Sinful Too (3 page)

He lagged behind when a line of velvet jackets caught his eye. “Hold on, Dior. When are these going on sale? I digs this pinstripe.”

“Sale? Never,” she hissed impatiently.

“Never-ever?”

“And, ever-never. How many times I got to tell you: Giorgio doesn’t do sales. He’s convinced that it sets a bad example. We’d have too many people rolling up and through here waiting on markdowns. In case you haven’t noticed, this is a top-dollar boutique. Those who can afford it, purchase. Those who can’t hate on those who can.” She held up five fingers as a challenge to his well-known miserly ways. Surprisingly, Dooney reached into his pocket and came out with Dior’s rent money after cursing under his breath. He reeled off three bills then waved the money in her face.

“This ought to do it. Let me try on a forty-six long.”

“Don’t trip. I do this for a living. Your chest is barely a forty-four.” Dior snatched three hundred dollars from his hand before he had a chance to change his mind. She pocketed it and then started off in the opposite direction. “I should have charged you full price. Stay here and I’ll pull your size from the front display.”

“I’m coming with you. Let me get my bags. Hey, Dior, I want a receipt!”

Dior understood the art of selling. She sold her brother, like she had so many other customers. She would interest them in pricey attire then immediately pound their unsuspecting egos by using phrases such as, “It’s nice but
expensive
. And, it costs to look that good.” At times, Dior charmed men into believing a lofty price tag was a direct correlation to gaining her approval, whether they thought private time with her was included with their purchase or not.

Three

He Wants Some

A
t five thirty that evening, Tangerine called Dior’s cell phone to see what plans, if any, she had for barhopping later that night. “Hey, Tangie,” Dior said hurriedly. “Can I get back at you in a minute? I’m on the grind.”

“Do your thing. I’ll come by when I sign off the air.”

“Cool, I’ve got something to tell you. See you then.”

Dior attended to several customers at once while Suza chatted with two men in their mid-twenties, both seemingly more interested in bagging her than the items they pretended to shop for. Seeing as how she’d made a bank deposit during her break, Suza was quite comfortable flirting casually while Dior racked up one sale after the next. Dior’s business savvy extended far beyond merely suggesting apparel and accessories; she could give a customer the five-second once-over then correctly guess his pants, shirt, jacket, and shoe sizes. She became the top salesperson after having been at the store three months. She also took every opportunity to learn from the tenured professionals who made a substantial living by providing quality customer service. Practically overnight, she’d acquired meaningful tools of the trade. Using her sensuality to close the deal came naturally.

“Hello, I’m Dior,” she said, extending her polished nails to a large older gentleman who appeared to be lost among the athletic cut Magic Johnson line of business suits. “How are you today?” she added with a perfect smile, although he was too busy to shake her hand. Dior was careful not to push, which was one of the first lessons she had learned. If a customer had the inclination to shop there, he should always be treated like a guest rather than a potential commission. She knew that money often followed a honey-sweet disposition.

“I don’t think either of these suits will fit me,” the clean shaven man with smoke-brown skin grunted disappointedly. He continued to sort through them again even though he’d previously examined them thoroughly. His wide behind waddled side to side as he tugged feverishly on lapels to continue his hunt. “It’s a shame too,” he said softly. “I like this vented look. It takes me back thirty-five years. I’d just come home from Vietnam and . . .” he started to say before realizing the pretty saleslady was too young to appreciate his postwar rants. “Ah, forget it. Macy’s is likely to have something that’ll agree with me, but I was hoping for a snazzier cut.”

“So you’re going to give up that easy?” she asked, with a slight head tilt. “How can an ex-Nam vet like yourself quit at the first sign of frustration? You had to deal with a lot when you returned home, but you didn’t quit. I’m sure you must’ve felt unappreciated and undervalued too.” The customer stared down his nose at Dior, undoubtedly trying to understand what was happening and how the young lady seemed to know what she was talking about. “Yes, vented-styled suit coats were very popular in the seventies.”

“Where’d you learn that?” he queried, like a proud granddad seeing a small child color within the lines for the first time. “You couldn’t have been a gleam in your father’s eye back then.”

