4. Nese
NESE
The nice saleswoman allows me to leave our lattes on the front counter and shows me new items from the upcoming season’s line, all of which will be flattering on Coop. Heck, anything made in this decade is bound to be a big improvement, even if it doesn’t fit him.
“Do you think he’ll look good in pastels? Some gorgeous shirts that just arrived are over here.” She points toward one side, which exposes her nametag.
I tilt my head, considering CeeCee’s question.
“He should wear more deep, jewel tones in a regular cut. Not slim. He has an average sized torso and shoulders. His arms are more developed, though.” Because he plays the guitar, but I don’t mention this in the chance he wants to keep his identity quiet.
I pat myself on the back for my discretion.
“In that case, let me show you these, made of the finest cotton.”
We walk over to the far wall, filled with beautiful fabrics that I run my fingers over. “Ooh, I love these. I bet they feel amazing on the body.” I select a few shirts for Coop to try.
CeeCee nods. “That’s what my boyfriend says.”
“I'm sure he’s the best-dressed boyfriend around.”
We both laugh.
“Now, I have to be candid with you. While we have a superior selection of clothing, we’re lacking in things like belts, shoes, and jewelry. I don’t know why, but these pieces aren’t part of our inventory.”
I appreciate her honesty. “I’ll definitely keep this in mind. Because he lost his luggage, we need to replace everything, so we can start here.”
“You’re in the best place to get his capsule wardrobe.” She glances around. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
I check my watch as the bell above the door chimes. “Right on time.”
We begin walking toward the front of the store, where Coop stands alone. Dropping all my finds onto a wingback chair, I throw caution to the wind and give him a hug. “You’re here!”
His arms wrap around my body in a whisper of a hug. “I told you I would be.” He steps back.
I punch his shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” Ducking to a counter, I hand him his latte, which he takes with a grateful nod. Addressing CeeCee, I introduce her and then we start a tour of the store. “Do you like pullovers?”
“They’re fine.”
I select one. “And button-downs?”
He stops. “I’m not going into an office.”
I glance at CeeCee, who picks up for me. “Well, they look good by themselves or even under sweaters in cold weather, over jeans. They’re not only for going to a nine-to-five job anymore.”
Coop fiddles with his sunglasses frame. “I guess I can try one on.” He mumbles something under his breath.
“Huh?” I need to know what he’s thinking.
“Nothing,” he replies, pointing to the pants.
My fingers touch my eyebrow piercing, and I remind myself that this grumpy old man lost his luggage and had no desire to buy new clothes.
Whatever the reason, he’s here now and I want to make him present the best way possible.
I move us over to the side. “I don’t remember seeing you in anything other than jeans. How about khakis?”
His jaw twitches. “I’m usually in jeans. You even have me in jeans for our gigs.”
He’s right. I do. Because they’re ripped at his thigh and accentuate how he plays guitar. More like makes love to it, causing women to scream. “Which reminds me, did you bring photos of your favorite clothes? I didn’t get a text from you.”
“Oh, crap. I forgot.”
Of course he did. “Well, no bother because I’ve seen how you dress on the buses and traveling. I’ll simply keep choosing things for you, and you can give me your opinion.”
“Sounds like my idea of a root canal.”
Could this guy be any less enthused? “Listen, I’m sorry you lost your luggage and are stuck here with me. But you did and you are. So, let’s make the most of this, okay?”
He finishes his latte, but remains silent.
I take it as assent.
I take his empty cup and toss it with mine into the garbage.
Then, we evaluate every item of clothing using the lens of fit and practicality—thankfully, style is well handled by the store’s buyers.
Coop vetoes more than he agrees to, and ends up trying on only five shirts. Fortunately, all of them look amazing.
As we’re browsing, a couple of women whisper to each other and steal glances at Coop. He seems oblivious. Shocker!
One of them finally works up the courage to “accidentally” bump into him. He catches her before she stumbles.
“Enjoy your shopping,” he says, with an easy smile before continuing down the aisle.
Could he be any more oblivious?
After a couple of hours, we decide to buy five shirts, and CeeCee rings up his purchases. When he takes out his black credit card to pay, she does a double take. “Let me run this in the back,” she explains. Unlike those two women, she never showed any signs of recognizing him.
I ask, “Is your full name on your credit card?”
“Of course.” He shrugs. “Why?”
“Because I think your anonymity has been compromised. She’ll figure out who you are.”
“And do what? Tell people I went shopping?”
He has a point. Maybe upping his street cred will garner some freebies? Can’t hurt. Besides, if anyone is going to benefit from this shopping spree, CeeCee seems like a gem. “You’re right. I wanted to be sure you were okay with any additional exposure.”
“No one cares about a guitarist, Nese.”
My pierced eyebrow arches—those two ladies beg to differ. I decide not to burst his bubble. “Well, we did a great first round here. Are you happy with what you bought?”
Coop touches his sunglasses attached to the top of his t-shirt. “They’re okay. They’ll do the trick.”
CeeCee comes back with his bag wrapped with tissue paper. “I hope you like these purchases, Mr. O’Shea.”
There it is. She knows who he is. But she’s handling the knowledge professionally, with discretion. I appreciate her even more.
