His eyes darted back over his shoulder. Joanna was genuinely afraid, Jeffrey realized, that someone else would come in to yell at him for the temporarily borrowed Chanel. Jeffrey sighed, smiled, and took a seat on the next stool over. It creaked as he turned toward Joanna.
“I came to thank you. Not chew you out.”
“…But how did you know where I was, really?”
“I told you. It was a complete coincidence. Really.”
He tipped Joanna a wink, and this time, Joanna visibly relaxed. A shadow crossed his face—some trauma? Some complex trouble?—but Jeffrey chose not to pursue it.
Joanna pushed back his long hair and, to himself, said, “Now you’ve done it.” To Jeffrey, he added, “I just wanted to be the mysterious celeb who shows up in style and vanishes into the night.”
“The most attractive roles are the hardest ones to play.”
Joanna turned back to face the matter. “Yes, I know. Laugh all you want.”
Jeffrey crossed his legs. As he brought one knee closer to his chest, one of his glutes twinged. “Ow!”
“What are you doing over there?”
“Just trying to copy you. You know, you amazed me. I had no idea people’s legs could move that beautifully. No one’s ever impressed me with a strip dance before.”
Without a word, Joanna turned his stool away from the mirror to face Jeffrey, crossed his legs, and lifted the left one to his chest to form an acute angle, as sharp as one from any compass. Jeffrey applauded, and Joanna smirked.
Jeffrey made the most of that momentary lowering of Joanna’s guard. “So I’ve been thinking, could I ask a favor of you?”
“…Depends on what it is.”
“Could I take your picture?”
Joanna was taken aback all over again. Jeffrey pretended not to notice and prattled on with a smile, “I won’t get your face in frame. I just need your hands and the chocolate box.”
“Why those?”
“So I can look back and always remember the moment I brought you chocolates.”
He couldn’t very well admit he needed to bring back photographic evidence of slipping Joanna some tainted candy for a client.
Joanna hesitated for a heartbeat before smiling. It was a bit pained, but he still gamely made a peace sign and laid a hand atop the chocolate box. Jeffrey whipped out his phone and took three photos from different angles—including one that didn’t contain the box at all.
“Whew,” he said once he was finished. “I was nervous you’d say no. Thank you.”
“What’s there to be nervous about, silly boy? It’s just some photos of my fingers.”
The hand possessing said fingers extended in Jeffrey’s direction. It was a slender hand, if knobby. Strong.
“The name’s Joachim Bergman. Nice to meet you, Oliver.”
For several seconds, Jeffrey couldn’t place the second name. Oliver was his first-ever junior partner who had long since moved on to bigger and brighter things. Since he hadn’t heard from the man since and no one in his social circles had any contact with him, it made for a safe pseudonym.
But was that enough? All of a sudden, the thought of this person knowing him as Oliver made Jeffrey feel hollow. “…Can I tell you a secret? My name’s not Oliver.”
“Oh? It’s not?”
“I was wearing one of my coworker’s jackets. Those were his business cards.”
“Oh my.” Joachim’s next question arrived with all the inevitability of an assembly line. “Then what’s your real name?”
Jeffrey hesitated for a few seconds in that almost empty room. At length, he admitted, “It’s Jeffrey.”
He watched his reflection in the dark mirror of Joachim’s eyes.
“I’ve never seen anyone look so sad to tell me their own name,” said Joachim.
“Maybe it’s another fake name. Ever think about that?”
“If that’s fake, then you deserve an Oscar. No, it must be real.”
“…Well, it’s just one of those things. It’s painful to be yourself, as they sometimes say.”
The moment those words passed Jeffrey’s lips, Joachim clenched his teeth hard. His sharp features tightened, a sight all too impossible to hide when the merciless light bulbs exposed every detail of his face.
However, Jeffrey beamed and pretended not to have noticed a thing. It was a sorry excuse for acting, but once again, Joachim played along and affected a bright smile of his own.
“I dance here on Wednesday and Saturday nights,” he said. “Saturday’s routine is different. You should come check it out sometime.”
“Ooh, Saturday… Let me see…”
Jeffrey mentally reviewed his schedule and found, much to his regret, that he just couldn’t make it work. Joachim smiled again.
“What?” Jeffrey said. “My face doesn’t look that funny.”
“I took you for the sort who’d make promises to come and never show up.”
“Seems kind of careless to give your schedule to a man like that,” Jeffrey pointed out.
“…You’re not wrong.” Joachim sounded thoughtful, like he was talking to himself. “Look at me, acting like a fool.”
Mentally, Jeffrey shook his head and chuckled at Joachim’s sincerity. He might have acted like he didn’t care what Jeffrey thought of him, but for all that, he still held onto the roses. He hadn’t let them go once.
“I’m booked solid for the next two weeks,” Jeffrey said. “Will you still be dancing here the week after? Let me know if you’ll be at a different club, and I’ll meet you there.”
Joachim turned to face the mirror. “I’ll be here.”
He readjusted his legs, made a show of noticing the box of chocolates, and turned again. The entire display was visible to Jeffrey in the mirror, but once again, he pretended not to have noticed.
“I’ll share these with the girls,” Joachim said, meaning the chocolate. “Thanks, hon. Oh, and if you do come back, wear something a little more appropriate.”
“For a club?”
“No, no, no. When you’re picking clothes, the first thing to consider is the fit. Then, you match the material to the design. Last comes quality, quality, quality. Don’t you dare buy a piece just because it’s expensive. Look at how you’re drowning in your suit—have you lost weight? And what is that abomination of a tie? That shade of brown does not bring out the best in you, hon. It makes you look like you’re fifty! Why don’t you go for a cute patterned tie in red or purple? You would work it.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Jeffrey nodded hello to the manager, who was coming in to shoo the two of them out, and left the club as if nothing major had happened at all. Later, he forwarded the photograph of Joachim’s nails sans chocolate to his client. He never received a response.
Once a week was out of the question, but from then on, Jeffrey patronized the club on a regular basis. He couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed planning his outfit for every visit. Not just to pass muster under Joachim’s critical eye—he also had to disguise himself from the paparazzi.
Which inevitably resulted in Joachim giving him an earful.
“That’s a nine out of twenty for me. Throw it out and start over.”
“Twelve. Better than last time, at least.”
“I’ll give that a sixty-five. Out of one hundred.”
“Oh, today’s outfit’s fun. I feel like I’m seeing the real you.”
Joachim greeted Jeffrey’s heavy tartan sweater, charcoal grey jacket, and carbon black pants with a smile and a thumbs-up. None of these traditionally British pieces were business wear. None of them were even in vogue. Jeffrey had scrounged them from his wardrobe at random. Still, the compliment made him smile awkwardly at Joachim, whose own ensemble today featured a rhinestone-studded tiara.
“You have a moment after this, hon?” Joachim asked.
“I sure do. Want to grab some dinner?”
Jeffrey’s response was casual. He had tried to buy Joachim dinner three times now only to be rebuffed at each opportunity. By now, Jeffrey had long since accepted the unspoken understanding: Joachim wasn’t interested in that kind of relationship.