The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,13

in orange, yellow or salmon pink. He belonged in a 1950s film with Doris Day. I fookin’ adored him.

I bent down so he could kiss me on both cheeks, and then he pressed my hands to his chest.

“You are naughty boy, Vincent! You break my heart to stay away so long!”

I winked and didn’t bother to remind him that I’d dropped by the previous week to arrange our fittings.

“And who is this beautiful brute?” he asked, eyeing Rick up and down.

The look on Rick’s face was priceless.

“This is me mate Rick Roberts, the happy groom,” I said introducing them. “Rick, this is Signor Salvatore Finotello, top tailor in the biz.”

“Bellissimo!” Uncle Sal sighed, pulling Rick down to kiss him. “But why you boys so big? You are like un toro.”

Uncle Sal had known me a lot of years. We’d been based in Milan together when I was doing the catwalk shows. I was straight out of school and skinny as a rake. I had muscle tone because I was into kickboxing at the time, but I’d never really put on any weight. My teeth were crooked as fook, but even so, that’s when I got talent-spotted to be a model. As long as I didn’t smile.

Runway models are tall, skinny aliens—the women and the men. On the catwalk, we were kings, but see us in real life and we looked like we’d been made in Plasticine and stretched, all gangly arms and knobbly knees.

That’s what Uncle Sal was used to and that’s what he liked. He didn’t approve of the muscles I’d gained since I stopped fashion modelling. Now fitness modelling—that was a different world, and one I was still exploring.

“I know, Uncle Sal,” I grinned at him. “Built like a brick shithouse these days, but you’ll fix us up.”

“I don’t know how I work with all this mooscle,” he wailed, pulling out his tape measure. “Clothes off! Adesso!”

Rick looked horrified but I just shrugged. I was used to being down to my keks or less in front of twenty other dudes, girls, too. No glamor behind the scenes at a catwalk show.

My phone started ringing again but I ignored it, stripping off and getting ready to be sized up by a professional.

Rick took it more slowly, side-eyeing me as I let Uncle Sal wedge the end of the tape measure up by my meat and two veg, and measured to the ground (my leg, not the crown jewels, although my wanger is nearly to the ground). Uncle Sal muttered something and his assistant pencilled it into his notebook, then Sal measured the circumference of my thigh.

“No, it’s impossible!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “You are too much meat, Vincent! The pants will not hang well.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine, Uncle Sal,” I grinned at him. “You’re a wizard in the cutting room.”

“Wizard, yes; miracles, no,” he muttered unhappily.

Then he turned his tape measure on Rick. “Dresses to the right,” he commented, and the assistant made a note in his book as a red flush started at Rick’s neck.

“Don’t worry if he tickles your tiny todger,” I said cheerfully. “It’s all part of the service.”

“You are cheeky boy, Vincent,” Uncle Sal said, wagging his finger at me. “Why do I stand for this?”

“Because I’m your favorite,” I winked.

Uncle Sal muttered to himself but I could see that he was smiling.

Rick looked as miserable as a turkey in November while Uncle Sal fluttered around him, measuring and muttering and thoroughly enjoying himself.

Rick completely tuned out when me and Uncle Sal started discussing whether these tuxes should have peak lapels, shawl collars or notch lapels; nixed a slim fit, discussed traditional cut, but went for modern fit in the end.

Rick just nodded when I told him to, about a million miles out of his comfort zone. At the end he handed over his credit card and said he didn’t want to know, unless it was more than my bail charge. It was close. Quality costs.

“Eh, trust me, mate. You don’t want to know. But Uncle Sal will cut you a deal.”

Rick winced and stuffed the receipt in his wallet without looking.

We fixed up a time for our next fitting, then I hugged Uncle Sal and gave him a big smackeroo. Rick tried to shake his hand but ended up getting kissed anyway.

While we took the stairs back to the ground floor, I was vaguely aware that my mobile phone had hardly stopped buzzing with texts and messages. But I was