Afterwards — Matt Tuckey

Vincent stands in the isle, holds the cuff of the suit between a finger and thumb, and rubs gently. Opens the jacket.

Why is it so low-priced?

Well-cut. Superb material- black, with a refined sheen to it, the inside lined in red silk. Aside the modest price tag and the finish, the thing that “sells” it to Vincent is the tiny gold “V” symbol pinned to the lapel. All Ventuno suits carry this, but he knows that people will read into it a different way- beyond his namesake. He’s told people way too much information about himself in the past, and he’s started to regret it. He’s tried to brush over it, change the subject, hide his weaknesses. But he can’t resist this suit, and this one subtle clue to anyone who sees him when he wears it.

It’s probably only a brass brooch anyway, but who would notice that other than himself?

*

Afterwards, in the dark, his suit lies crumpled in the narrow gap between her bed and the far wall. Vincent lies holding her from behind and thinks about how natural it all feels. He didn’t have to try hard. He tries not to think about how long it has taken him.

He pulls her close to him; she hugs back lightly, passive. He kisses her shoulder. Her skin is slightly dry, hinting that her beauty masks her true age. Still, he thinks, she can’t be that much older than me.

“Tracey,” he whispers. He just wants to hear himself say her name, like couples do. He wants to pretend that they are closer, that this would last. Just for the moment.

“Hmm?” She responds flirt-less, sounding curt.

He knows she wants him to continue, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re beautiful.” That’s all he has in his head.

She sighs, and he has no idea whether this is out of happiness or boredom.

“I know,” she says, and her tone drops, down-ended, like she’s reassuring a child.

Given what they’ve done together- the ultimate affirmation of manhood and womanhood- there is no way he’ll tolerate that momentary jar.

He smirks. “You muppet,” he says.

And it’s a huge leap of faith to make fun of her like this- to keep her off his mental pedestal. He knows he must act this way, or he risks losing her.

She turns over to face him, using her toes to lightly lock their legs together, a look of mock vindication on her face.

Again, her beauty stuns him.

“You’re no fucking virgin now,” she says, and they kiss.

*

Later, he awakes for no reason. Her back is to him and he’s holding her, still. He lifts his head off the pillow to see her, and she stirs.

“You okay babe?” She leans back, twisting her slender torso so she can see him.

“Yeah,” he says, and kisses her cheek.

She’s half asleep. There’s no way she could be trying to excite him now. But he’s still amazed by how great she looks, her blonde highlights illuminated by the night sky and street lights ebbing through the thin curtains. He feels her clutch his arm, turning back over, and he cuddles into her, and the warmth of her body lulls him back to sleep.

*

The next day, she drives him into the city in her Land Rover Freelander.

She must hardly be able to see over the steering wheel, he thinks.

As he looks down on the other cars and the pedestrians from the passenger seat, he thinks that her oversized silver car matches her ego, dazzling the drivers. She’s certainly dazzled him. He wonders what she’s thinking- this time yesterday she didn’t know he hadn’t done it before.

“This song is so fitting,” she says, thumbing up the stereo volume on the steering wheel. It’s a premixed house CD. The music reminds him of the club they met in.

The singer describes a big change in her life.

*

He arrives home later, still tentatively touching his groin and feeling different in ways he can’t fathom. When he hangs up his suit, he realises the gold ‘V’ has fallen off somewhere. He has to sit down.