Unnatural Acts (Stone Barrington 23)

Cookie buzzed Herbie. “Marshall Brennan on line one,” she said.

Herbie pressed the button on the phone. “Hello, Marshall.”

“Good morning, Herbie. I want to take you up on your offer to help me into a new wardrobe.”

“I’d be delighted to help,” Herbie said. “What time?”

“How about right after lunch?”

“All right. Meet me at two o’clock, and we’ll get started.” Herbie gave him an address on Lexington Avenue.

“What is this place? I don’t know any stores in that block.”

“It’s my Chinese tailor. You’ll like his work better than expensive off-the-rack stuff, and it’s no more expensive.”

“All right, I’ll see you there at two. How long will this take?”

“We’ll have a couple of other stops to make, so don’t make any appointments for the rest of the day.”

“Whatever you say.” Marshall hung up.

Herbie had a sandwich at his desk, then took a cab to the tailor’s shop. Marshall simultaneously got out of another cab, and they walked up the stairs together. Herbie introduced him to Sam, the tailor, and they went to a wall of fabric books and a rack of bolts.

“You like lightweight or heavier cloth?” Herbie asked.

“Lightweight. I’m always too hot.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s look at the Loro Piana and Zegna fabrics. I love the Italian stuff.” Herbie picked fabrics for a dozen suits, a tuxedo, cashmere for a blazer, and four tweeds for jackets and gabardines for trousers. Sam measured Marshall, and Herbie dictated the details of the suits and jackets. They were done in an hour.

“That was quick,” Marshall said.

“You’ll need to come back three times for fittings,” Herbie said. “I know it’s time-consuming, but after that, all you have to do is pick a swatch and Sam can go straight to the finished product, assuming you haven’t gained or lost weight.”

“I still weigh what I weighed when I graduated from Harvard,” Marshall said. “It’s arranged a little differently, though. What’s next?”

“Shirts,” Herbie said, hailing a cab.

“I have to have shirts made, too?”

“You don’t want to let off-the-peg shirts make your suits look bad.” They went into Turnbull amp; Asser on East Fifty-seventh Street, and Marshall was measured, then Herbie helped him pick two dozen fabrics, then they went downstairs and Herbie picked out two dozen neckties.

“What about shoes?” Marshall said.

“Let’s see if we can get away with ready-made shoes,” Herbie said. They took a cab to Seventy-ninth

and Madison, the Ralph Lauren store, where Marshall tried on a lot of shoes. “The workmanship is as good as with custom shoes,” Herbie explained, “as long as they fit properly. And you don’t have to wait for them.” Marshall had ten pairs of shoes sent to his home.

“That’s it,” Herbie said, when they were back on the sidewalk. “In a couple of months you’ll have everything in your closet. I want you to promise me that, after everything is delivered, you’ll throw away every single suit, jacket, shirt, tie, and pair of shoes that you own. The Salvation Army will be glad to see them.”

“I promise,” Marshall said.

“I’ll go with you to your final fitting at Sam’s,” Herbie said.

“Thanks, Herb,” Marshall said. “Oh, I almost forgot: a friend of mine is looking for new legal representation.” He handed Herbie a business card. “His name is Kent Holbrooke. He’s an entrepreneur, into lots of things. Call him.”

“First thing in the morning, Marshall.” Herbie shook his hand and got a cab home, pleased with his day.

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