The Suit - Short Story

Frank walked into Sarah's super store as a man on a mission. Tonight was the TMMJ Co. ball or gala or something like that. Frank needed a new suit because tonight was special. The other people at the office didn't want to go to the party because they were pussies and scared of the real world, man. Frank needed a new suit but wanted to look cool at the same time, so he opted for something used or older, maybe to give him a cool-guy kind of flair that these sort of uppity folks at an event like this wouldn't have seen before.

Frank entered Sarah's and got pissed off so fast. As soon as he walked in, he saw a group of three young ladies standing, perusing some dresses in the women's section. He looked them over and made eye contact with one of them, who immediately made a face and turned to the other two, and all three started laughing. Sluts, all three of them, showing midriff like that at their age—it was appalling. Frank thought about the pictures of his mother when she was younger. She would have never shown a belly button like that—what the hell, man. She was so beautiful in her prom dress and wedding photos and even the pictures of her on that cruise with her family when she had graduated college. The way her cousin Alan put his arm around her waist had always bothered him, though—what was up with that? Why was he touching her so much? It just made him even angrier.

Feeling tension rising in his body, he tried to wash his mind clean of all these frustrations and just focus on tonight. At the party he could finally meet someone. An actual good lady. Not just some harlot that walked the streets and the hallways at the office—a good, classy woman. At a high-end event like this there would be good, put together young ladies, not just these loose women who roamed the world like stray dogs barking at him and scaring him—a lot, honestly, but he would never say that. His mother would be so happy finally. She would be just like her, and they would get along like the best of friends—he just knew. It was so hard to meet someone nice. Someone who shared the same values and who wasn't just a retard, basically. Women these days just couldn't see through these smoke and mirrors like his mother could.

Frustrated again, Frank took a deep breath and made his way to the men's area, trying not to look back at those young girls who had laughed at him, but he could not resist. Grumbling to himself like Daffy Duck, Frank was immediately made to regret this decision. As soon as he looked back at the ladies, he locked eyes with a strapping young lad who seemed to be a boyfriend to one of the girls and gave him a nasty stare down. "That guy is such a bitch—I hate that guy—what a pussy just standing there like he's going to do something, or like I even care at all. Those girls all look like streetwalkers anyways. What would I want to do with them?" Frank thought to himself. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he would have gone over there and given that rascal a piece of his mind.

Frank, then tearing himself from the young man's frightening gaze, pushed into the Sunday best section of the store where the men's dresswear was found, finally clearing his mind and focusing on his true mission.

There was only one other person in the room with him, and he was facing away, looking at the belts and ties. He was a tiny but striking figure. From behind he looked like an artist's take on a sexual cowboy, illustrated and coming to life. Black boots over which jeans, freshly starched, sat. Black belt with a nice red plaid pearl snap button-up. Hair was long and black, slicked back. In a part of his soul with which he would never commune, Frank desired badly to dress like this. But instead he just thought to himself about how that guy was short and it would be terrible to look like that.

Frank tried to focus on looking at suits but found himself gazing back at this itty-bitty, faceless, mesmerizing man. Once or twice the man seemed to be about to turn around, and just as that was about to happen, Frank would snap his head back and keep looking at the same suits. Eventually it became like a game of peekaboo or something. As soon as the man would turn, Frank would snap his head back and look away, wait a few seconds, and slowly look to see if he was looking. Things were starting to heat up, though. The small guy was getting closer, and unconsciously Frank was inching closer to him as they were snailing their ways around the room to each other, closing the distance between them. The closer they got, the louder the smell of the cologne. It was intoxicating. It smelled like rain on a hot summer day mixed with fresh laundry detergent but with something sexy like sandalwood mixed in there.

And then it happened. Frank had just flicked his head away and stared down, and the next time he went to look up, there was his face, only a foot away, staring up at him. He had a thin, well-trimmed mustache and olive-colored skin. Sharp, piercing brown eyes and a large nose. Frank jumped back, absolutely too stunned to speak. What was he doing so close? Frustrated and curiously cautious, Frank was just too overwhelmed to speak in the proximity of this dubious man. Like strings pulling his face tight, a smile spread over his face. It gave him a cheeky, troublemaking sort of look. In a voice that seemed to come from elsewhere, he spoke quietly. Even with the softness that he spoke, his voice had a deep, masculine resonance that matched his figure not at all.

"My friend, I see that you are looking for a suit?"

Frank could only mumble a yes and stepped back once again.

The small man closed the gap and reached out his hand. The way he moved was graceful and serpentine, and it looked as though even with one step, every part of his body moved, no matter what the action.

"I am Rash, what is your name?"

