“I cannot believe… how could a… a colleague of Mr. Capazzo… be dressed as such.” He paused for a moment, “This will not do. This must be taken care of immediately.” He paused again, as if in deep thought. He went around his desk, walked passed me, approached the entry and peered out the large window of his shop. He then turned addressed me and asked, “That car parked on the other side, it’s your car, isn’t it? I saw you pull up in it. What’s the model?”

The question baffled me. Why does he care? “It’s a Rolls Royce. Phantom III.”

That answer appeared to offend him. He turned red with anger, clenched his fists and tried his best to suppress an enormous scream. He took a deep breath an asked, “How, Dare you, DRIVE, In That Car, with, THESE Clothes?”

It sounded like he was vomiting when he said ‘these clothes’.

“Well, I Have bought that car recently.”

That remark rekindled his anger, but he didn’t answer me.

“STEP, In Side, my workshop. I need your measurements.”

I didn’t say even one word, just turned and headed straight toward his workshop, which was behind a red velvet curtain.

The tailor’s workshop must have been the most crowded and messiest place I had ever seen. It seemed as if every object was thrown haphazardly around the room after being used. Walking around the room was actually dangerous considering what the tailor’s tools of the trade were. Scissors lying on couches, Nails swimming on the ground, finest cloths swinging from walls. I’d be irate if I spent my life in such a room too.

“Stand in front of that mirror while I gather my tools.”

I gingerly walked toward the mirror, watching my every step. I expected him to go missing in the room while searching for the tools, but he came back surprisingly quick.

“How much do you weight?” he said in a hurry.

“Um, I think around 180 pounds.”

“Stand up straight.” He measured my height. “Hm, 6 feet precise.”

He was absolutely silent during the rest of the procedure. He placed the measure tape on my shoulders, wrapped it around my chest, ran it along my arms and almost chocked me as he measured around my neck. He then placed the tape around my hip and measured my outseem and inseem in a quick procession, taking notes all along.

“Follow me.” He was in such a hurry.

He led me to corner where he kept his most stylish clothing fabrics.

“I know you don’t know anything about these things so just pick a color.”

I would have got offended but he was right, I didn’t know anything about them.

“White shirt. That’s all I care about. The rest I leave to you.”

He looked frustrated, “Then why did you drag me all the way to this corner?”

I would have protested, but he would have returned my protest with a handful of his own; so I stayed quiet.

“What are you standing there staring at me for? GO. Leave a phone number on my desk. Will call you when it’s ready.”

“Um, ok. Thank you I’ll wait for your call. Goodbye.”

He went right to his business, I hesitated a bit so that he may say goodbye as well, but no such thing happened. I left my contact information on his table as he ordered then walked off the shop, across the street and into my car.

“Why wouldn’t he come out already?” The tailor asked in his always-irritated voice and Martin didn’t know what to answer him.

“Wait just a second; let me close the cuff-links and I’ll be out.” I said from behind a curtain. It wasn’t so much a changing room rather than just a corner separated from the rest of the workshop with a long curtain.

“Let go of the cuff-links, just come out.” He shouted.

“No no. I want to make a dramatic entrance.” I heard Martin laugh at this remark. “I’m almost set.” I continued.

I slid one leg outside the curtain revealing a dark brown leather Toe Cap Oxford Shoe. Then, I fully stepped outside with my hands firmly placed inside the pockets of the tan colored cotton pants which had suspender buttons instead of belt loops. The suspender itself matched the dark brown shoes and the metal pieces on it were gold. The shirt was snow white, just like I had asked. What he had added was the cuff-links, sapphire cuff links, they were round and had a golden trimming; I was sure he was going to charge me a boat load for that.

“WOW boss, looking good.” Martin said while grinning from ear to ear. He then handed me a hat, “Here you go boss.”

I took a look at the hat, turned to the tailor with a question mark that must have been carved on my forehead because before I said anything he said:

“ALL fine gentlemen wear a hat.”

“I’m not really comfortable with one.” I replied guiltily.

He gave me a scornful look but said nothing. He turned around and headed out of the workshop. While doing that he said:

“Well I’m glad I didn’t tailor a suit for you, otherwise I would have had to sew that hat to your head if that’s what it took.”

I signaled Martin to hand me my gun now that the tailor wasn’t looking.

“WOW” I blurted as the gun slid right inside and fit perfectly, it was very shocking. Then I heard the tailor from the other room saying:

“I usually have to make the pockets larger for men such as yourself, but since I knew you have one of those tiny Italian berettas, I tightened the pocket, it wouldn’t wiggle around now. That’s just for the left pocket though, right pocket is normal.”

“He even knows you’re left handed?” Martin whispered.

I shrugged.

Martin headed out of the workshop as well, but I headed toward the mirror to take a closer look at the new attire.

“Classy” I said to myself.