Under An English Moon

by Bess McBride

  “Here we are!” Phoebe said with a flourish. She dragged him into the chain department store, doing her best to ignore the curious glances of passersby toward Reggie. Her lips twitched as several women in the cosmetics department eyed him with appreciation. Yes, indeed, ladies, feast your eyes. Isn’t he handsome?

  “Let’s see.” Phoebe stopped to read the store directory. “The men’s clothes are upstairs.”

  “Shall we take the elevator?” Reggie asked.

  “Nope, escalator this time.” She paused in front of the escalator, dropping her hand from his arm. “No, let’s not,” she said with misgiving. “Let’s take the elevator. I don’t think they have any real stairs in this place. I don’t want you to fall.”

  “Nonsense,” Reggie said, eyeing the escalator with appreciation. He watched people ascend and descend. “I believe I can negotiate these moving steps with ease. If you please?” He bowed elegantly and gestured for her to precede him. Several ladies behind them waiting to step onto the escalator giggled. Phoebe hung back to let them go ahead of her.

  “Oh my,” one of the little silver-haired women said. “Well, if you aren’t just the cutest thing. Isn’t he a doll, Mary?”

  “Yes, indeedy. Do you work here, young man?”

  “Not at all, madam,” Reggie said with a grin. “I am here to purchase men’s clothing.”

  Phoebe covered her mouth with her hand. She agreed with the ladies. He was the cutest thing, but he wasn’t going to be too happy to see her laughing.

  “Allow me,” he said as he took the hand of each lady and helped them onto the escalator to the sound of their continued twitters. He turned to Phoebe.

  “Shall we?”

  Phoebe smiled and stepped onto the escalator, turning immediately and holding her breath to see Reggie hop lightly onto the first step without incident.

  “That went well,” Phoebe breathed.

  “But of course, Phoebe. I am not a child. I can race a stallion over miles of rough terrain. I can certainly negotiate moving iron stairs.”

  “I know, I know. I just worry.”

  “Do not.” Reggie, on the step below Phoebe, took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Phoebe drew in a sharp breath. She could hear the “ooooh’s” of the ladies just above them as they watched.

  “Oh my,” she echoed their early words. Mesmerized by his gesture, she failed to see that they had reached the top of the escalator. The front of her sandals jammed against the immobile lip at the top of the stairs, and she pitched forward with a cry.

  Strong arms caught her from behind, wrapping themselves around her waist. She looked up from an awkward position precariously near the floor to see Reggie holding her. He pulled her up and set her on her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two little old ladies watching with concern.

  “Are you injured?” Reggie asked in a rough voice. He bent his head to peer into her face, his breath fanning her cheek in an intimate way.

  A faint sound like mice clapping caught her attention, and she turned toward Mary and her companion who patted their hands together in admiration of Reggie’s gallant catch before moving on.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Phoebe murmured with a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe that, after worrying about you, I was the one to fall on that thing.”

  “I can see that it does have the potential for danger,” he said with a look over his shoulder toward the escalator. “You were right to be concerned.” Reggie straightened and removed his hands from her waist. Phoebe wondered idiotically if she could repeat the event on the way down, if that would guarantee him placing his hands around her waist again.

  “Well, let’s head for the men’s clothes,” she said. She avoided grabbing his hand as she had that morning, shyly keeping her hands to herself. He did not offer his arm, and she thought it best given the crowded store. People continued to stare at him, especially his top hat, but she was rapidly growing used to it. She would have stared too...happily.

  “Well, here we are,” she said on arrival in the men’s department. She checked her watch. “We’ve got about thirty-five minutes. I don’t know a thing about men’s sizes. I’d better get a salesperson.” She flagged down a saleswoman who came over to assist. The bored-appearing, middle-aged woman eyed Reggie with a raised brow, her eyes blinking when she looked at his top hat, but she said nothing as she fished a tape measure out of her pocket and ran it around his neck and then his waist. He threw Phoebe a harried look when the saleswoman wrapped the tape around his waist but said nothing, and raised his arms accommodatingly.