Frank reached his hand out hesitantly, afraid to touch the man's skin, not knowing what it could make him feel. Rough but not dry. Frank tingled and withdrew quickly.

"I'm Frank," quick and short was his response. Frank reached into his pockets, hoping to find something that would help him, but there was nothing but phone, wallet, and keys.

Sensing Frank's dismay, Rash stepped back and gave him a long, appraising look. His lips were pursed, but his tongue stuck out just a little, giving him the look of an artist observing his canvas.

"Yes," he muttered to himself, "yes, I have just the thing."

Confused, Frank asked, "Do you work here?" but there was no reply—Rash was already sashaying his way through the many suits, walking gracefully with his hand outstretched, touching each piece of clothing with a single finger. Until abruptly he stopped and swiftly yoinked the suit from the rack and snaked his way back to Frank in his enchanting way.

Frank was at a complete loss for what to say. He wanted to hate this small, handsome man so badly, but for some reason he could not bring himself to. Something about him was so provocative. It was as if there was an impending, unforeseen disaster just on the horizon, but Frank was just too curious to see what it might do to put a stop to it.

Shoving the suit into his hands, Rash then patted him on the shoulder and pointed to the dressing room. Frank paused for a moment, still taken aback by the last two minutes, but was then shaken from his stupor by another gentle caress from Rash.

"My friend, aren't you going to try it on?"

Frank nodded and began walking to the dressing room. When he was inside, he found himself wishing he could still smell Rash's heady scent over the must of the dressing room. Quickly, Frank undressed and put the suit on.

Taking a moment to look himself up and down in the mirror, Frank could not believe what he saw. He looked absolutely dashing. Head to toe, the suit was a perfect fit. It was almost supernatural—he didn't think he could get something to look this good on him even if he had paid to have it tailored. In all his life he didn't think he could recollect a time when he had felt this suave and svelte. Even with just a T-shirt on and some socks, he felt like Errol Flynn. Frank was reborn in that moment, baptized in the fires of newfound confidence. He emerged a phoenix from the ashes as he stepped out of that dressing room.

Rash whooped and whistled, even clapping and jumping up and down like a cartoon man seeing a beautiful woman. "Yes, yes, yes!" he said. "I knew you would look great."

Frank reached out and shook his hand, smiling, thinking of tonight, thanking him for showing him the suit. Rash then produced a small tube from his back pocket and said, "Wear this tonight too." The image on the tube appeared to be a man slicking his hair back, and the rest was in Japanese. Looking up from the tube, Rash was pantomiming slicking-back motions on his head, making whooshing sounds and nodding, raising his eyebrows up and down really fast. Frank took the pomade.

Rash then led him through the rest of the store, and Frank deferred to him at every decision like a wise and guiding shaman on what had become Frank's proverbial hero's journey. Soon Frank was at the checkout with the suit, new boots, a belt to match, and a tie to pull it all together.

Rash invited him to his house as they were walking out of the store, but Frank was much too excited to get home and get ready to even consider the notion or its implications.

Once at home, Frank paraded around his house in his new attire and freshly slicked-back hair. He felt like Miami Vice, baby—he felt like that one guy from that one movie he had seen on TV once where all the girls love him and he fights those Russian guys. He stopped in front of each and every reflective surface to gander at himself. He was a showstopper from each and every angle.

Finally, the time arrived. Frank walked his fancy ass down to the bus stop and waited about ten minutes for the bus to arrive. In that time, he'd shot a glance to a middle-aged woman who was sharing the bench with him. He knew she was impressed with him and his suit. She nodded and said hello, then asked him where he was heading, looking at and acknowledging his suit. She wanted him so bad he couldn't even believe it. He looked to see if she had a ring on, because if she did, he would have totally ripped into her for not being faithful. Good thing she didn't. He told her he was going to a fancy party in Oak Heights. She nodded approvingly and said, "Wow, moving up in the world, I see." Yes, he was.

On the bus, he glared at a couple because their baby was crying too loudly, and they immediately set to work hushing it up. What was this new power he possessed? This suit worked miracles. Even Darlene the bus driver had paid him a compliment as he got on. "Cool suit," she had said. It was the first time she had even spoken to him, and he could see the lust in her eyes as she had said it. He smiled to himself as he caught another old man gawking at him. "Even these accursed homosexuals want me," he thought. "Holy shit," Frank murmured under his breath, "this is going to be one hell of a party."