“No, sir, my granddaddy went over there. He didn’t make it back though,” she informed him. “He’d be about your age now if he had.” Dior’s story was true and she’d used it to perfection with men in their sixties. When the aging man’s cheeks began to round out, she fired up her mental calculator.

“Y’all got anything in this hoity-toity shop big enough for an old army mule like me?” he asked, showing each and every one of his teeth.

“Your name is?” she said, behind an air of confidence the customer liked.

“Dabnis, Dabnis Keith.” Finally he offered his hand to Dior after completing their formal introduction.

“Dabnis, that’s an unusual name,” she remarked, while walking a small circle around him. “It’s Sinbad spelled backward.”

“Yes, yes it is,” he marveled. “That’s the first time in my entire life anyone outside of my family made mention of that. People don’t want to take the time to notice things, these days.” He continued to stand in the middle of the floor while Dior made mental notes and assessments here and there.

“It’s my job to notice things that matter and ease frustrations when I can. Mr. Dabnis Keith, I’ve noticed that you don’t mind spending money for quality and that’s good because I’m about to show you something that will make your day. If you don’t mind, follow me.” Dior led the customer to a cushy love seat then asked him to take a load off. She intended on facilitating his happiness while making it look easy. “Your waist is a forty-eight and your chest is fifty-two. Most suits have a two-inch variance between the pants and jacket. That’s when it pays to know a few tricks of the trade.” She used a metal rod, bent at the end, to wrangle coat hangers from a tall display. Mr. Keith watched anxiously.

“Wow, you can tell all that about me just from looking? You don’t need a tape measure or nothing?” Dior decided to let the outfit she’d selected speak for her.

“Slip this on for me,” she said, holding out a fetching blazer. Mr. Keith shrugged it on and buttoned it closed. Dior looked on as he gazed at himself in the full mirror, admiring the cut and fabric. He appeared even more impressed with the fit. “That’s a very distinguished look, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, I look at least twenty years younger too.”

“That’s the idea,” Dior asserted. “While it doesn’t have the vented style you came in for, not everything is like it used to be thirty-five years ago.” He watched her eyes drift toward his broad waist.

Chuckling softly, he nodded his agreement. “True, true. Maybe vents have passed me by. Where can I try on the pants?”

“The fitting room awaits. These slacks are fifties but on the inside are retractable bands to adjust the size. Now go on in there, get duded up, and then step out and let me see when you’re done,” she demanded playfully. Five minutes later, Mr. Keith strode out of the fitting room with his chest stuck out. Dior noted how he cradled his wallet in the palm of his hand as she circled him like before. “Wow, I like it,” she offered profoundly. “It’s perfect, Mr. Keith.”

“You definitely know your business. Can’t I get another one, in black?”

“Well, you do know, it does cost to look that good. But I’m sure you can afford to.”

“Young lady, I have more money than I have suits that fit like this. I’ll take one of each color. Can you arrange for alterations? I like a one-inch cuff with a slight break over my shoes.”

“Yes, sir. I can put our tailor on it this weekend. Is Tuesday morning okay with you?” When he smiled agreeably, she followed suit. “Good. All five suits will be ready for pickup. And, because you were such a joy to do business with, your alterations are on me.” Numbers were doing cartwheels in her head now. Dior managed to outfit a customer who had difficult dimensions to satisfy, and eased him into springing for five suits, two hats, and a boxful of neckties. Mr. Dabnis Keith strolled out of Giorgio’s with his head held high and a receipt for twenty-eight hundred dollars in his pocket. Dior’s commission, at twenty-five percent, totaled seven hundred dollars. In the time it took to make her last customer feel a little better about himself, she’d amassed next month’s rent. Dior wished there were more men like Mr. Keith, those with more money than fine clothing and a healthy inclination to do something about it.

Suza was still fiddling with a piece of paper at the register when Dior returned from the ladies’ room at the rear of the store. “Hey, what’s that? You’ve been massaging it since those dudes left.”

“I got a guy’s phone number,” she replied in a deflated tone.

“It looked like y’all kicked it off pretty good to me. All I saw was smiling and laughing the whole time.”

