Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (8 page)

Good thing Mas did.

“You got a bathroom here?” he asked, and Perry pointed to the farther of the two doors along the wall opposite the bed. “What’s in here, then?” he asked, pointing at the first door. It was anonymous and the same colour as everything else. Looked like anything that hung around for too long up here got painted cream.

“Huh? In there? Oh. Dressing room.”

“Holy crap. You have a dressing room? I think I might be in love. Seriously. Can I take a look? Please?” Mas put on his most winning smile and bounced up and down on his toes. Jasper always told him it was impossible to resist that.

Perry seemed to be made of sterner stuff, just staring at Mas with a teaspoon poised over one of the mugs. “I thought you wanted to use the lavatory.”

“Ooh, la-di-da. I’ve always called it the bog. But no, I don’t need to take a whizz. I’m just being nosy. Can’t help it, really. But, you know, apparently curiosity is a sign of intelligence, which must make me Brain of Britain. So, can I look in your dressing room? Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Perry sighed and went to stir the tea. “Be my guest. Just don’t move anything around. I have a system.”

“A system? I like the sound of a man with an organised wardrobe. You do realise that probably makes you gay-marriage material.” Mas pulled open the door and flipped the light switch—one of the old-fashioned brass toggle ones, he noticed. But then every last bit of his attention was absorbed by the contents of the room. One wall was taken up with a hanging rail full of suits of all colours and styles, although there was a definite predominance of earthy browns and greens. A set of shelves on the opposite wall held neatly folded shirts—mostly creamy whites, but with splashes of ochre, olive and rust. A full length freestanding mirror took centre stage opposite the door, and the upper part of the room was full of hats on pegs. There was even a tweedy flat cap or two, Mas noted with a smile. A neat row of shoes and boots marched around the room, and in the corner stood a chest of drawers with a pot containing cufflinks on the top.

“Everything okay?” Perry called from the doorway, and Mas turned with a smile. “You’re a man after my own heart, you know that? I mean, this is like the best, biggest, most well-coordinated wardrobe I’ve ever set foot in. Not that I’ve ever set foot in a wardrobe before. Well, not since I was little and trying to hide so I didn’t have to go to church. Never bloody worked, though, did it? And I can’t believe you’ve got a tiny little kitchen like that and a great big dressing room. You’ve definitely got your priorities straight. You sure you’re not gay? Because this room suggests otherwise.”

Mas stepped forward, and Perry jerked back, tea slopping over the tops of the mugs. “Blast!”

“Hey, you okay? Not scalded or nothing?” Mas reached out to take the teas and placed them down on the floor before grabbing hold of Perry’s hand. “Nah, you’re fine. Water wasn’t hot enough.” He glanced down at the mugs. “Thought you didn’t have any milk?”

“I might have lied.” Perry pulled his hand out of Mas’s grasp, but not with anything like disgust. More like confusion, if Mas was any judge. And he was normally pretty hot at figuring out those little signs of interest from otherwise “straight” men.

“You, telling a fib?” Mas tutted. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it quiet. I’ve been known to tell the odd tall story myself.”

“I don’t believe you,” Perry said, totally straightfaced. It took a moment for Mas to detect the glimmer in his eye.

“Good one.” He chuckled. “We’ll have you lying like a pro before you know it. Trust me, you’re in the hands of a master. Nothing nasty, though. Just, you know, little white lies like telling your friends their new clothes look totally hot on them and they’ll definitely pull. And over-the-top anecdotes when I’m trying to impress people. That’s the good kind of lying. That’s free entertainment, making up stories on the spot.”

“So you’re a raconteur?”

“Something like that. More of a gobshite, probably, but hey, it sounds better in French. Everything sounds better in French, doesn’t it? Menage a trois, la petite mort, French kissing. Oh, mon amour! Mon cheri!” Mas pulled what he hoped was an orgasmic expression, his eyes almost shut, but just wide enough to clock Perry’s reaction.

Perry licked his lips, and his pupils dilated.

