was not that much different than the sauna, if I did not count M. Roubaille, his assistants, and everybody besides me dressed to the teeth.

  “With your permission, ladies,” he addressed them, “we will begin.”

  He undraped another mirror and stood me in front of it. I was afraid for a moment that he was going to whisk the robe off and leave me standing there in my briefs again, but instead he took a pair of beige slacks from a hovering assistant and helped me slip them on under the robe. I felt better with pants, but the feeling did not last long as he then stripped off the robe and left me standing in front of the mirror wearing only the slacks. The mirror was angled slightly so I could not see the women seated just to my right in its reflection, but I could sense their eyes on me. M. Roubaille tugged the seam and smoothed the fabric over my backside in an oddly impersonal manner—as if he were dressing a mannequin. They looked good, fit well, but Brill summed it up when she said, “Too old.”

  Stepping back, M. Roubaille nodded and said simply, “Yes. Indeed.”

  He reached out and plucked a different pair of slacks from another assistant’s hands. He slid the beige pants down my legs and handed them off while helping me into the second pair, a nicely tailored pair of twill slacks in a chocolate brown. I stood there for a moment, looking at myself barefoot and shirtless in the mirror.

  “Too formal,” Beverly offered.

  “Hmm,” M. Roubaille said, thoughtfully. “You may be right. How do you feel about denim, M. Wang?” he asked.

  “Denim?” I asked, still contemplating the twill in the mirror trying to decide what Beverly found formal about them.

  “Yes, denim. What are commonly referred to as blue jeans?”

  “I like them very much.”

  His assistant produced a new item and M. Roubaille helped me out of the twill and into a pair of dark-blue denim jeans. They were buttery soft—as if they had been washed about a hundred times, but were not the least bit faded. They had an absolutely perfect dark-blue color. The pants slipped up my legs and across my rear like they were made for me. I felt the soft fabric hug my thighs and settle low around my hips. They had a button fly instead of a zipper and as I struggled with the unfamiliar placement, I spotted the white cotton robe lying across the chair where M. Roubaille had placed it after I had tried on that first pair of trousers. Suddenly I became conscious of all the people in the room who had watched me get into and out of several pairs of pants. I heard what sounded like a soft whimper from the direction of the couch, but I did not dare turn my head. I hurriedly finished buttoning the jeans and looked at myself in the mirror trying to ignore the flush of red that flooded my face and naked chest.

  Roubaille turned me this way and that so I could get a good look in the mirror, and I heard Brill say, “I think those will do.”

  Diane added, “Oh, yeah.”

  After the briefest of pauses, Bev said, “I don’t know. Could he try on the twill again, just to compare?”

  I lost it then and started laughing. They were obviously enjoying themselves. If they wanted to watch, some little imp inside of me wanted to give them something to see. I turned and looked back over my shoulder at the mirror, so I could see the way the denim hugged my butt. I brushed a hand across it ever so slightly.

  “I think these will do nicely,” I announced to the room at large. Then I turned to face them and trailed a hand down across my stomach until my thumb hooked into the waistband and my fingers just hovered over the buttons. “Do you think they fit?” I asked them. While my fingers drummed nonchalantly.

  Diane repeated a breathy, “Oh, yeah.”

  Brill cleared her throat and added, “Definitely.”

  Bev just grinned with a very hungry looking glint in her eye.

  M. Roubaille’s assistant on the other side of the couch just nodded. Her eyes were quite large and fixed on my fingers.

  “Do you have something suitable in the way of a shirt, M. Roubaille?” I asked.

  From the way he smiled, I got the impression that he enjoyed the performance much as I did—perhaps more. “I believe I do, M. Wang.”

  He slipped a long sleeved selection in pale pink cotton up my arms and across my shoulders. It was not the smooth cotton I expected but a richly textured oxford cloth. “Pink?” I asked skeptically.

  “Trust me. Few men have the ability to wear pink. You are one of them.”

  I shrugged, slipped it on, and buttoned it, slipping the tails into my jeans. I felt the women’s eyes on me as I slid my hands down into my pants.

  He had me stand still for a moment while he walked slowly around me, tugging and adjusting. He unbuttoned one extra button on my shirt. “You can get away with this,” he murmured with a sly wink.

  I turned to face my audience again, letting the fingers of my right hand slide up to the collar of the shirt and then play across the exposed upper chest where the extra button was undone. “Do you think this makes me look too girly?”

  The assistant standing behind the couch shook her head vigorously.

  Diane cleared her throat before speaking. “Girly? Ah, no.”

  Brill added, “If that’s girly then I’m on the wrong side of the fence.”

  Bev just grinned some more.

  He had me sit in the chair and handed me a pair of navy socks with padded toes and heels along with a pair of low boots. The boots were made from an amazingly supple leather with a soft café au lait color and a brushed finish that made them seem almost like a smooth suede. They slipped on easily and fit perfectly. I stood in them and stepped to the center of the room. They had just a bit more heel than I normally wore, but the extra two or three centimeters made me stand a little straighter.

  “You need a jacket and a belt,” Roubaille said. “But how do you like this so far?”