  “Sixteen,” she saleswoman said. “Thirty-two.”

  The saleswoman reached down to measure Reggie’s inseam, and he jumped back.

  “Madam! Enough! Is there no proper tailor who could attend me in private?”

  The saleswoman straightened, her cheeks red. “Well, we could go into the dressing room, of course, but there are no men working the floor if that’s what you mean by a ‘proper tailor.’ This is a ready-to-wear store, you know.”

  “Reggie, it’s all right. She’s just trying to help. We really don’t have time for a tailor this morning, and I don’t know if they make complete suits anymore. How about if I measure your inseam? Unless you know your size already?”

  Reggie eyed her, a little wildly in Phoebe’s opinion, and he shook his head. “I do not. My tailor has my measurements.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “If you must, then I prefer you take the measurements, Phoebe.”

  The saleswoman thrust her arm out with the tape measure, and Phoebe gave her an apologetic smile and a shrug disowning Reggie’s tone of martyrdom. She bent, quickly placed the tape measure against the front of his leg at approximately the same position as if she had actually measured his inseam, and read the measurement as fast as possible.

  “There! Done. Simple.” She handed the saleswoman the tape and thanked her. “Now, we know what size to get you.” The woman walked away, tossing a narrow-eyed gaze over her shoulder.

  “Ah! My tailor usually places his tape to the inside of my lower limb, and that is what I imagined the woman thought to do. I see that has changed. I apologize if my response seemed melodramatic.”

  Phoebe grinned. “Oh, no, we still measure the same way, but I thought you’d flip out if I did that, so I guessed at your measurements. It will be all right. We’re just getting you a pair of jeans this morning.”

  “Flip out?” Reggie lifted his chin, one eyebrow raised.

  “You know what I mean, Reggie. Don’t act like you don’t. Come on, we’re running out of time.” She grabbed a pair of jeans from a nearby table, a shirt from a rack and sent him into the dressing room. “Just change into the clothes. I’ll pay for them while you’re changing. Wait! I think I’d better get you some underwear while we’re at it. Oh, man, we need shoes, too!”

  Phoebe rushed over to the men’s underwear department carrying the clothing, and Reggie followed. She was definitely out of her league now, having never bought underwear for a man before. Which? Briefs? Shorts? Boxers?

  “See anything you like?” she asked. Reggie picked up a packet and eyed it with a raised eyebrow.

  “Is this what I am meant to do? Is this then a male model?”

  Phoebe couldn’t hold back her laugh. “No, no.” She shook her head but then nodded. “Well, yes, that is a male model, but not a ‘cover model.’ I suppose he’s called an underwear model. No, Reggie, that’s not what I meant.” She bent over in a peal of laughter.

  “Phoebe...” Reggie warned. “You laugh at my expense again.”

  Phoebe tried to stop. “I’m sorry, Reggie. I really am. But this is really awkward. I don’t think you’ll be buying those underwear anyway.” Reggie held a package of thongs in his hand.

  “Here, let’s buy two kinds, and you can try them both on and decide for yourself. We’ll just keep the other pair.” She grabbed a package of conventional white briefs and a package of boxers. “Come on. Shoes!”

  She ra
ced over to the shoe department, luckily nearby. “Sneakers, trainers, athletic shoes, whatever they call them these days. That’s what we’re getting.” She found a shoe-measuring device. “Take your boots off and stick your feet in there. I’ll measure your feet.”

  “What the deuce is that? It resembles a trap. Is it painful?”

  Phoebe pressed her lips together and shook her head in answer to his question. A million thoughts ran through her mind at the moment—how adorable Reggie was, how confusing the present must be for a time traveler, and how the shoe-measuring device really did look like it might be painful to someone who had never used one. She wondered if she was expected to kneel down and help him remove his boots. Not that she minded.

  Reggie settled the question for her by taking a seat on a nearby bench and deftly removing his boots on his own. Of course! He had taken them off the night before to bathe and sleep. She noted he wore thick white stockings.

