He woke up early. Then he stuffed his wallet with his money and went out. He skipped breakfast and took a subway down to Times Square again. He got out of the subway and kept heading downtown on Broadway. If he remembered right, there were a string of fancy men’s shops from 38th Street down to Herald Square. He was right. He walked past two shops, checking the windows and getting an idea of what the styles were. Then he walked into the third he came to.
It was called Brinsley’s and it was expensive. The salesman who greeted him took a good look at Johnny, starting with the dark hair cut in a d.a. and moving past the jacket to the jeans and cheap shoes. His disapproval was evident.
Johnny didn’t get mad. He’d expected this. You looked like a slob and you got treated like a slob. The only way to play it was truthful — or as close to the truth as possible.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry about my clothes. I’m not as cheap as I look.”
The salesman’s jaw fell.
“I came into some money recently.” Johnny said, trying to say it the way Clark Gable might have said it in a movie. “I’d like to invest in a decent wardrobe. Top to bottom. I need shoes and shirts and a suit and slacks and a jacket. I even need belts and ties and underwear. Think you can help me?”
It was the right approach. The salesman was overjoyed. He spent eight hours a day five days a week selling clothes to men who could afford them and who always bought the wrong thing. Now a good-looking young man — one who could really wear clothes — was telling the salesman to pick out a wardrobe for him. The man could not have been happier.
“Let’s see,” the man said. “Where should we start?”
“Any place. Everything I’ve got is going to go in the ashcan. So you can sell me the store if you want.”
“Mind a personal question?”
“Go on.”
“How much can you afford to spend?”
Johnny calculated rapidly. “Two-fifty is tops,” he said. “Two hundred would be better, but I’ll go two-fifty.”
And they took it from there. The salesman determined Johnny’s suit size and showed him half-a-dozen suits, any of which would have been fine for him.
“All values,” he said. “You could spend the whole two-fifty on a suit if you wanted to. No point in it. These run from ninety to a hundred and they’d be hard to beat at any price. They’ll look well and they’ll hold up.”
“And the style?”
“It’s right,” the salesman said. “On any of them. You want to look a few years older without making it obvious, don’t you?”
Johnny hesitated, then nodded.
“Then take the dark gray sharkskin. You should dress conservatively. It makes sense for you anyway. You’re good-looking. You don’t need to have flash in your clothes. The quieter you dress, the more you stand out.”
Johnny nodded. It made sense to him, and he was glad he’d levelled with the man.
“Two pairs of slacks,” the man said. “Light and dark gray flannel. They’ll go with the suit jacket or with the sport coat. And the best coat would be a blue blazer, I think. It’s always appropriate, and if you stick with one jacket you can afford a good one. One fine jacket is better than two cheaper ones.”
That’s what Johnny had figured.
“And a black alligator belt,” the salesman said. “Fifteen dollars and worth it. It sets a tone.”
They went on and on. Underwear, two pairs of shoes, a dozen shirts.
“How about ties?”
The salesman took a breath. “Don’t say I said so,” he said, “but you’re out of your mind if you buy ties here.”
Johnny’s eyebrows went up.
“Ours start at two-fifty,” the man said. “Go to a tie store. Pick out nice quiet regimental stripes and don’t pay more than a dollar a tie at the most. There’s not a man alive who can tell the difference between a dollar tie and a ten-dollar tie.”
“Really?”
Really. And they all go in the wastebasket the minute you soil them, so the cheaper they are, the better they are. In anything else quality matters. You get what you pay for. Not ties.”
They went on. The man told him that the alterations would be taken care of right away that he could pick up the clothes tomorrow. That was fine.
The salesman took out pencil and paper and carefully added a long column of figures. “That comes to $219.88 with the tax,” he said. “You want to leave a deposit and pay the rest tomorrow when you pick the clothes up?”
“I’ll pay it now.”
“Cash or check?”
“Cash.” He paid the bill and got a receipt from the salesman. Then he turned to go.
“Mr. Wells?”
Johnny turned.
“Mind a word of advice?”
“Go ahead.”
“Get your hair cut.”
Johnny grinned hugely linking the man very much. “I intend to,” he said.
A barber used a lawnmower on his hair. When he was finished Johnny barely recognized himself. The long black hair was still black but it was no longer long. Instead he had an Ivy League cut that could have stepped right off Madison Avenue.
“You wanted it that way,” the barber said.
“It’s fine,” Johnny told him. He tipped the barber a quarter and left.
He treated himself to a steak dinner that night, staying downtown and catching a double feature at a Times Square movie house. He didn’t really want to see a movie, much less two movies, but he wanted less to hang around the neighborhood much with his hair short. People would talk. It wouldn’t be good at all.
After the movie he had a glass of milk and a toasted English muffin at Bickford’s. Then he grabbed a cab and went home. It was time to go to bed and he was tired.
On the way upstairs he wondered whether the landlord had gotten around to locking him out yet. He hoped not. Tomorrow he’d pick up his clothes and see about a room at a good hotel. He might as well spend the last night in the old dump, if only for old times sake.
The door was happily unlocked and he went inside, shoving his wallet between the mattress and the springs again. There was no real reason to bolt the door with the two-by-four and he didn’t bother. He stretched out on the bed and let his mind make plans.
Big plans.
The salesman had been a tremendous help. He’d have gone nuts trying to pick out a wardrobe all on his own. He’d have bought all the wrong things, and he’d have wound up with junk or else have paid too much money for his clothes. This way he had all the basic essentials and they’d fit into his budget. When he got his hands on more extra cash he could always round out his wardrobe at Brinsley’s. A few more jackets and some extra shirts and slacks wouldn’t hurt. And another pair of good shoes might come in handy. But for now he was set.
Next came the hotel. He wasn’t sure where he’d stay, but he could always worry about that in the morning. Now it was time to get some sleep. He could use it. Unless he was far off the track, the next week or so was going to be a busy one.
He got undressed, piling his clothes in a tangled heap in the corner. He’d wear them downtown tomorrow, then get rid of them for good. He got under the sheet and closed his eyes.
He was almost asleep when the door opened. His eyes fell open at once and he whirled around, ready to put up a fight to save his money.
“My God in heaven,” a voice said. “You got your hair cut! You look a hundred per cent different!”
He stared. It was Linda, the fourteen-year-old. And she was wearing the same towel he’d seen her in that morning.
And nothing else.
Chapter Four
She was much prettier than he’d ever realized before. Her hair was softly blonde and she wore it in a pony tail that trailed halfway down her back. Her eyes were a very bright blue, her skin a very healthy pink. The towel was yellow, just a shade brighter than her hair. She was barefoot. He noticed that her feet were very small and daintily formed.