  I shook my head in admiration. “These are such simple clothes, but they fit so well they seem almost elegant.” Grinning I added, “But the real audience is over there.” I nodded to where Brill, Bev, and Diane were seated.

  He smiled. “They seem to approve, Monsieur.”

  “I have a belt, perhaps,” I offered. I stepped back into the changing room and pulled the boy toy belt from my pants on the chair. It had been made especially for me and held a sentimental value beyond the actual belt and buckle. The leather slid smoothly through the belt loops and the golden buckle with the black dragon head rode perfectly on my lower stomach.

  “An excellent piece of workmanship,” M. Roubaille admitted. “And exactly the right touch of whimsy. Now, for the jacket.” He held open a coat for me to slide into.

  I slipped my arms into it and he pulled it up across my shoulders. Again, he surprised me with both color and texture. The coat was made from a very narrow-wale, lightweight corduroy in an olive green. It was very close to a neutral color, but picked up the pink in the shirt and countered it beautifully. It was a double-breasted cut with wide lapels and a rounded collar like the old time sailor’s pea coats. It even had big, anchor-embossed black buttons. It was light enough that I could wear it around the station without getting overheated, but when I pulled it
closed and tried the buttons, I could feel the warmth begin to build up. If I were ever stuck on the docks, this would certainly keep me warm enough.

  “Ladies?” I asked. “Will this do?”

  I displayed it for them, buttoning and unbuttoning the jacket. I could not resist and even slipped it off entirely and slung it over my shoulder for full effect. M. Roubaille suggested what he called a continental style where he just draped it around my shoulders allowing the sleeves to hang free. He also showed me how to release the cuffs and fold them back a bit allowing the shirt to show for a more casual look that was also very nice.

  Brill asked, “Could we see some more shirts, M. Roubaille? He’ll need more than just the one.”

  “But, of course, madam,” he said and brought out three other selections—a classic white oxford, a turtleneck jersey in a dark green that worked perfectly with the jacket, and a henley pullover with a simple rounded collar and five buttons at the top.

  I took my time trying each of them on, enjoying being watched in an odd way.

  Finally, M. Roubaille asked, “If there’s nothing else, may I have your purchases wrapped, Monsieur? Or do you wish to wear them?”

  “Might I take a moment to consult with my friends?” As soon as he said the word purchases, a very panicky feeling washed over me. I did not know if I could afford this. What little I knew of fashion made me fear I was in way over my head.

  “But of course.”

  Brill, Bev, and Diane were all sitting there with very odd expressions and looking a bit flushed. “I’m sorry that took so long,” I said. “But what do you think of the outfit?”

  Bev spoke first. “It’s you, Ish.” She sounded a bit breathless.

  I took Brill aside and asked softly, “Are you okay, Brill? You look a little flushed.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” Her smile looked shaky to me.

  “Okay, well, how do I ask how much this is going to cost? I’m beginning to worry that I can’t really afford it. And I don’t wanna look like an idiot getting back into my old clothes.”

  “You won’t look like an idiot. Just ask to see the statement. You can always pick a few pieces and leave the rest. He won’t think twice.”

  I nodded and turned to Diane. “What do you think? Will these work?”

  “I think so, but if you could just slip the jacket off and walk over there and back for me once?”

  I did as she asked, pretending not to know they were watching my butt. When I turned, I found her and Beverly nodding at each other. “Yes, Ish. I think that works very well.”

  “Very well, then, M. Roubaille, I think these will do. If I could see the statement?”

  His assistant had a pleased little smile on her face as she presented me with the tablet displaying the accounting and then slipped back into the background while I consulted with Brill, Diane, and Beverly once more. The tab was two thousand two hundred and eight credits.

  Diane gasped when she saw the amount. “Wow, I knew it was going to be steep but…”

  “I can loan ya some if you need, Ish,” Bev offered in a lowered voice.

  I looked to Brill. “Well, you really should keep the jacket. That’s only a kilocred and it is spectacular on you.”

  I looked from one to the other before speaking. “No. The question is: how does this relate to clothing in general? I don’t buy clothes and I have no idea what a pair of jeans costs.”

  Bev caught on first. “It’s about ten times what you would pay anywhere else, but you are never going to find clothes that fit that well ever again. I can help you if you’re short.”

  I grinned and turned to the proprietor. “Thank you, M. Roubaille. This will be most satisfactory.” While Brill, Diane, and Bev looked on dumbfounded, I thumbed the bill.

  He led me back to the dressing room where I retrieved my tablet and loose articles. The dolphin slipped nicely into an inside pocket of the jacket, and there was even a pocket for my tablet. His assistants bundled up my old clothing separately from my spare shirts and took everything back out to where Bev, Brill, and Diane waited.

  “Are we ready, ladies?” I asked.

  They all nodded, and M. Roubaille showed us out. On the way he handed me another data chip, this one inscribed with an ornate R on the case. “Anytime I can be of assistance, M. Wang, this will get my attention.” He smiled and added softly, “It’s not every day my assistants get to enjoy themselves so much, Monsieur. They hope you’ll return soon.”

