Remember The Nights Ch. 01

He checked his reflection in the mirror again, ignoring the hovering presence of his best man, James, and straightened his tie for the fifth time. He looked immaculate. Who wouldn't look immaculate in a thousand dollar Hugo Boss tuxedo? He smoothed his jet black, feathered locks to the side and made sure the cowlick was lying down before applying two wet fingertips to his unruly eyebrows. Cynthia wanted him to have them plucked but he wasn't interested. Now, he wished he'd have had it done.

"Are you ready, Chaz?"

Charlie Weatherly's striking Irish features were frozen in granite, his eyes focused on a reflection of a neatly-tied bundle of white lilacs that had been laid on the side table. He didn't want to remember but unbidden, the memories came flooding back, blinding him in their sudden advent …

"FUCK!" He spat to the skies. His favorite Ermenegildo Zegna linen suit was now bathed in half of a Starbucks Arabian Mocha Sanani, light on the cinnamon, and the most beguiling set of almond-shaped eyes connected with his, an almost-comical look of despair distorting her exquisite Asian features.

"Oh, Jesus! I'm so sorry!"

It was as if time had stopped for him and the vision of her loveliness was emblazoned on his retinal walls like a sensuous brand, forever searing the wide beauty of her eyes and the shape of her mouth on him forever. Her soft, husky voice startled him back to angry reality.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." He set his briefcase down, frantically wiping beads of premium coffee from his pants. "Fuck! I don't have time for this right now! I have to be in court in forty-five minutes!"

"Come with me."

"What? Don't you think you've done enough?"

"Look, Little Lord Fauntleroy, do you want to show up as Beau Brummell or as The Little Tramp?" The distress in her face had quickly fled and her features morphed into the hard mask of a professional, sizing him up and calculating his worth.

Charlie had noticed and his anger burned hotter. "Listen, you bitch!"

"Just follow me. Save the witty repartee for your wife." She turned her back on him and left through the double doors. Fuming, Charlie went behind her, his face burning with shame as others on the sidewalk noticed his mussed clothes. After walking about 300 yards, she stopped in front of a shop and produced a set of keys. The shop: Armani. She relocked the door behind them and went immediately to the sales counter. "Set your stuff over there and come here."

Charlie dropped his briefcase onto a chair, left his coffee on top of a stack of GQ and Esquire magazines and went to where she was sorting through a rack of suits, choosing a dark navy suit and thrusting it toward him. "Here. You can borrow this until your suit is cleaned."

"Borrow?"

"Yes. Is that word unfamiliar to you?"

"No."

"Good." She sauntered over to the haberdashery department and selected a pink silk tie and matching handkerchief. "Put these on, too."

"Pink? I'm not wearing faggot pink."

"I wasn't aware that there was such a color." She folded her arms, staring at him. "You know, I thought you were going to turn out to be a nice guy since you were dressed so nicely but you're the complete opposite of a gentleman."

"I never said I was a gentleman."

"That much is patently obvious." She went behind the counter and began preparing to open the store. "Fitting rooms are over there."

Charlie stalked over the changing room and carefully shrugged out of his splashed jacket and pants and put the suit on. He was instantly amazed that the clothes were a perfect fit, that she had sized him up so accurately that even the jacket was the right width and flared perfectly over his hips. The pink tie glared at him and he yanked his silk silver jacquard tie off and put it on, tucking the handkerchief into the pocket.

When he stepped out, she was waiting and walked a circle around him. "Not bad." She pulled the handkerchief out and refolded it correctly, then tucked it back in, flaring the tips. "If you'll give me your address, I'll have your suit back to you by this evening."

He scribbled his home address and phone number on the back of one of his cards and handed it to her. Charlie felt kind of stupid for treating her so callously. "I'm sorry for my behavior. I'm just a little stressed out."

For the first time since the accident, she smiled and that single smile transformed her face. He stood awestruck at her beauty and barely felt her hand him his briefcase and coffee. "Good luck on your case."

As she unlocked the door and held it open for him, he gave her a smile. "Are you free for lunch?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I'm never free, Mr. Weatherly." She shut the door and gave a small wave as she headed back to the counter.

It was several minutes before Charlie realized two things: his cock was as hard as a rock and that he didn't even know her name.