“Hey, the holidays are expensive when I have five sisters and six nieces and nephews, all of whom like nice things.”
“Is that why you gave me a crappy gift card?” Frankie chimed in. “Because I like nice things?”
“Amazon has all sorts of things, Fran,” I said. “I didn’t see you giving it back to me.”
“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”
I didn’t press her on that fact, because I knew on some level, it hurt Frankie’s pride that she and Sofia lived with me because she couldn’t afford a nice place for the two of them on her teacher’s salary. But I happened to be very proud of what my sister did for a living, and it wasn’t her fault that Sofia’s dad was a worthless piece of shit who ran out on them. Most of the time, I was happy to have them here. They made my house a home.
I redid the tie with a bit more concentration than necessary. What my sisters didn’t know was that I’d pretty much blown my spending budget for months that night with Nina. Even though she’d taken the hotel bill, entertaining a woman like her still hadn’t been cheap. I’d sprung for the best wines, the best food. For hours. After needing to repair my furnace the following month, I’d only just managed to get my bank account back to normal.
Kate peered at me over her librarian glasses. “Frankie says you’ve been out a lot. Anyone special?”
I scowled into the mirror at Frankie, who avoided my gaze. “Francesca! Why do you have to share my business all over town?”
Honestly, my sisters were worse than reality show contestants, the way they gossiped. Living with one of them meant my every damn move was on display.
Frankie just chuckled and got up to go to the kitchen. “I didn’t know your extracurriculars were a secret, big brother.”
I pulled the tail of the tie through the knot. “You don’t know shi—I mean nothing.” I winked at Sofia, whose little mouth had dropped when she sensed a curse word coming. “No swear jar, Sofs. I caught myself that time.”
“Zio!”
“All Frankie said was that you don’t come home most weekends, and that sometimes you get up and leave in the middle of the night,” Kate said.
“What?” Frankie called when I shot her another murderous look. “You don’t!”
“So I’ll ask again,” Kate continued. “Who’s the girl? What do you think, Sofs? Should we finally get to meet one?”
“Yes!” Sofia cried as she tossed several folded handkerchiefs into the air like confetti.
I finished with the tie, then fastened the first button of the jacket. The suit was only fifteen years old, not true vintage like most of the stuff in Kate’s shop. It would be perfect for Friday night. I fingered the red silk pocket square. Crimson. Just like a rose.
“There’s no one,” I lied as I turned around. “You know me, girls. I just like to look good.”
Right on cue, Kate’s skepticism melted away as she checked me over. It wasn’t much different than when we were kids—me, a grouchy fourteen-year-old stuck babysitting his little sisters, her at eight, forcing me to wear Nonno’s suits so we could play wedding or ball or whatever would keep my pack of little sisters from screaming bloody murder at me.
I had to hand it to Kate now, though. She saw the craze for flash menswear coming a mile away. After Mad Men got big, she used her part of our grandfather’s bequest to lease her shop in Riverdale. Eleven years later, my little sister’s business had been mentioned in just about every local paper as the place to go for men’s secondhand fashion in the city. She had regulars from pretty much every major costume design house, television studio, and stylist group in town.
“Well?” I asked, turning from side to side. “Is it adequate?”
Kate tipped her head. “The lines are good. Your cute little Italian butt was made for Prada.”
“Cute butt!” Sofia shouted.
I threw another pocket square at her, which made her giggle. “My ass is not cute or little, Kit-kat.”
“Zio, that’s a swear!”
I tossed a crumpled dollar into my niece’s chubby little hands. She immediately rolled over and waved it at her mom.
“Is that why Nonna still tries to grab it every time you come for dinner?” Frankie asked as she helped Sofia put the dollar in the mason jar on the counter.
“Nonna just wishes I was still five years old.” I turned back to the mirror so Kate could look me over better.
“I think you should have Jerome taper the hems a bit more,” Kate added, referring to the tailor I used by my office. “And take in the back of the jacket maybe an inch. Prada was ahead of the game in 2004, but it’s still a little too early aughts.”
“You mean I shouldn’t look like a Backstreet Boy?”
“Too late!” Frankie called from the kitchen.
“Yeah, you already went through that phase once,” agreed Kate.
“I did not. The Marines wouldn’t allow it.” I let her pull the jacket from my shoulders. “What about the suspenders? You don’t think they’re a little too grandpa?”
Kate gave me a look through the mirror. “Mattie, you wear a fedora every day of the week, so I don’t really think grandpa fashion has ever been an issue for you.”
“Hey, my hats look great.”
“Your hats make you look like those old movie characters you love so much,” Frankie said as she sat back down with Sofia, a glass of wine in hand.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Kate said. “Suspenders are all the rage right now. And those pants weren’t made for a belt.”
I slipped my thumbs under the waistband. She was right. These didn’t have belt loops, and while they would stay up just fine without the straps over my shoulders, the buttons sewn into the waist certainly meant they were supposed to have them. They were old-fashioned. Traditional.
Some people liked that.
“An undershirt,” Nina remarked as she pulled my shirttails open. “Most men don’t even bother.”
“Most men are content to look like fuckin’ heathens. I like to think I’m not most men, doll.”
“No,” she said, desire thick on her tongue, “you are definitely not.”
I wasn’t intentionally trying to remember all the ways Nina seemed to enjoy the more old-fashioned aspects of it, like my favorite fedora, modeled after Nonno’s, or the double-breasted vest I wore under my jacket that night.
It was a little too easy to imagine the look on her face if she caught sight of a pair of suspenders. The way she might reach out and pull one side of the elasticized leather. Out, out, out…then snap! It would land hard enough on my chest to leave a mark.
I turned away from my sisters. They didn’t need to see the almost immediate effect that particular fantasy had.
“See?” Frankie said to Kate. “Look at that. He’s definitely got a girl.”
Too bad I couldn’t hide shit from them if I tried.
“There’s no fuckin’ girl, Fran.”
“Zio!”
I sighed and tossed another dollar at Sofia.
“I’ll take them,” I told Kate as I pulled the straps over my shoulders, one at a time. “The square too. I’ll take the whole kit.” I checked my watch. “But can you make it snappy? I’d like to catch Jerome before he closes. See if he can do the alterations before Friday.”