A Daddy for Damian by Joe Satoria

3. DAMIAN

THURSDAY

I wasn’t sure if what my brother and Grant told me was supposed to put me off working for Kristopher. But I didn’t see either of them offering to pay me five hundred a week, then give me details to some fancy tailor. I’d searched from the address online. That stuff was appointment only. Not the type of tailoring my mum did in the living room.

Either way, I was taking the job. I didn’t tell my mum the exact details of the job, or how much it paid. I knew being an assistant and being paid that much seemed unlikely, and major red flags. But I was a bull, and red was my favourite colour.

Kristopher had sent me over the job contract by text message. It was an attachment. He told me not to worry about printing it, just read it, and then he’ll have me sign it on Friday before the meeting. It was a one-page document. And it sounded nothing like the monster my brother and Grant made him out to be.

I’d never been anywhere fancy before, so I didn’t know if I needed to wear anything specifically. I opted not to wear the dinosaur print boxers, in case I had to change in front of people. I was nineteen. I didn’t want people to think I was younger than that.

Marsha’s looked rich. From passing by, looking into the large open window filled with many expensive materials and suits. There were no price tags. I doubt people who came here ever looked at the price tags. The interior, looking in, was all white and marbled.

Someone glared back at me from inside the window. A woman with a pinched expression and her hair up in a bun on top of her head. She continued to stare at me for a moment as I stood still in shock and awe at everything inside the window. Her face eased as she waved me in.

There was an intense smell of vanilla as I entered through the front door on the right.

The woman stood with a smile on her face as she looked me up and down. “He’s got a type,” she chuckled. “You are Damian, right?”

I nodded. “Hi, yes.”

“Follow me then, hen,” she said. “I’m Marsha. I’ve been friends with Kristopher and his business partner, Theo, for years. Well, way before I had my own shop set up.”

I followed Marsha down a long hallway. The first room, the one I’d been staring into, looked like it was just for displays. The second room, as we continued, had a guy inside. He was feeding fabric through a sewing machine. And as we continued, more of what looked like fitting rooms were stationed on the right.

She led me to a large room at the back. Inside, everything was covered in a crushed purple colour and a light brown wood. In the centre, there was a small wood podium. She patted a hand on it. “Want to take your shoes off and stand on this for me?”

I was absorbing everything. There were mirrors all over the room, one on each wall to get a full three-sixty view. I could see my back, front, and sides. I pressed a foot to the back of my shoe, kicking it off to reveal the dino-print socks I wore.

“So, I need to take your measurements,” she said. “I have some things I feel might fit you without having to take them in. Which is good, because if I know anything about Kristopher, it’s that he rarely gets anyone to make it longer than a couple months.”

“Oh?” I let out, standing on the podium.

“Can you take your jacket off?”

I pulled at the sleeve of the white jacket as she accepted it into her arms, folding it and placing it on a stool.

“What do you mean about not making it longer?” I asked, a little louder. Maybe my brother and Grant were right earlier about their thoughts. “Because, to tell you the truth, this all feels a little surreal.”

Her gaze brushed over me. She pulled a tape measure from the pocket of the apron. “It’s not you,” she said. “It’s Kristopher. He’s hard to please. I wouldn’t take it personally. I don’t.”

“So, he’s gonna fire me if I—”

Martha scoffed, waving a hand. “Forget I said anything.” She immediately gestured for me to raise my arms. “I’m sure he told you, people don’t stick around. He’s a demanding boss, and you look like a sweet boy.”

I hadn’t experienced this demanding—unless, considering him having me come over here and get some suits was demanding, then perhaps he was just a touch demanding. “I thought you were his friend,” I chuckled as her hand touched at my side. Slightly ticklish to the sensation.

“Kristopher knows I warn all his boys,” she joined in with my chuckling. “He doesn’t take it personally. He’s well known in many scenes about this. I see boy after boy coming through these doors. They have that same fresh look on their faces.”

I couldn’t take it personally. He hired me from a dating site, after all. “Well, all I need is a couple months to save, and then he can fire me.”

“Unless you quit before.” She walked off with the tape measure in hand, jotting notes down on a small pad. “I’m not saying he’s awful. But you won’t have a life, and you’re still so young.”

