Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (35 page)

“Do you like it?” Perry eventually asked, when the wide-eyed silence had gone on a little too long for comfort.

“Oh. My. Non-gender-specific Deity. Is that really for me?”

Perry gulped. Had he misjudged? Mas had seemed to like the suit when they’d sent it off to Cherise to be mended, but maybe he’d just been being polite. It was a dinner jacket, but a very unusual seventies one in deep red and black paisley jacquard with black trim. It must have belonged to one of his extended family at some point and collected by Aunt Betty, and it had evidently been hand tailored by an expert. But it certainly wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste—it wasn’t something Perry could wear himself, but he’d thought Mas would be able to carry it off with his dramatic colouring. “I thought it would suit you,” he said, “but the houndstooth would be lovely if you’re not that keen on it.”

“I love it. Seriously, Perry, it’s fucking lush. How could I not love a suit that blatantly out and proud? But it doesn’t fit me. I tried it on, and it was baggy in all the wrong places.”

“I’ve had Cherise make some adjustments. Try it on. It should fit now.”

Mas bit his lip and reached out to stroke the wide lapel. “Are you sure about me wearing this? It’s very…loud. You don’t want me to look more like you?”

“I’ll be in my boring old dinner jacket, and you’ll look incredible by my side. I’d much rather everyone was focused on you rather than me, anyway.”

Mas grinned and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Have we got time for a quick blast in the shower first? I reckon a first date with a suit like this should be prepared for. I don’t want to put it on when I’m all shop-soiled and sweaty.”

Perry sniffed. Mas still carried a trace of cologne and soap from the morning, but it probably wasn’t worth trying to argue with him. Besides, he rather fancied a quick sluice himself before getting dressed. He pulled out his pocket watch. “We’ve got time, but we’ll have to be fast. No indulging in any extracurricular activities.”

“You sure? I’m so wound up, I could probably come in about ten seconds flat. And it would be a great stress buster. Endorphins galore, baby.”

“Every second you spend talking rather than undressing is going to make that less of an option.”

“So you’re not ruling it out entirely?” Mas shoved his trousers down and stepped out of them.

Perry contemplated those lithe legs and felt himself begin to rise to the occasion. “Oh no. It’s definitely an option.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mas managed to persuade Perry into a quick and dirty frot in the shower, and afterwards he could almost fool himself he felt relaxed. He was still totally keyed up after having to decline three calls from Grant over the course of the day—felt like he’d been knocking back espressos and energy tablets like they were going out of fashion—but the nerves weren’t making him quite so queasy.

The sight of his reflection when he’d put on the suit was another confidence booster. “Oh you foxy studmuffin!” He twirled, admiring the way the fabric now clung in all the right places. “Perry, you’ve gotta see this.”

Perry looked up from lacing his Oxfords. “You look beautiful.”

“I look a bit like the walls of an Indian restaurant, but that’s fine,” he rushed to reassure as Perry’s face fell. “It’s exotic but strangely British at the same time. Yeah, I think it works. Especially with the black shirt.” Perry had shown his excellent taste yet again in picking him out a plain silk shirt. “No tie, though? Surely a suit like this should have a kipper tie?”

“A tie would be too much. You don’t want to look like it’s seventies fancy dress. And leave the top two buttons open. Yes. Perfect.”

“Maybe a medallion, then,” Mas mused. “It’s moments like this that almost make me wish for a chest rug.”

Perry shook his head and gave him a fond smile before coming over and standing next to him. They both stared at their reflections. Perry had gone for his classic tux that he’d worn to the club, but this time instead of the dress shirt, he’d picked out a deep red shirt that toned with Mas’s suit, and was also going for the no-tie, open-necked look.

“We look proper pukka. Seriously. They won’t be able to keep their eyes off us down there. I’m gonna have to fight off all the blokes who want to take you home with them. And the women too, I suppose. Shit, do you still fancy women or what? Some of the ones coming are kind of sexy, if you like that sort of thing. Lots of young fashionistas and rich cougars.”