Frank entered the party. In his mind's eye he was a gallant knight riding a beautiful white steed into the hall of the king who was to offer a daughter of his to him in thanks for his services. He strolled in between partygoers, lifting a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing member of the wait staff. The waiter started to say something about, "Sir, that's for...!" But Frank was already on his way. He spied his boss Joshua and his wife. They made eye contact, and Joshua, getting his wife's attention, pointed across the room to Frank, and they both, gesturing to his suit, gave him a thumbs up. It looked like that promotion was a lock. About to stroll over to them, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A glimmer of silk in the light of the chandelier. Passing on his left was a woman in a most revealing dress. He already had begun cursing her indecency in his head when she turned around and caught his eye. Frozen, Frank had been caught staring at her walking away. He was obviously only looking on in disgust at her immodesty, but she would never understand that. But then, to his surprise, she waved at him, beckoning him to follow her. Feeling that he was surely going to have to explain himself, he followed, preparing his reprimands and explanation. She led him to a standing table at the far side of the room, reached out her hand, and said, "I love your suit. And the slicked-back hair is really cool—you remind me of that one guy from that one movie where the girls love him and he fights those Russian guys."

Frank swallowed his opening statement he had been preparing. The cut of her dress was far too low for his liking and was obviously meant to be distracting. He was going to have to tell her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she started first. Then she said, "Oh, sorry, were you going to say something?" He shook his head no. "Anyways," she started, "do you know that movie I'm talking about?"

"Oh, yes, I've seen it. I quite like that one. Are you a fan of cinema?"

"Oh, not really," she said. "I just saw that on TV once. Are you?" She beamed up at him, batting her eyes as she asked, talking in a soft and inviting tone.

Frank scoffed and nodded, saying, "Ohhh, ya, I've seen just about everything."

"Wow," she said, "that's awesome. What's your favorite?"

What a question! And where to start! Maybe she wasn't so bad after all—perhaps he could overlook the dress if her intellect was not found wanting as he had suspected upon first glance.

Frank began by telling her about the French New Wave and Jean-Luc Godard. She was a great audience, nodding and asking lots of follow-up questions. Frank's heart was pounding by the time he explained that Rolling Stones singer, Mick Jagger—he paused to ask and make sure she knew who that was. She didn't, so thank goodness he asked or that would have been confusing. Anyways, Mick Jagger was actually a big fan of Jean-Luc Godard and had him direct a concert movie of theirs.

"Wow, that's amazing!" She reached out and touched his arm. Then she pulled him closer by his suit sleeve and whispered in his ear, "Why don't we go somewhere more private and you can tell me about The 400 Blows?" Then she winked.

Frank could not believe the powers he now possessed—never in his life had a conversation gone this well with a beautiful woman. Girls were usually too dumb to want to talk about the finer points of motion pictures with him, but here he may have found a future true cinephile like himself.

His face was so hot for some reason. His heart was pounding in his ears. He collected himself and offered his arm like a true gentleman, just like his mother had taught him. She led the way. Frank had abandoned all sense of decency, and his mind ran rampant with nasty lustful thoughts, thoughts he had a feeling may just come to fruition. He smiled to himself as they walked. How he must look to the plebeians in the crowd.

She led him down a hallway and then up some stairs out onto a balcony. They walked out over to the railing and looked out over the city. Wow, this was so romantic. Frank looked at her expectantly, hoping she would make the first move. A soft breeze whipped her hair, and she looked up at him. "I'm so cold," she said. Frank went to take off his jacket, but then she threw herself into his arms and looked up at him. "Much better," she said. Frank held himself in the pose of a robot, arms at ninety-degree angles around her, keeping her just a few inches away so as to not offend her with his current state. At this point in time, Frank could barely see straight—his thoughts, he felt, were that of a maniacal villain. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy," he thought! Could it be! Could it really be! He would do anything for this night to go the way he thought it would. He stared down at her, fire blazing in his eyes, and he thought he saw a spark in hers too. She leaned in, and they began to kiss. Frank abandoned his robot pose and pressed their bodies together in an awkward smush. But this bliss was short-lived. She pulled away and began to sob, leaning over the railing, weeping. Frank reached out an arm, confused and so frightened that this was going to be the end of the night.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I want to—I really want to, you know, do it with you... it's, it's just—" She let out a great big sob. Frank, not knowing what to do at all, stood there with his hands out but in a forward way, like a mummy.

"What's the matter?" he asked stupidly.

"Well, it's, it's... it's that I'm married!" She sobbed.

Frank was aghast—had he really just kissed a married woman? But then she continued on.

"He's horrible, and he beats me, and he's becoming a Satanist, I think!"

"Oh my," said Frank, "that's dreadful." It wasn't so bad then if the man was a Satanist. She would need to legalize a divorce, but it sounded like they were practically already separated.

"I really would do it with you—I just don't want it to be a sin," she said, and looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and cast herself back into his arms like a stage drama.