Bingo.

But Mas would have to wait until Perry was ready to pounce. In the meantime, if he tried anything too suggestive, the poor bloke would probably get spooked and run a mile.

So instead of pushing his point, Mas leaned down to pick up the mugs, handing one over to Perry. “Oops, there’s a tea stain on the floor now.”

Perry peered down at it with a disapproving frown. “I should get a cloth.”

Mas watched him stalk over to the kitchenette, grab a cloth from the sink and then head back. Perry was still moving like clockwork. There was something stiff about him—and not in the good kind of way. He looked like a man who needed his joints oiling.

He also looked like someone who needed a good laugh, but it looked like he was too tightly wound to do that in front of anyone he wasn’t close to. And was he close to anyone at all? It didn’t sound that way, if Mas was the first person to come up here.

Okay, so project one. Get Perry to laugh. Anything that came after that would be a bonus.

Mas eyed Perry over the top of his mug as a plan began to form.

Chapter Eight

Mas seemed thoughtful as Perry led him back down to the shop again. Perry would have thought he was sad if it weren’t for the way he kept smiling to himself. Like there was a rapid-fire conversation going on inside his head, and it was all entertaining. What would it be like to have a mind like that? The days must whip past so much faster.

Perhaps they could even be fun.

Because despite the fear of showing Mas his living quarters, Perry had to admit he hadn’t been bored for one second. No, spending time with Mas was…exciting. Exciting for Perry, anyway. No doubt the morning’s activities must rate pretty low on Mas’s scale of fun things to do with a day.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mas announced as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “The two of us, I think we could help each other out.”

“We could?”

“Yep. You’re in dire need of someone to sort out and manage your shop, and I’m in dire need of a job. How about it? I could turn this place into the kind of vintage boutique people flock to from miles around, and you could concentrate on your creations. I’ll even work on selling them for you. Reckon they’d fit in nicely with the other stuff once I get those showrooms all tarted up. You’ve got this whole weirdy Victorian thing going on with them.”

Perry shrugged, unwilling to convey just how nervous the idea of showing his art had made him. Putting it out there in front of the world would take reserves of courage and energy he just didn’t have. As would tidying up the shop. But if Mas was offering to do it for him… The idea of being able to spend his days immersed in his workshop without having to keep half an ear on the bell was a tempting one. And so was the idea of spending more time with Mas. There was one problem, though. A major one at that. “I can’t afford to employ you.”

“Well duh. I figured as much. Especially seeing as how you don’t seem to make any money whatsoever. Unless you’re living on some trust fund or fat inheritance, I don’t see how you can survive.”

“Barely. I do get some income. Weekends are busier.” Although the trade had been declining over the last six months after a few of his regulars moved out of town. The trust fund could be his if he toed the line with his father, but he’d rather be penniless and free. Or free-ish. There was still the shop, weighing him down with all that responsibility.

“How much are you making a week?”

Perry looked at his shoes. “On average? Around two hundred and fifty. And most of that goes on the rates and bills.” And that average had dwindled to more like one hundred and fifty just recently, but he really didn’t want to admit to such pathetic takings.

Mas gave a slow whistle. “Oh, baby. I can be bringing in at least that much every weekday before you know it. And way more at the weekends. There’s folks in this town with money to burn. You’ve just gotta tempt them in here.”

“I can’t see that happening here. It’s too rough an area.”

Mas shook his head. “Stokes Croft? Baby, this is the most happening part of town right now. It’s on the up. People love it because it’s got an edgy vibe, but it’s safe enough to walk around with your iPhone on show. So long as you stick to the main roads, anyway. Believe you me, give it a year or so and we’ll have a trendy coffee shop on every bloody street corner. My ex-landlord just sold my building to a property development company. You can bet it’ll be full of young execs before you know it.”

Perry pictured the area with all the character rubbed away, along with the murals. “I’m not sure I want that to happen.”

