I opened the door to my apartment and let my present company walk in first. Ladies first and all that, of course. This, and I still couldn't be sure that she won't bolt away if I leave her alone for a moment.

I found a light switch and pressed it, illuminating the hallway. Now, in bright light and from a close range, I could evaluate my date for the night once again. Nothing really changed. Still the same very hot body. Still the same atrocity on her face.

"You know. I will pay you two hundred extra, if you wash off this war paint right now." I finally had enough of this shit. No matter how disappointing her face would look without makeup, it couldn't be possibly much worse. "And another hundred if you do your hair into a ponytail. No reason, just a personal preference."

She looked at me with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. I swear, I could hear the creaking of gears turning inside her head. She tried to say something, decided not to, seemingly giving up on trying to make sense of my bullshit.

"Where is the bathroom?" I heard the pain of the whole world in her question.

I showed her the right door and went to the kitchen. As a matter of fact, even with such a detour, green beans were still fine. Almost. I hope so.

Taking my phone out, I checked the taxi availability and estimated times. It was inside an hour or so schedule I gave Bella, so I could relax a bit. After some thinking, I took out both cans of soda out of the fridge. One for me, one as an offering to the God of Paint. Or whatever those tribal markings were devoted to.

I heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, as well as quiet curses about some 'unreasonable bastard'. Whoever that might be, I wonder.

I knocked on the bathroom door and asked:

"Hey. Do you want something to drink? It's either green tea or Cola, though."

"Soda will do," was the answer.

"I will put it on the kitchen table." I said, doing exactly that.

Afterward, I went to my room for another raid on the closet. There should be some pretty nice threads inside, the providers of my soft rice made sure of that. What I really had doubt about was my ability to do a good job matching it all up. What were current trends, even? Fuck, it was twenty-five years since, I had no idea what current fashion was supposed to be.

I took off my current attire, leaving only a pair of boxers on, and dived inside the treasure cove. The easy part was pants, A semiformal dark-colored pair, which I immediately put on. A black leather belt was next. Classic foundation, that will work with pretty much whatever else I half-ass.

With zero desire to play the color games, I fished out a black dress shirt next. Or should I go with a polo instead? Maybe a muscle shirt? That's why I hate choosing clothes by myself.

I heard the bathroom door making a clicking sound, and decided that asking the opinion of an involved party will do me good. Anyway, it's her who needs to like how I look. So, with all three options in hand, my half-naked self went to see the lady I planned to spend the night with.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I blinked. Then blinked again. My word. She was pretty. Beautiful even. Not quite stunning. Yet. In a few years, she would be absolutely gorgeous. Fucking hell, I missed out on this because I was too hasty in my first life? What a waste. And, damn, she looked much younger without that strange makeup.

"Are you even legal?" I blurted out the first thing that came to my head.

"Yes," she nodded back.

"Do you have an ID to show at the club entrance?" I still had some doubts.

"Yes, I have my school ID with me," she caught herself. "I mean, I am eighteen, so everything is fine. It worked at our usual place at least."

I sighed in relief. The phrase 'Age is just a number' doesn't work all that well in the courtroom. As for moral questions of should someone of my age be in contact with someone of her age… I will leave them out of my concern, at least until someone will tell me what age I truly was.

Am I the forty-three years old has-been, back in the body of an eighteen-year-old youngster? Or am I the said youngster with an extra set of future memories? Someone else altogether, created last Tuesdays, so an unknown being would have fun peeping into my life? Is it all even real? What is reality? Can I check it somehow? Is it even possible? Does it even matter? Yeah. That's what I call a rabbit hole.

Shaking off the futile thoughts, the individual, currently identifying as myself, finally remembered the reason he went to the hallway.

"I need your opinion." I changed the topic, showing her three hangers with shirts. "Which style should I go with?"

She looked at the hangers. Then at me. And again, this time for a while longer. Feeling her appraising gaze scanning my form, I decided to flex a bit. While not yet at my peak form, my current body still was pretty impressive. I spent a lot of money and effort to make it what it was today. Winning a genetic lottery helped a lot as well. Especially with how bad my food discipline was… I fought back the desire to palm my face.

"Like what you see?" I wasn't shy of asking for compliments where I can.

"Yep," with extra pop of 'p'. "A lot, in fact."

"I need to be at least this good to match my date tonight." I winked at her. A blatant flattery, yes, but not without a grain of truth. Her pleased smile told me that it was well received. "But let's go back to the matter of the shirt."

"Let's go with a dress shirt. Why blacks, though?" She voiced her opinion after some deliberation.

"Most of my clothes come in blacks or reds. Such is the taste of women who had chosen them for me," I told her the simple truth.

"And what about your opinion?" the girl asked, raising an eyebrow

"No opinion. I don't mind it for the most part, as long as it pleases my company," I shrugged off her question.

"Does it mean that if I liked, for example, the tackiest neon pink disco shirt, you would wear it?" said my current company, barely holding back laughter.

"Assuming that I had something like that, and you truly had such a strange taste. Yes, I would." Another shrug.

She fell silent, clearly trying to imagine me in the tackiest neon pink disco shirt, or whatever other monstrosity she went for in her imagination. Soon after, she finally couldn't hold it in anymore and started laughing out loud. I liked the sound of it a lot. It made me want to laugh along, to share the moment of merriment with this weird young woman. A wave of coldness went through my mind. And I certainly liked it a lot more than her pained sobs, mixed with curses hurled towards the certain fucking animal that did it all.

A full three minutes later, she finally got tired of laughing. Her face was red, with tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks. The girl was sitting right on the floor, without a care in the world about showing me her dark green panties this whole time. It wasn't the sexiest pair of underwear I've seen in my life, but they certainly fit the one who was wearing them. She caught my eyes, smirked teasingly and asked:

"Like what you see?"

"Yep. And I like it a lot." Easy answer for an easy question.

I offered her my hand, to help her stand up. She took it with no hesitation. She wasn't light as a feather, but she didn't look all that fragile either. Refusing thinking about a woman's weight for no important reason, I threw away that line of thought.

"So. Back to shirts," the third attempt to switch the topic to the damned clothes.

"Okay. Show me what else you got in your closet." She smiled brightly, still holding my hand.

Ten minutes later, she finally found something, by her own words, interesting enough. It was a burgundy colored silk shirt with black flower ornament woven through it. Well, as I said, as long as she liked it.

The last detail was a casual watch. Black watch band to go with a belt and shoes, simple silver timepiece that won't catch unwanted attention.

Well, what was left is to call a taxi and put on a matching pair of shoes. As much as my soul asked me to put my old sneakers on, something told me that it won't do me any good. A pair of Oxfords, black to match the belt and watch band, will do for a casual outing. At least they were properly fitted to my feet. Small graces.

I wonder if Pierre opened his atelier already? I would love to give him a big order. My feet already miss shoes made by him. They were so much more comfortable.

The next few minutes were spent playing with my phone, looking at our taxi moving on the map. My date was doing last moment light makeup. My fair reasoning of 'You are beautiful enough as it is.' was met with an ironclad 'Doesn't mean I don't want to be even more so.' Couldn't really argue with that. Especially after seeing the result.

I heard my phone ringing, notifying us that our car is ready. I looked at my escort and offered her my hand. Like a proper gentleman. She giggled a bit and took it.

The night was young. And I looked forward to what will happen next. Even if it was just self-deception. An illusion that I bought in. For once, I had fun. Of a genuine kind. And I wanted more.