She addresses me. “Please come back whenever you wish.”
“I definitely will the next time I’m in LA. I love your selection.” I lean in so only she can hear. “I also appreciate how you handle your customers.”
She nods. “Feel free to bring any of your friends here anytime.”
“I’ll make sure to bring them only to you.” I wink at her.
As we exit the store, Coop notes, “I’m wiped out.”
I turn my head toward him. “You did great in there. The five pieces you bought are fantastic. However, you still don’t have any jeans or pants, layering pieces, shoes, jackets, or belts. Sorry to tell you, but a wardrobe isn’t made of only a few shirts. Not even Río could dispute me.”
He stops in front of a black Range Rover. “Our drummer doesn’t usually wear shirts.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Well, you got me there. From that standpoint, he would have to agree that you need pants!”
His shoulders lower. “This is going to go into tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Two days to buy an entire wardrobe? More like a month, and even then I’m not sure. However, given your limited, ah, attention span”—I tease—“it might take longer.”
“You have got to be shittin’ me. UC’s back out on tour in a month. No one on earth needs so much time to pick up a few clothes.” He pulls a key fob out of his pocket. “I should’ve just ordered stuff online. Everything would've arrived by now and my wardrobe would be replenished.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. You would have the most generic jeans and shirts known to mankind, without any style or pizazz. Which I suppose is what you want, considering you like life in the background. Luke warned me you’d be obstinate about this. He said the Label is grateful I’m upping your look.”
“He told you what?” Coop pushes his sunglasses onto his head.
“Should I scream so you can hear me, Grandpa?” In a louder, slower voice, I reiterate, “Platinum Records, UC’s record label, wants me to make your non-gig attire match that of the other band members. Luke said they complained to him several times about your appearance in candids.”
He takes a step back. “He never told me anything.”
I shake my head. “Of course not. He didn’t want to upset you because he’s a nice person.
But, honestly, don’t you think everyone noticed your utter lack of attention to what you were wearing when you weren’t onstage?
When you went out with that navy blue windbreaker over a white T almost every day, I wanted to bash my eyes in with a fork. ”
“Hey. My mom gave me that jacket.”
“When? Before or after UC signed with Platinum?” My question shuts him up. “Thought so.”
“So what if I had an older jacket? It wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“You know what else? I think you ‘forgot’ to bring photos of your favorite outfits because you didn’t care enough to look.
Either that, or you don’t have a favorite piece of clothing.
” I stomp my foot. “Well, all of that stops now. You’re going to love what I get for you. Which is your new favorite shirt?”
He lifts the bag from M. Marcel. “They’re all nice.”
“Oh my God. You paid more than some people make in a week for five shirts, and you don’t even seem to care?”
His sunglasses lower over his eyes. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
“Well, true. However, no one will get to know your insides if they’re repelled by your outsides. Ever consider this?”
“I’m fine the way I am.”
I better try a different tack. “I’m not asking you to change or anything.
Simply help you be more presentable to the public when you’re offstage.
The clothes you had before were…” I search for the correct word.
“Serviceable. Wouldn’t you like to be trendy?
Positive? Or at least not easily overlooked? ”
My questions stop him cold. “Nese, I’m happy as I am. I prefer to stay in the background and let others, like Bennett and Río, shine. I’m fine with that.”
I snap my fingers. “Listen, you can stay in the background all you want. Nothing has to change. Except, thanks to the Vanishing Luggage Mystery, you literally have no choice but to get new clothes. Since this is truth, why not buy stylish clothing that can make a statement for you.”
He directs his unusual eyes on me. They’re not brown. Or green. They have a dark amber ring around the pupils, which make them appear a darker shade of the combined colors. As he’s wearing a white T-shirt, they’re now almost khaki. I stare. “Hazel? You have hazel eyes.”
Coop shakes his head. “What does this have to do with buying clothes?”
“I guess I never noticed them before, as I categorized them as brown. But they’re actually much more nuanced. Very cool.”
He puts his hand on my forearm. “Focus, Nese. How much longer?”
Putting his eye color into my mental rolodex, I reply, “I’m not sure. I can try to get this done in a week, but only if you cooperate.”
He removes his hand. “I cooperated today. I got to the store on time and bought these.” He holds up the M. Marcel bag again.
“Bravo. Why don’t we call this morning a win? Let’s not dwell on how long this might take. It’ll take as long as it needs to.” I think I read this quote online somewhere. My stomach chooses this moment to growl as if it hadn’t been fed since the Oscars. My hands fly over my tummy.
“It is lunchtime,” he huffs. “I know a place near here. Want to join me?”
His ask would be nice but for the fact it comes through gritted teeth.
Considering I don’t really know anyone in LA other than him, and I am hungry, I decide to go with it.
I don a bright smile. “Sounds lovely. What kind of food? I joined a magazine’s Restaurant Bingo, and if we eat at a place on the square, I’ll be able to knock it off.
The challenge is in the beginning stages, so I can get a jump on the other competitors. ” I take a breath. “So, what is it?”
He slow blinks. “I was being polite.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hungry.”
Our stalemate ends when he double-clicks the key fob and the Range Rover beeps. “It’s Thai.”