“Like it or not, it will. All I’m saying is you should make the most of it. Jump on the wave rather than drowning. If you don’t make this place turn over a profit, you’ll be forced out by rising rates when your landlord realises he can get more money for this place.”

“It’s not that simple.” How to explain the arcane intricacies of Aunt Betty’s will? It wasn’t the kind of thing most people had any experience of. And besides, it was rather humiliating to still be at the beck and call of someone from beyond the grave.

“And I reckon you’re just scared of trying something different.”

Perry was about to protest, but then he had to concede Mas’s point. “Perhaps…”

“There’s no perhaps about it. You’ve gone and got yourself stuck in a rut, haven’t you? Good thing I’m here to drag you out of it. Now here’s the deal. You can manage on £250 a week at the moment, yeah?”

“Just about.”

“So how’s about anything above that, I can take half of? That’ll be my wages.”

“I don’t know.” Perry stared at Mas. The idea of just handing over the shop to someone else was terrifyingly seductive. “I barely know you. What’s to say you’re not going to just… I don’t know, be dipping your hand in the till when I’m not looking?”

Mas shrugged expansively, leaving his hands palms up. “You can’t ever know that for sure. But I’m trustworthy. I’d never steal money from a friend.”

“But you might from a boss?”

Mas grinned then, and walked off, moving round the cabinets and rails smoothly, not even breaking his stride. “Look, this place has potential, and I’m at a loose end. I don’t want to get another job like the last one, working for a corporation who couldn’t give a shit about me. I like you. You like me. I think. I’m not reading that wrong, am I?”

Perry’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before he managed to force out a “No.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? So, we get along. We can both help each other out. And I’ll make Cabbages and Kinks Bristol’s go-to place for cool vintage stuff and bizarre steampunk artworks.” Mas began bouncing up and down, “We could get some of those swanky magazines to come and do an article on the place when it’s all spruced up. Then we’ll be drowning in trendy types wanting to see what all the fuss is about.”

Trendy types? God help him. “I need time to think about this.”

Mas looked like he was about to argue, then bit his lower lip. “No, you’re right. I’m rushing you. Sorry about that. I just get so enthusiastic about stuff, and this place? Well, it inspires me.”

“I can tell.”

Mas rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. I need to calm down and take a breath sometimes. Believe me, it’s not something I haven’t heard a million times before. And I know you have every right to think I’m all mouth and no trousers, but I’m a bloody hard worker when I’m into something. You would not believe the energy I have.”

Perry probably could believe it, based on seeing just how fast Mas had recovered from losing his job and his home.

But still, Mas was effectively asking for an informal partnership in the business. “I’ll need to think through your offer.”

Mas’s face fell. “That’s a no, isn’t it. Shit. I knew I was coming on too strong. I just got too bloody excited.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“It’s not a no. Just…give me a couple of days. I’ll need to talk to people. My lawyer for a start. You can’t just set up something like this without some safeguards.” And he’d have to check that having help wouldn’t be violating the terms and conditions Aunt Betty had set out.

Mas perked up. “Okay. How about I call by on Saturday? Think you might have had enough time by then?”

“Ummm, I suppose…”

“Brilliant! Well, cheerio, then. I’m going to have to love you and leave you now. Got to get a pie in the oven for two hungry men. Honestly, those two eat like horses. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my girlish figure living under their roof.”

Mas blew Perry a kiss, and then he was gone, leaving Perry standing there, feeling like he’d just been whirled around the room by a demented dance instructor.

Chapter Nine

“So, I met this bloke earlier in the week,” Mas began when both Lewis and Jasper had their mouths full of pie. “And I’m thinking of moving in with him.”

Jasper coughed pastry all over the table. “What? But you’ve only just moved in here.”

“Oi, watch the mess.” Mas dusted crumbs into his hand. “I’m the one who’s got to clean that up, so show a bit of consideration.” He looked up to find Lewis staring at him in that disconcerting way that he had. “Just so you know, that makes you look like a supervillain when you do that. That shit might turn Jasper on, but if you try it on your clients, they’re gonna run screaming.”