“He’s an investor, right?”

She eyed me, coming back with her tape measure. “He invested in me.” She took a measurement from the inside of my leg. “I’m not saying don’t work for him while the offer is on the table. I’m just saying, be aware it will only be temporary.” Moving from my leg, she pulled it around my chest. “He’s generous, don’t get me wrong.” She continued up my body with the measure, all the way to my neck.

I wondered if he knew she was giving these warnings out to people, and I wondered if that might have been the reason people weren’t sticking around with him. I didn’t know. But now I had a pit in my stomach, and I wasn’t sure if this was something I wanted to do anymore.

“Good news though,” she said, snapping her fingers as I was pulled from the trance. “I have clothes that’ll fit you. And don’t worry, these are charged to Mr Kraus, which means you get to keep them. See, that’s one perk to working for him.”

Money was the perk, a lot from what he was offering. “Great, I’ve never really worn anything smart, like, I had a suit for the high school prom when I was sixteen.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Nineteen.”

She nodded her head, her lips straightened into a smile. “Sounds about right.” She pulled her notebook and pen out once more. “So, suit jackets, trousers, shirts, and ties. I can grab three of each. They might be a little loose, and if you get any flack from Kristopher about that, bring them back and we can get them adjusted. But, like I said, there is no use to get that right now.”

“Ok.” I stepped down from the podium.

“Fallon,” she called out, snapping her fingers. “Fallon.”

“Who is—”

Seconds later, the young man I’d seen in the room sewing on the way in approached. He wore a white shirt with a tie, and the same apron as Marsha. He was possibly around my age. His hair gelled back. He smiled, waiting for Marsha to talk.

“I need these pulled,” she said, tearing off a page from the notebook. “Make sure they’re in different colour palettes and have them in garment bags.”

He nodded before rushing off.

“We’ll have you sorted in a few ticks,” she said, turning back to me. “I usually have a larger team around, but they’re all off at New York Fashion Week getting well-deserved industry experience.”

“Oh, wow.”

“It’s an outstanding event,” she said, “but I’m too much of a perfectionist to be designing an entire line. I’m better suited to men’s suits and such. They never go out of style, and a man in a good suit can be the biggest confidence booster.”

She was right; I suppose. When I attended my prom in high school, wearing that suit my mother had partly made and bought, I felt incredible. And suddenly, I realised how Kristopher was so confident in the entire interview. He just had an air about him that made me compelled to him.

“If you’d like, you can try one of them on. In fact, you probably should,” she chuckled, patting a hand to her chest. “I’m not usually trying to rush people, but like I said, I have a limited staff.”

I was hesitant now, but glad I’d opted out of those dino briefs I was going to wear. “Sure.”

Fallon was back minutes later with three large fabric bags on hangers. “Here you go.”

Marsha looked through them like she was flicking through a book. “Try the blue on.” She handed the bag to me. “I’m assuming you know how to tie your tie.”

I knew since I had to wear one for my entire high school life, but other than that, I wasn’t sure if I could do one of them professionally.

I nodded. They left me in the room alone.

Undressing, I had the mirrors reflecting me back at myself. I was skinny, but not toned or muscular. Maybe if I continued to play sports, I would’ve been, but I kinda stopped playing sports when things would get heated between me and my best friend—not arguments, but we’d made out and get to some heavy touching. He wasn’t out, and neither was I—at least not until last month. Emile still wasn’t out, but that was fine. We were just friends, and we never talked about it.

The fabric felt nice against my skin. It fit me well, unlike the one I’d worn to prom. That was a little itchy around my neckline. This one felt like I was being kissed by little silk mouths.

I was ready five minutes later, except for the tie. I’d tried my best, but I never could get the long bit to reach a place where it looked right on my chest.

“Fallon, grab him the chart,” Marsha said from the doorway. He was back, presented a leaflet of how properly to tie a tie. “This will help,” she said. “But it doesn’t really matter. You look good. How does it feel?”

“I like it.”

“Great. Let me snap a picture of you then,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Just to get Kristopher’s approval.”

After what I’d been told, I was worried about that. Nervously waiting on his response like this was something I had control over.