  “Thank you, M. Roubaille.” I offered him a smile and small bow. “This has been an amazing experience.” I tucked the case into my pocket beside the dolphin.

  On the way out, I took the bundle of old clothes and stuffed it down the first disposal chute I came to. Brill, Bev, and Diane smiled at me. “Can’t afford the mass,” I told them.

  “Well, let’s go out to dinner,” Bev said. “I feel like celebrating.”

  On the way to the lift, I found myself in the lead with the women walking abreast behind me, Brill in the middle flanked by Diane and Bev. They looked terribly pleased with themselves for some reason—almost proud.

  “One of you will have to cover dinner for me,” I said. “That was almost all I had.”

  “Oh, after this afternoon’s performance, I think the least we can do is buy ya dinner,” Brill said.

  Chapter 17

  DUNSANY ROADS ORBITAL

  2352-APRIL-15

  We were on the lift heading for the restaurants on level eight when Diane’s tablet bipped. “I’m going to have take a rain check on dinner,” she said. “I’ve got to relieve Francis in half a stan.”

  I checked the chrono and was shocked to discover that we had spent the whole afternoon at Chez Henri. Diane had the watch starting at 18:00 and it was already 17:15. My brain was having trouble processing everything. Of course it was late, we were headed for dinner, but somehow I had not connected the passage of time with Diane’s impending watch. I pulled my own tablet out and set an alarm for 05:15 just in case.

  “You planning on staying out all night, boy toy?” Bev asked with a grin.

  I shook my head. “No, but as crazy as this day has been, I don’t wanna take any chances.”

  “You better not be late,” Diane said with a laugh. “I’m gonna be exhausted after this afternoon and staying up all night on the midwatch tonight.”

  “We’ll get him back early,” Brill told her.

  “Who says?” Bev demanded. “We need to take him out and show him off a little, don’t we?”

  “Oh, yes,” Brill agreed, “but we ought to let him sleep tonight. He’s running on less than six stan’s sleep now. He’s got day watch tomorrow and he’ll be fresher tomorrow night.”

  They were grinning at me the whole time they discussed my fate. “Don’t I have any say in this?” I asked.

  Brill and Bev looked at each other and then at Diane. Finally, they turned back to me and Bev said, “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Silly me,” I said. I was getting a bit giddy by then. I had not eaten since sometime in the midwatch when I had raided the cooler in the galley. For all her joking, Brill was actually right on the mark on how tired I really was. I just hoped I would not fall asleep in my soup.

  When the lift stopped at level eight, Diane gave me a little hug and a peck on the cheek. “You did good today, Ishmael. Thanks for letting me come along.”

  I was too flustered by so much stimulation to say anything except, “You’re welcome.”

  Brill lead us off the lift and we waved to Diane as the doors closed. Brill asked, “So, what’ll we eat?”

  “Chicken,” I said. “Or beef.”

  They looked at me strangely.

  “Chicken is a local specialty according to Pip. We’re getting some for the stores trading. Cookie’s going to be in his element between the chicken and lamb.”

  “Lead on, McDuff,” Brill told me. So I started down the corridor with Bev on one side and Brill on the other. As we walked along, I noticed people sta
ring. I had gotten used to it whenever I went out with either Brill or Bev. Brill because she was so tall, and Bev because she was so tough looking. With both of them decked out as they were, it did not surprise me that we were getting a lot of second glances. I myself liked catching glimpses of them in any reflective surface we passed. What did surprise me was that a lot of the stares were directed at me.

  About fifty meters around the station, we came to a nice looking place with chickens spinning in a rotisserie oven in the window. We had smelled the roasting chicken from halfway down the corridor and Brill said, “That’s gotta play hell with the scrubbers. Do you know how hard it is to get that out of the air?”

  We all chuckled and went in.

  It was early for dinner, barely 17:30, so we got a table right away. We ordered a large chicken paella which they served family style in a huge crock pot in the middle of the table along with some superb crusty yeast rolls. I did not think we could possibly eat it all when I saw the size of the serving dish, but we left only a few loose grains of rice in the bottom when we were done. It was delicious and I confess I enjoyed having two of the three most strikingly beautiful and charming women in this end of the galaxy as dinner companions.

  We did not spend that much time over dinner, perhaps a couple of stans. After we finished our paella and a dessert, the server brought our check and hovered. There was quite a line built up at the front door, and needing the table, they were not shy about letting us know it was time to go. Brill picked up the check over Beverly’s objections. Realistically, I knew I could have covered my part of the tab. I was not broke by a long shot, and compared to the two kilocreds I had just dropped on clothes, the twenty creds or so dinner would have cost me was not much. But I also knew that buying dinner for a friend or two was something that gave Brill pleasure. I was oddly pleased by her caring gesture and found myself looking forward to an opportunity to reciprocate.

  After dinner, we sauntered down through the station’s levels, bypassing the office levels, and lingering on the shopping and entertainment decks. As we strolled, we garnered rather a lot of admiring attention. I could tell the women were as aware of it as I was and I tried to emulate their easy nonchalance over being admired.