“I was about to give my digits to the really cute one but then his friend took it and handed me this,” she explained. “I’m wondering if I should throw it out or call him and ask for the other guy’s number.”

Dior frowned. “No . . . if his homeboy was feeling you too, he’ll make it known. That is, if he’s a real man. Let it ride, Suza, let it ride.” Suza continued playing with the slip of paper. Dior couldn’t stand the sight of a woman beating herself up over a man who wasn’t hers so she decided to restock the suits she’d previously pulled down for Mr. Keith.

“Dior, please keep an eye on the front,” said Suza, as she marched toward the manager’s office. “I’m going to call and fix this right now.”

“But it ain’t broke yet.” Dior counted her associate’s actions as a mistake from the word go. She considered racing into the office and wrestling the phone from Suza’s clammy mitts. Had it not been for a handsome customer sorting through the neckwear, she might have followed through on it. “Hello, I’m Dior,” she announced to the stranger. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing fine, thanks for asking,” he replied with a raised brow. “I’m Richard.” He gazed at Dior in an odd sort of way while shaking her soft hand. “It’s not often you get such courteous service these days. It’s refreshing.”

“Well, thank you, Richard,” Dior replied. She began sizing him up within seconds, like she’d been taught, then she suddenly suppressed the smile trying to climb through her lips. Richard’s choice of words intrigued her so she studied him closer than she typically would have. He was a nut-colored man, seemed to be in his early forties, and no taller than six feet but pretty close to it. He appeared to be the professional type, with a tapered haircut, clean shaven face, and nice teeth. Richard’s modest brown leather loafers, khakis, and purple short-sleeve golf shirt didn’t say much about him though, other than he wasn’t one to flash when away from the office. His pleasant demeanor was his best asset as far as she could tell. Then she let her assessment teeter in midair. “What can I assist you with, Richard?” she offered finally.

“I haven’t shopped here before and my wife normally puts something together for me when special occasions arise. She was tied up, so here I am.”

Your wife dresses you?
she thought, while laughing to herself.
He has no clue how weak that makes him look.
“Uh, are we expecting your wife to show up and pick out an after-Easter suit?”
Oops, did I say that aloud?
The perturbed expression on Richard’s face confirmed that she had.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry, I was thinking aloud when I shouldn’t have,” she said, hoping to calm the waters. “Let me rephrase that. Did Mrs. Richard suggest something in a specific color? Is there a particular designer label she likes to
dress you in
— I mean, see on you?”

Richard peered at the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “There must be a misunderstanding. When I came in, there was this rather enjoyable saleslady. She greeted me. She smiled and even introduced herself. Where is she, the one who wouldn’t think of insulting a customer?”

He’s funny. I like that
, Dior thought.
And, he can take a joke. Not bad.
She tossed him a hard smirk while locking eyes with his. When he didn’t look away, she broke stride. “Hold on, I’ll see if I can find her.” In a feigned huff, she spun on her heels and took three hard steps toward the rear of the store before sauntering back with an overripe grin. “Mr. Richard, how nice it is to see you again. What can we, at Giorgio’s Men’s Boutique, do for you today?” The fake smile she brandished hit Richard in a bad spot, his head.

“Now that’s the person I wouldn’t mind doing business with.” He fought off a chuckle when the time came for him to retrace his steps as well. “I have a dilemma. Next month, we’re having a pastor’s day celebration at the church and I’m typically too busy to shop for myself. However,” he added, with a stern glare that insinuated Dior should probably watch herself, “I’m hoping to see a piece or two that catches my eye.”

“That was a lot better,” she whispered, loud enough to be heard clearly.

Richard found himself admiring the young woman’s spunk although he could have done without her inferences to his being spoiled by a doting wife.

Dior wasn’t certain how long Richard would continue to play her game so she straightened up, in the event he did have a permission slip from wifey to make his own purchases. “I see you’re drawn to the tie rack. If you own a suit that you’d like to accessorize . . . also, for the special occasion, we have a broad selection of woven shirts, and a wide assortment of French cuffs and cuff links. Tell me what you have in mind and then we can get started.” Dior had made the same spiel so many times, it came off effortlessly.