We spent the next 10 minutes or so discussing what kind of pattern wouldn't look too ridiculous. In the end, Maurizio dug out one of the suits in the storage and made the leathery, heavy outlook of its lapel with the altered damask pattern the final decision. The whole thing was supposed to be full black, but after a bit of back and forth, we agreed on silting some grey. By the time it's settled, our sniffers had been filled and emptied more than twice and the decanter is almost at the bottom.
Maurizio runs his left hand through hair before gesturing towards the mess on the table. Dozens of lapels overlapped on each other, yellow measuring tape interspersed between fabrics like an alcoholic's vein.
"I'll finalize the design as quickly as possible, and I would suggest the waistcoat to have the same patterns to complete the look." I wave my hand idly towards the same mess to agree with him.
"Sounds good enough for me as long as it won't make me look like some chick in a corset or a Japanese cab driver."
“Only a lacking tailor would make his customers look like confined in waistcoat. And only a man in doubt of himself would look like a moron in one. So far none criteria are met..... see, the trick is to relax your shoulders." The tailor said while placing his hands on his abdomen, leaning back on the table with his shoulders undulating subtly according to his breaths.
"Let your chest fits the build naturally, don't try to plump it or stick out, you'll look like an asshole.” Maurizio raises his chin slightly in a way greatly similar to his partner in business of the black-and-white picture but keeps his upper body still without a sense of rigidness.
I take a moment to think about what he said and deem myself too tired to have an opinion, I simply raise the glass to clink his as approval and bravo before taking a swig of the remaining liquor in my glass.
"So what's next on the list, Collars? Pockets?" Maurizo refills my glass one last time as the decanter is officially emptied.
"Yes, but pockets first. Usually, I would recommend jetted pockets to go with the lapel you choose." He lengthened the 's’ to make the sentence a question, I returned him with a very explicit look of 'I don't know what’s that.’
The tailor visibly swallowed his emotions and put on a feeble smile.
"The kind without any exterior fabrics, or flaps, as we call it. Minimizing the attention, maximizing the overall look." I returned him with a broad one.
"So be it then. But do people actually use them?" Maurizio shrugged and answered while cracking his neck.
"Depends. I do. But I know some people see them as mere decorations. The size isn't appealing for any use, but you can still throw your car keys or pocket knives in and expect them to stay there since the lining and the fabric will smother any objects......" Maurizio clamps the neck of his sniffer with a middle and nameless finger. He rhythmically swirls the glass, watching the small turbulence of amber liquor. "...But also accentuate whatever you put in there."
He's starting to remind me of Lev.....
"Either way do as you wish," He raises the sniffer's mouth close to his philtrum, almost covering his nose inside before slowly raising his palm till the glass's bottom is facing the ceiling as he down the rest of booze.
"Now," The tailor placed the glass back at the only corner of the table that's not covered in cloth. "The shirt and collar!" He thumps the wooden table with his knuckles. Two steps back to the corner of this room and he gestures me to the separated cabinet at the far right.
Six white dress shirts folded in a square like the national flag lies on each cabinet. Now paying an ounce more attention to them, I found they’re not completely identical.
The front placket and collars are folded in different shapes and degrees of triangle, or lying flat with a button at the edge.
"Choosing the collar would be a much easier task than others. There's only one criterion. Mr. Lee. Do you sweat much?"
I cast away the unwelcome memories before they materialized and put a puzzled smile on my face while furrowing lightly toward him.
"...Not really, why?" A flash of furtive excitement glints passed his pupils. Maurizio holds one of the shirts by the collar to brings it out of the cabinets. With a shake, the brilliant white shirt without a trace of wrinkle unrolled itself in the air, and the folding line on the abdomen area disappears without a trace.
While I'm wondering why mine always look like they have been through a thrashing machine. A quick, no, a series of metallic objects colliding like quarter coins in the same pocket while walking rings almost silently. As he places it on the table the sound rises again like the nuisance of a great rain hitting the canopy, but muffled by a closed window.
"This is a spread collar, suitable for almost any occasion and style. And since your outfit as a whole is already ..... at the limit, I suggest we take it down a notch in other aspects."
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A hand hanging next to pocket, Maurizio raises a brow at me. I take a gander at the other options under the cabinet deck's lights and find myself agreeing with him. The rest looks either hideously short or like a napkin in half.
"I'm alright with this one, but what does it got to do with the question?" The tailor smiles without a word as his left-hand leaves his pocket with his fingers clutching in his palm, then comes a thrashing sound of springs and metal in contact I’ve heard many times.
Moving my right foot a step back as I change my position to face him sideways. Maurizio kept the smile as he flipped the collar leaf up, revealing a small gap between the fabrics, and slowly, with precession he inserted the tip of the switchblade in the seam, then deeper until half the blade was shelved. He now holds the knife with his thumb, index finger on top, and middle finger for support like a pencil.
When the blade reached the inside of the collar point, he tilted his palm upward to 35 degrees, opening the seam without damaging the fabric. The tailor slowly dug his other index finger into the gaped seam while the knife swiped across the point. A quiet 'tink' sounded before Maurizio dug out the fabric, dragging the fabric inside the collar leaf out until we could get a good view of what was between the sheets.