  He gingerly settled his right foot into the device, and Phoebe bent down to measure his foot. Size eleven. She measured the other foot, and then rose to look for shoes.

  “Okay, try these on.” She opened a box with a pair of white athletic shoes and held out the right shoe. Reggie reached for it and studied it with interest.

  “You call these sneakers?”

  “Or athletic shoes. I think the British call them trainers.”

  “This term ‘sneakers’ is intriguing. Why are they called such?”

  Phoebe glanced at her watch. Why hadn’t she given them more time, told Annie they would meet her later? Reggie had so many questions, all natural, and she couldn’t bear to blow them off or rush him like she was—not on his first day in the twenty-first century.

  “I imagine because they can be quiet and people could sneak around in them?” She fished for her cell phone in her bag. “I’m going to call Annie and tell her we’ll meet her an hour later.”

  He eyed the phone with interest.

  “And what is that device?”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to speak, but Annie came on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me,” Phoebe said. “We’re running late. Can we delay breakfast by an hour?”

  “Sure,” Annie said. “I’m still just hanging around, doing a lot of nothing. How’s the shoot going?”

  Phoebe looked at Reggie, imagining him modeling the thongs, and her face flamed. She grinned broadly, and Reggie responded though she wondered if he would have if he had known what she was thinking.

  “Ummm...fine,” she murmured. “Just taking more time than I thought. See you in a little while.” She turned the phone off and handed it to Reggie.

  “It’s called a phone, a cell phone, a mobile phone.”

  Reggie set the shoes down and studied the phone.

  “We communicate with it. Like I can call Annie back at the apartment.”

  “Fascinating,” Reggie murmured. “Is it possible to call England? Perhaps not as it is so far away.”

  “Sure, I can call England...for a price. But who would we call, Reggie?”

  Reggie’s smile faded, and he shook his head. “I know no one in England now, do I?” His shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly as he handed the phone back to her.

  “Oh, Reggie! I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.” Phoebe took a seat on the bench next to Reggie. She covered his hand as it rested on his knee.

  “It seems impossible that Samuel and my father no longer live. Unthinkable.”

  He placed his free hand over Phoebe’s, and she forgot what they were talking about for a moment. Then he lifted his chin.

  “It is of no consequence. I shall see them soon enough. As interesting as I find it here in your America, I feel certain this is only a temporary sojourn, and that I will return in due time.”

  Phoebe pulled her hand from his and rose quickly. “Well, let’s try those shoes on before you have to leave.” His words stung though she knew it wasn’t his intent.

  Reggie looked up at her, startled. He rose hastily. “Forgive me, Phoebe, if I said anything to cause you distress. I am most appreciative of everything you have done for me, I truly am. I did not mean to imply that I was desirous of hastening back to my own time just yet.”

  “I understand,” Phoebe said, slightly mollified. “Sit down and try your shoes on.” She gave him a small smile. “Here.” She showed him how to lace them. The shoes fit perfectly, and Reggie delighted in walking around in them.

  “I do feel like a sneaker,” he said, “silent and stealthy. Wonderful invention, these.”

  Phoebe pressed her lips together again to hold back a laugh. There was a boyishness to Reggie that she found utterly charming, and she wondered if he seemed so ingenuous in his time or whether it was because his naïveté was exaggerated in her modern world. She watched him for a few moments. His tall, well-built physique was all man though.

  “Come on, sneaker. Let’s go change into the rest of your clothes. You might as well just leave the shoes on so you can wear them out of the store. I can’t imagine what you’d look like with the jeans stuffed into your tasseled Hessian boots.” Phoebe grabbed his boots, located the men’s fitting room and pushed him inside with the clothing and underwear. “You can figure how to put those on yourself,” she said. “Take your time.”

  She made her way over to the checkout desk to face the saleswoman.

  “Look, I know this is really unusual, but my...uh...boyfriend is going to wear his clothes out of the store.” She held up a hand as the woman raised her brows. “Don’t ask. Anyway, here are the tags, the box for the shoes and two packages of the same underwear that he is trying on. So, if I could pay for all of these. Oh, and do you have a shopping bag that I could use to carry his costume out to the car? Job as a doorman gone wrong. I can’t explain, really.”

