13. Truly, Madly, Deeply
Truly, Madly, Deeply
If love was a leap of faith, Japheth decided this jump felt less like a game of leapfrog and more like swan-diving blindfolded into the mouth of a volcano.
Japheth’s apartment had never hosted so many people or so many opinions at once.
Usually, the space was a sanctuary of thrift store serenity–a patchwork quilt thrown over a hand-me-down sofa, a stack of dog-eared exercise magazines on the coffee table, a candle that smelled faintly of cinnamon even when extinguished.
But tonight, Carrington swept in, arms laden with garment bags, hangers clacking like sabres, and the look of someone with something to prove and indeed, they did.
After the last makeover mayhem, this one needed to go just right.
The preservation of Carrington’s unchallenged reputation as the only opinion that mattered when it came to what not to wear, but also the preservation of their lives and occupations, seemed to hang in the proverbial balance.
“Everyone out of my way!” Carrington declared, kicking the door shut behind them with the authority of a soccer coach showing the team how it’s done.
“We have approximately,” they checked their watch, “an hour and twenty-five minutes to transform Japheth from nappy-time camp counsellor to Italian stallion bait.”
Ronald looked up from Japheth’s denim beanbag chair where he’d been eating a sleeve of saltine crackers with an unsatisfied look on his face.
It was the closest thing to junk food he found in Japheth’s pantry; his band mate was a health nut.
There were plenty of almonds, but Ronald was fearful he may have developed a latent adult allergy and didn’t want to risk it.
He brushed off the cracker crumbs flecking his shirt like confetti and whispered reverently, “We get to watch another makeover?”
Carrington marched straight to Japheth’s bedroom, and after hearing the rustle of fabrics torn from hangers, returned with his laundry basket overflowing. “We’re burning everything in here. We’re starting over. Tabula rasa. A blank slate with fewer vests. In fact, no vests.”
“I like the denim one,” Japheth protested weakly, scooping out and clutching the one poking out the top of the laundry basket to his chest. “It’s sturdy and look at this structured stitching. It makes my arms look good.”
“It makes you look like a lumberjack. Do you chop down trees for a living? Do you dance on logs floating down a river with a pick-axe baton for balance?” Carrington shot back without looking up from the zipper of a garment bag they were opening like a magician revealing a tiger, with reverence and respect.
“I assume,” Suwarna said, “that we are opting for something classic. Understated. Subtle. Nothing to draw too much attention, you know, considering recent events.” She stood with her arms crossed, inspecting the proceedings as though she were appraising a suspect in an HR investigation.
Carrington barked a laugh so sharp it might’ve cracked a full-length mirror.
They paused with the zipper half-way down the garment bag, and everyone’s eyes were glued to it in hopes of catching a Peeping Tom’s glimpse of what was hidden inside.
Carrington disappointed them all by drawing out the tease.
“Suwarna, dear,” they said, “has Japheth’s fashion ever been subtle?
This is a plus-one date with Rino, the heir to the Ferrari family auto empire, not a Mennonite potluck lunch.
You’ve seen what Japheth wears to work, right?
It’s like he shops in the costume department of the musical Cats.
We can’t let on that we’re in the know. We can’t let this critically important moment reveal that we’re onto Rino’s scent as we drape Japheth for his date.
This is the part where I’m the expert and you’re all here for moral support.
Comments are welcome–if they’re complimentary. ”
Carrington crossed to Japheth and with a flip of their wrist, unrolled a measuring tape and quickly began sizing him up.
“The trick will be in elevating Japheth’s brave but often stab-in-the-dark boho sidewalk chic style for a cultivated look that could have marched right off a catwalk in Milan and into the Ferrari’s foyer.
It’s got to give elegance, cultivated charisma, daring a little danger, all while preserving his modesty. They’re Italian Catholics after all.”
At last, they pulled the garment bag open, and the room stilled. Even the saltine cracker crunching stopped.
Out shimmered the ensemble: the black silk slightly oversized blazer with gleaming gold Greek-key embroidery; the sheer mesh mock-neck that whispered temptation; the charcoal brushed wool trousers that had been tailored to hug Japheth by angels, the square-toed black boots so polished that Rino would be able to see himself frowning back.
If he could keep a frown on his face for long with this look.
Rebekkah clapped a hand to her chest, “Oh my goodness. Ohhhh my goodness. Japheth, you’re going to look like you’re a 3D print out from GQ Italia.”
“That’s the idea,” Carrington smiled.
Japheth lightly touched the gold Greek-key embroidery. His hand hovered over the sheer mesh mock-neck, nearly stunned into silence, “Am I… allowed to wear this? It’s not… too much?”