Perry hugged him closer. “I’m not going to be looking at anyone else tonight. Just you.”

Oh God. Much as Mas liked the idea, he really couldn’t allow that. “You can’t go mooning over me all evening. You’ve got to make eye contact with people when you’re talking to them. Surely they taught you all that stuff at that posh school of yours. What’s it called? Etiquette?”

“You know what I meant.” Perry kissed Mas’s temple, and Mas had to wonder how the bloke was keeping it together so well. For ages now, he’d been worried Perry would crack under the strain of having his shop full of people eating and drinking and possibly stealing things, but now it came down to it, Mas was the one queasy with nerves. Those calls from Grant he’d ignored weren’t helping matters, but then again, talking to the arrogant bastard really wasn’t going to improve Mas’s mood, was it?

Perry had his pocket watch out again. “It’s a quarter to six. The helpers should already be down there. Shall we?” He held out his arm and Mas took it gratefully.

“Yeah baby. Let’s do this thing.”

Organising Bernarde and his two friends—both trained in silver service, apparently, not that carrying around platters of cheese footballs, sausage rolls and Tesco’s best value nearly-as-good-as-real-Champagne fizzy wine really warranted that level of waiting expertise—took a few minutes, but then Mas found Perry breathing down his neck. Quite literally, as he stood right behind him and wrapped his arms tight around Mas’s middle.

“Your boyfriend’s very demonstrative,” Bernarde cooed. “Why can’t I find me one like that? And a redhead too!” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Do collar and cuffs match?”

“Shut up, Bernie. And yes, they do actually.” Mas just had to hope Perry was sheltered enough not to realise they were discussing his pubes, or he’d ignite with embarrassment.

Luckily Perry was preoccupied with other things. “You need to come through to the front of the shop.”

“Oh God, what is it now? Who hasn’t turned up? Is Layna okay?” He could hear her testing out her microphone while her boyfriend played something bluesy on his electric piano. Who’d have thought his first proper customer would be a part-time jazz singer who specialised in forties standards? She might not look authentically forties with her bright pink dreads, but she certainly sounded the part, and Mas had helped find her a black cocktail dress that fit. Teamed up with a hat, veil and opera gloves it made her look like a tragic yet classy war widow.

“Shhh. It’s all fine,” Perry soothed. “Nothing Lewis and Jasper can’t handle. But there’s something I want you to see.”

Mas allowed Perry to pull him through to the front room, barely resisting the urge to tidy things on his way. Perry actually had to slap his hand away as they passed the table. “Leave it, they look perfect. Am I going to have to superglue a glass of wine to your hands or something?”

“All right, all right,” Mas grumbled, and he was still muttering to himself as Perry pushed him through the doorway.

The front room looked a little chaotic what with Layna and her fella setting up on the tiny stage they’d created between the dressing table and the mysterious canvas-covered column. Wait a minute. Mysterious canvas-covered column?

“Is this what you’ve been working on for the past few weeks?” Mas asked, stepping closer to get a better idea of what was under the tarp. Whatever it was, it was about six foot high and kind of lumpy. “Can I have a look? Oh, no fair. That’s like bloody Fort Knox.” The bottom of the tarp had metal eyelets, through which was threaded a heavy chain fitted with a large, businesslike padlock.

“That needs to stay covered until the grand unveiling,” Perry murmured into his ear. Mas rather liked this standing right behind him with his head leaning against Mas’s that Perry had started doing recently. It was one cosy domestic habit he could get right behind. Or in front of. Whatever. He sank back against Perry’s chest and pouted, but only for show.

“When’s the unveiling, then?”

“I thought since the party is running from six till nine, then maybe eight? I could do it earlier if you prefer, but I wanted to wait until the journalists were here. I’ve written a little speech.”

“You’re doing a speech? No way!” Belatedly, Mas realised how that could have sounded. “Don’t get me wrong, I think that’s fabulous. I just didn’t think talking to a big group of people was really your thing.”