  “I’m not asking,” the woman said with pursed lips.

  “I appreciate that. He’s from out of town.”

  “Yes, I think he must be.” The saleswoman rang up the tickets, and Phoebe paid. She took the large plastic bag from the saleswoman, dropped Reggie’s boots inside and returned to the fitting room area. The store was quiet at this early hour, and Phoebe hoped no one else was inside trying on clothes.

  “Are you doing okay in there?” she whispered at the entrance.

  “As well as can be expected,” Reggie called out. “I am grateful for the depiction of the male model on the packages you gave me such that I was able to don some of the clothing correctly, I believe. However, there is one complication, and I am afraid it is insurmountable.”

  Phoebe’s heart dropped.

  “What’s that?”

  “There is a metal device on the trousers which I cannot comprehend.”

  “The zipper!” Phoebe said. No zippers in the Georgian era?

  “Zipper,” Reggie repeated. “Are there no trousers with proper buttons?”

  “Probably, somewhere, but let me show you how to work the zipper.” Phoebe, with a furtive glance over her shoulder, darted into the men’s fitting room and located Reggie in one of the stalls. Luckily, he was the only man inside. He had buttoned his shirt and left it untucked and hanging loose over his jeans. Phoebe thought he looked wonderful in the long-sleeved white shirt with thin blue stripes that she had grabbed off the rack—a lucky find. The light color accentuated the darkness of his hair. But then, she couldn’t imagine Reggie looking anything less than gorgeous!

  “Miss Warner! I am not dressed,” Reggie protested.

  “I know, but you’re never going to finish getting dressed unless I come in and help you. I’m sorry this all has to be so difficult in our time, Reggie. What I think are simple things must seem very complicated to you.” She noted the underwear sat neatly on a bench in the fitting room stall, but bits and pieces of the plastic wrapping were strewn all over the floor. “I suppose I should have explained how the plastic wrapping works.”

  Reggie looked down at the floor. “I apologize for the d
isarray. Though the material resembled glass in that it shined and could be seen through, it was quite, quite fragile.”

  Phoebe nodded. Plastic! Who knew?

  “Okay, can I see this zipper?”

  “Miss Warner, Phoebe, I really do not think that would be seemly.”

  “How about if you look up at the ceiling, which you are so fond of doing, and I zip them up real quick, and you’ll never know.” Phoebe paused and bit her lip. “No, that won’t work because you’ll have to unzip them again to go to the bathroom.”

  “Phoebe!” Reggie protested

  “Reggie!” Phoebe countered. “We say bathroom all the time. That you’ll have to get used to. We have an expression known as ‘suspend disbelief,’ maybe you all do, too. If you don’t, I’m sure you can imagine what that means. Is there any chance you can suspend your shock for a while? Because you’re going to be shocked often, Reggie, a lot.”

  “I must try,” he acknowledged. “If you demonstrate the technique, I will attempt to master it. Proceed,” his martyred self said.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes, but her hand shook as she lifted his shirt. “Here, hold your shirt up.”

  Reggie held his shirt and looked down at his waistline as Phoebe grabbed one edge of his jeans with a shaking hand and quickly pulled the zipper up. She took a step back.

  “See? And then you button the top. You know, the button you wanted.”

  “Yes, I do see. I shall practice when I am in private.”

  The image made Phoebe’s lips quiver, but she held the laughter back.

  “Yes, you do that. Now, do you want to wear your shirt in or out? It doesn’t matter for breakfast, but it would if you were going out at night or something. You would tuck it in. Oh, wait, we didn’t get you a belt. Do you wear belts?”

  “Suspenders, actually. These trousers feel very secure upon my person. I think I may dispense with suspenders or a belt for now. How would you prefer that I wear the shirt, Phoebe?”

  Phoebe blushed. In, out, on, off—she didn’t care. Everything about him was perfect, even the way he made her laugh without trying.