“You’re required to wear this,” Carrington corrected. “Trust me, I’ve calculated the exact skin to silk ratio and it’s perfect for princely seduction and parental approval. Now strip.”
Japheth froze, “Strip?”
“Yes,” all four friends answered in unison, impatient to see the transformation.
“Carrington means to politely ask if you’ll modestly remove your garments please?” Suwarna clarified, and then murmured, “For legal reasons.”
Ronald started to chant, “Take! It! Off!” which Rebekkah immediately joined, clapping on the offbeat.
Japheth blushed so violently that a vein appeared on his forehead, “Okay! Okay, I’m doing it!
” He peeled out of the topaz lamé blazer and unbuttoned his button-down shirt, looking everywhere except directly at his friends or the man-sized mirror that would betray his nervousness.
He’d never actually undressed in front of anyone before.
He stood there for a moment in his cowboy boots and acid wash jeans hesitantly, “Maybe I should dim the lights? Or… we can all close our eyes?”
“Oh sweetie, you forget that you were in a swaddled diaper and hung up on a cross in front of the whole parish last Easter for the passion play,” Rebekkah said. “Don’t get modest now, we’ve seen it all.”
“I haven’t yet,” Ronald complained, raising his hand.
“I’m going to keep my eyes open simply so there’s a witness to the proceedings. It’s important that someone from the station’s C Suite observes with a critical and watchful gaze,” Suwarna assured him.
Japheth unzipped, de-booted and crossed his arms over his chest and buried his fingers in his armpits, nervously. In his simple black briefs and the living room lights undimmed, there was nowhere to hide.
Carrington circled Japheth like a vulture assessing a fresh kill and squawked, “Posture! Chin up. Shoulders back. Lips slightly parted. Eyes half-mast. You’re about to meet a man who buttons his shirts with intention and knows where the pleats on his pants should be.”
Garment by garment, Carrington helped Japheth pour himself into the silhouette of a fresh new him. Once he’d wrestled himself into the mesh mock-neck, the effect was immediate.
“Oh,” Ronald and Rebekkah breathed and tripped over each other to compliment him, “Oh my goodness /Oh, yes! /He’s smokin’ /Look at you/ They’ve really done it/ Christ on a cracker/ YOU’RE HOT NOW!”
“Very hot indeed,” Suwarna agreed, adjusting her bun. “Alarming transformation. Well done Carrington.”
“One more little detail,” Carrington stood behind Japheth and clasped a small gold crucifix around his neck. They held up the silk embroidered blazer with a ceremonious flourish, “Feeling ready?”
Japheth swallowed, “I… think so?”
When the jacket slid onto his shoulders, the transformation clicked into place like scripture suddenly interpreted. He looked taller. Sharper. Magnetic. Like he could hold a microphone and a man’s heart at the same time.
Rebekkah squealed, “This is not just a date outfit. This is an outfit that could inspire a proposal. I’m going to need to buy a hat!”
“I do encourage you to,” Carrington smiled at her apologetically, “even if they don’t get engaged tonight.”
Ronald circled Japheth in awe, “A muskie man sees this swimming toward him? He’s done. Hooked. Mounted over the fireplace.”
Carrington stepped in close, gently adjusting Japheth’s collar. When they spoke, their voice softened, “You deserve to feel desirable. Not just like someone’s tawdry toy. But someone special’s ultimate temptation.”
Japheth blinked hard, suddenly emotional, “You think he’ll like it?”
Carrington smoothed the gold-threaded lapel, “Sweetheart. This is some of my best work. Rino Ferrari is going to need CPR.”
Japheth turned a full circle in the mirror and smiled at the guy peering back, “I… I look good.”
“You look,” Carrington corrected, “expensive. Like someone worth investing some serious time in.”
“Sexy,” Ronald added with a friendly wink.
“Employable in high fashion,” Suwarna approved.
“Like a heartbreaker,” Rebekkah grinned.
“I look like someone Rino Ferrari could fall for.”
The room stilled. Rebekkah placed both hands on his shoulders, “Honey, I think this just might tip him over the edge.”
“Now go,” Carrington said, shooing him toward the door like a stage mom pushing a starlet onto set. “Your man awaits.”
As Japheth did a final mirror check and smoothed his hair from its unruly curls into a presentable pompadour, Suwarna coached him cheerfully, “Now remember, don’t get distracted by his dimples or his muscles, or his smouldering stare, or his butt if he turns away from you, or if he’s turned toward you, don’t look too longingly at… ”