“It isn’t, but I thought as the business owner and resident artist, it really did behove me to give a short speech. Don’t worry, it won’t be more than a few minutes. I don’t want to drive people away with boredom.”

“You could never do that,” Mas said, loyally. “You’re probably the least boring person I’ve ever met. Okay, you’re kind of sheltered, and trying to have a conversation with you about pop culture is plain pointless, but you’ve got more weird shit going on in that head of yours than anyone I’ve ever met. And I’ve known some right oddballs.”

“Ummm, thank you?”

“Yeah, babe, it’s a compliment, don’t worry.” Mas spent another minute in Perry’s arms before Layna drew Perry away with questions about her set list.

Okay, time to get his best host face on. The guests would be arriving any minute now.

Mas turned towards the front door and plastered a smile on his face.

The party began fairly quietly, but the guests who trickled in gradually didn’t seem to want to leave, so by half past seven, the shop was near bursting at the seams. Mas circulated constantly, making sure he gave a warm hello to every new arrival, even if they did look like local passersby who’d only popped in for the free wine. Hey, it was all good publicity, and you never knew who was going to turn into a loyal customer of the future.

Perry ended up spending most of the evening in the corner behind the counter, but Mas made sure he pointed him out to everyone, and took the ones he thought might be art buyers over for introductions. He’d had this idea Perry might end up making a bolt for upstairs when it got too crowded, but the bloke did better than he’d ever have expected. Must be one of the benefits of being brought up posh: knowing how to do the whole polite-cocktail-party thing. It was all new to Mas, but being thrown in at the deep end had never bothered him, and he reckoned he was doing a pretty good job of working the room.

It was good to see so many regular customers and old friends too. They added a bit of colour and interest among the middle-class, artsy-fartsy types who’d been attracted by the article in
Bristol Life
. Mas spotted that punk fella with the shaved head who’d been in the shop when he blew Perry looming over some poor worried-looking DILF in a pink stripy shirt. Cherise turned up in a gorgeous deep pink dress, clinging on to the arm of a huge black guy with a shaved head and an amazing smile. There was also Denys, who’d brought along all three of his teenage sons. The cheeky buggers all had glasses of something bubbly in their hands. Mas hoped it was lemonade. Only one of them looked old enough to drink.

Mas was leaning a hand on the mantelpiece, discussing the jackalope with a rather fascinated Denys, when Jasper approached. He had the look of a man with bad news.

“What is it? Have we run out of bubbly?” Last time he’d checked with Bernarde, supplies were holding up, but the place had certainly got much more crowded since then.

“Don’t worry about that. All under control. Lewis has gone out to get more.” Jasper narrowed his eyes in the way that Mas knew meant he was concentrating on not twitching.

“Come on, then, spit it out.”

“Somebody’s just arrived. Someone you won’t be very happy to see. That man you were seeing. The married one.”

There wasn’t any point in asking which married one Jasper meant. After all the texts and missed calls, it could only be one person.

“Where is he?” Mas had to get to Grant before he found Perry and started causing trouble. Could he tempt him out of the shop for a talk? How would that look if Mas walked out of the party? Shit, and only half an hour before Perry’s big speech. He’d have to be back for that.

Mas pushed his way back through the crowds as politely as he could. He scanned the front room. Perry was still over in his corner, this time talking to some well-off-looking elderly woman in a fur stole. Layna was singing a sultry number in the opposite corner that Mas recognised from that old Roger Rabbit film. Mas scanned the room until he zeroed in on that perfectly styled head of black hair. His stomach did a little flip—an automatic response to Grant’s devastating looks—but his heart skulked away in disgust.

Grant was talking to Mr. Baldy the punk, and Mas watched in horror as punk man pointed in Perry’s direction. Could he head Grant off before he reached him?

Of course, that was the exact moment one of the journalists he’d invited had to put a hand on his arm and enquire about buying one of Perry’s clockwork lizards. Bloody typical. Mas answered her on autopilot—he’d gone through the little spiel enough times already to have it off by heart—but by the time he’d finished and she’d moved on to pester someone else, it was too late.