A glaze of silver or steel shines gleamingly between the small diamond shape wound the tailor torn on it. I lowered my head, blocking the lights from above us to see it was made out of thousands of rings, each connecting the other.
"Isn't chainmail a bit out of fashion for the past 400 years or so?" I can't help but grin at what I'm seeing.
"Aye, and we're bringing it back. Sewed and placed between fabrics, one of the best sellers I recall. The fabrics are made of carburized mild steel, it can stop cuts and slashes from most blade but stabs might be a bit more problematic."
He tilts the angle of the blade slightly higher for better visibility. I do a mental math before my eyes go sideways, each ring is connected to at least four to five other, forming a tightly knit web, rings overlapping each other to the point I can't see the cotton under it. I blow a whistle and take a step back to face Maurizio's smirk.
"Remarkable makeshift, but wouldn't I feel like I'm locked in chastity wearing that?"
"That, I can personally assure you, will not happen Mr. Lee. The components of the system, rings, are significantly smaller than the old ones. This means more are needed to finish a piece, but also the extensibility and mobility are as fine as any other clothes with an up side, you wouldn't need to worry about ironing the wrinkles every time you pull it out the closet..... but don't put it in a dryer though. As far, we haven't got any complaints about it, but I still recommend not to." I throw him couple of nods at the end of the pitch.
Mild steel isn't something to rely on, but they are easy to shape and make. And with that kind of density, a simple slash or stab wouldn't done it. I reached my right hand to feel the cotton of the shirt's sleeve.
It's soft and flimsy, the extra part can only be felt when I rub the fabrics together, creating the quiet rasp.
It sure as hell won't stop lead. But it's always good to have something else besides fabrics.
"That settles it then. But can you make the collar a bit higher?" Maurizio retrieves the knife and throws me a slightly inquiring expression.
"But of course... to what extent would you prefer?" He asks while sticking the tip of switchblade on the edge of table to fold it back.
"Like the gent in green outside." The tailor lets out a bitter, almost sarcastic laugh while folding the shirt back to square.
“That can be done." Placing the shirt back in the cabinets, he turns around with hands rubbing each other. And for the first time, I catch a glimpse of weary in his eyes.
"Ve bene, and for the last subject before the measuring." Maurizio's eyes shifted temporarily to the empty glass on the table before he started rummaging through the drawers and cabinets around.
"As you can see. There are... quite a lot of choices for fabric." He sings and drags the drawers under the jacket displays open. I take a step next to him to have a proper look. "Most commonly seen are cotton, silk, linen. We also got some of the more patrician material, though I would suggest a more low-key approach on this one, else the overall style will be at war with itself."
Maurizio tilts a side of his brow, his hand gesturing at all sorts of black and blue cloth in squares. There's one in Turkish yellow that is rough and thick as a blanket, navy blue with crinkle outlook but feels as light as a feather, and another in stripes that feels like it's made for sweaters. Choices are indeed plenty, but all feel odd. Like putting them on would be trapping me instead of wearing them.
Till the second row of the last cabinet, a piece in black with inconspicuous stripes caught my attention.
It's not the most monotonous one, neither has any groundbreaking show. But there's something about its balmy glint under the light that distinct from piles of others.
I picked up the showpiece and found it extremely light despite the weight of its color. The touch is, by far the best among the bunch too. Smooth, but not to the point like cotton or satin. It kept a bit of texture and tone to avoid the leathery look.
Maurizio, seeing where my attention is drawn, quietly shifts to my left.
"Good eyes. This is one of the best we have in stock. Worsted wool from Austria blended with pure silk, made in the old country. Top-notch resilience, good fire retardant, very durable even if it's not 100 percent wool. The blending of silk makes the fabric lighter than other similar lines, and also much easier for the wearer to breathe in it. In any sense, it stands."
"Ha, sounds like a dream. What's the downside?" I place the piece back between the checked grey and dark green cloth and tilt my brows at the tailor.
Maurizio places his hand behind his back and lean close with his mouth open but words come a bit late after.
"Some might find the touch a bit itchy....." With the sentence clearly unfinished, I shoulder and raise my open palm at him. "....And more than one's willing to spent." I cough out a dry laugh.
A bit fucking late to consider that.
"Anything else?"
"Oh yeah, mind the laundry you choose. It’s a fine choice if you can overlook those. And the self stripes work well with your design too." I take one last look over all the open drawers and tens of pieces on display before answering him with a smile.
"Well, since I'm not too short on five and tens, this should do nicely." A placid smile blooms on Maurizio's face as he gives me a nod.
"Excellent!" He slaps his palm on the open drawers under the cabinets, closing them one by one while he strides back to the mannequin next to change table. He picks up the measuring tape hanging on its neck like a viper and opens the first drawer of the changing table which is full of steel rulers, protractors, and set squares.
"And for the final, Mr.Lee. Please take off your coat again." The placid smile turned to an almost sorry one but the enthusiasm still lingers in his eyes.
Either he's keen on being done with or the fellow really loves his job.
I exhale slowly and shed off my jacket leaving me with an unsettling inkling on my skin and throw it on top of the colorful mess next to me.