Frank was at a loss. He wanted it so bad. He began to speak, but she started first.

"Maybe we could if he was gone, you know? Maybe if there was a way to get rid of him tonight, we could be together? He's actually just in the room to the left of us, probably doing some sort of occult ritual. It's honestly best if we actually stop him, I think." She reached into her purse and produced a pistol. "I think we really need to stop him." She started kissing him again.

Frank was unable to think.

She pressed the gun into his hands. "Please, we have to stop him, and then it won't be a sin when we, you know... do it." By this time she had stopped crying and had taken on a very reasonable disposition.

"I would do it, but it's just that there are these fancy sensors that shoot satanic lasers when an unclean woman walks into that specific room. Only a man who is pure of heart can go in and stop him. I can't go because of all the unclean thoughts I'm having about you." She touched his chest and tore her hand away as though burned. "Even now I am tormented," she said.

Frank was exhilarated at the thought of her thinking those same nasty, dirty thoughts about him. He looked down and found himself clutching the revolver she had pulled out of her purse.

Very little or essentially no thought went into the decision. She had informed Frank that if he just went out the door they had come out of and hooked a right, he would just need to go into the first door on the left and would find her occult husband busy at sacrificing lambs or even babies in the room there. She also told him that in his pocket was a small white rock that was her lucky rock that her mother had given her and that she really also wanted that back.

Frank now found himself outside the door. Should he knock? What would he say? Better to take the enemy unawares, he thought, and turning the knob, pushed the door open. As soon as he opened the door, a green light flashed into his eyes, and soon he realized he was being scanned from head to toe. Upon completion of the scan, a robotic voice beeped out, "Anunnaki not detected." Must be a satanic word for the impure, he thought. To his left was a sitting area with a couch and a coffee table. A cigarette was still smoking in the ashtray. "This bastard even smokes," Frank thought. She could get sick from so many diseases that were caused by secondhand smoke. All the more reason to set her free. Looking to the right, Frank saw a satanic altar disguised as what looked to be a scientific lab of some kind. Tubes and beakers and all types of shit were all over. Burners and that thing that washes chemicals out of your eyes was there too. There he was at the back of the lab, working under a bright light—a man in a white rubber suit with a mask covering his mouth and nose. He was so focused he must not have noticed Frank come in. He worked furiously under the bright light, tearing apart what Frank saw to his horror was some kind of anthropomorphic lizard. She wasn't kidding—this guy really was a Satanist, and now Frank realized it was all meant to be. Rash, the suit, meeting the girl, and the powers that the suit gave him. All so he could be God's righteous warrior. Filled with a new gusto primarily built upon his righteous indignation, Frank crept forward, gun pointed down as he had learned in Boy Scouts. He snuck around the side table so that he might be able to come up from behind and shoot him while he wasn't looking. To Frank's delight, the Satanist husband of his soon-to-be lover was wearing small corded headphones and was listening to Third Eye Blind's hit track from their self-titled album, "Graduate." Frank crept up behind him without him even noticing and blew his brains out. Blood and chunks of brain matter sprayed all over the lizard man as the dead man collapsed, hitting the table before his headless corpse slumped to the floor. Pieces of gore actually got into Frank's mouth, and he immediately threw up. Crying in disbelief, he started to run out of the room but remembered his lover's secret rock and ran back to ransack the corpse of the man he had just murdered. With the rock in hand, he managed to swallow the second round in his throat back down and run out of the room. Upon throwing open the door to the balcony, Frank saw Rash and his lady furiously making out. The woman was a head taller than Rash, and she held him like a koala in a tree. His legs were wrapped around her tightly as he humped her like a rabbit suspended off the ground.

Frank made a bewildered sort of animal shout, and Rash dismounted from the woman. They both turned to him and started laughing, speaking to each other in Akkadian, pointing and laughing over and over. They started making out again. Frank, in an absolute animal state, pointed the gun at both of them and fired. Without even looking at him, the woman raised a hand and generated a force field which stopped the bullets. Frank fired till the gun clicked empty. He slumped to his knees, and the gun and rock fell from his hands. Rash walked over and picked up the rock and, speaking a few words of Akkadian to it, threw it over the balcony. In a few moments their spaceship floated next to the balcony. A door on it opened, and stairs extended down over the railing of the balcony just a few inches from the ground.

Rash climbed up the stairs, and the woman followed after him, laughing at something he had just said. Rash turned down a walkway, disappearing from view. The woman turned to Frank just before she entered the ship and pressed a button on the railing of the ship, emitting a strange high-pitched sound. Frank's head exploded, ruining his suit completely.