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He led me around the corner to a small, draped changing room. I could hear Brill and Diane talking in low voices on the other side of the partition somewhere with Beverly punctuating the discussion, but I could not make out their words. Everything was quiet and muffled.

Roubaille stood me in the middle of the room and said, “Very well, Monsieur, if you would kindly slip out of your garments?” He held up a sumptuous-looking white robe. I stripped off my boots, pants, and shirt, laying them across the back of a chair. “The under garments as well, Monsieur. The canvas must be fresh.”

I slipped off my ship-tee and he slid the robe over my shoulders while I stripped off my boxers from underneath. My socks were the last to go. I should have been nervous but the robe felt so luxurious against my skin. I did not even flinch at being practically naked with this strange man in the room. Besides, I did not want to embarrass Brill and the rest by making some kind of scene. I could still hear them talking softly and I found their quiet conversation comforting in a weird way.

“If you would slip into these, now, Monsieur…a bit of support, yes?” He held a pair of briefs toward me and I slipped them on under the robe. After months of boxers, the soft cotton briefs felt a bit odd, but comforting. “Now, I think we are ready to begin. If you would stand here?” He indicated a spot on the floor and pulled a drape open to reveal a mirror. He came to stand behind me and we looked into the glass together for a moment. He stood just a bit shorter than me and off to the side so he could see me well in the glass. He reached up with one smooth movement and slipped the robe from my shoulders and I stood there looking into the glass wearing only the snug briefs.

“So, Mr. Ishmael Wang? Who do you
think
you are?” he asked it softly, catching my eyes in the mirror. He did not ask it the way my mother used to when she was angry. His query put a particular emphasis on the word think.

“I’m just a guy. Nothing special, but I’d like to have some decent clothes.” I smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

He tsked and shook his head at me. “Please do not waste my time with this foolishness. You arrive at my shop with an introduction from Bresheu himself, and not merely a business card. No, you present a custom data chip with his initial on the case! You arrive in the company of not one, but three of the most delightful and strikingly beautiful women on this end of the galaxy, and you have the audacity to say to me ‘I’m just a guy’?” He pursed his lips in a puckered little smile. “I think we both know you are more than that.”

The world receded and I found myself staring at the mirror. The running had done a lot for my body over the last few months. While I still was not beefy across the arms and shoulders like Pip, the muscles in my thighs and calves were pretty well defined. Not bodybuilder material but still pretty decent and I was surprised to see the way the light fell across my stomach. I had never been fat in my life, but neither did I have washboard abs before—even when running track in school. I ran a hand across my stomach while the shadows played in the mirror. I did a half turn and looked at the way the running had shaped up my buttocks before I realized what I was doing and glanced at M. Roubaille. He merely stood with the robe in his hands and waited patiently.

“Please, M. Wang.” He offered a reassuring smile. “You cannot afford to be shy. You must have a good look at yourself if we are to understand how you should be dressed.”

So, I took a deep breath and turned this way and that. The white cotton briefs fit perfectly and I started to get an idea of how others might see me—young still, beyond the coltishness of youth but not yet at that point of full maturity—slight of build but definitely male.

“Do you like what you see, M. Wang?”

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.”