"Don't you forget it."
"Ork. It doesn't mean shit," Mark said. "Do I look like Mr. Studley?"
"How _do_ you do it, anyway?"
"Fabric, man. They're helpless for fabric. You got to buy stuff they
want to touch. The ladies have _no_ imagination; if they can't touch
it, it doesn't count." Mark drank and smiled. "I spend a fortune on
shirts and sweaters. 'Oooh,' they say. I hold out my arm for the feel.
'Yeah, nice--silk and cashmere,' I say. 'Alpaca,' or whatever the hell
it is. Next day, I mail it to them. Would look better on you, I tell
them."
"I don't have a fortune," Oliver said.
"Shop around," Mark said. "Linen. You got to start somewhere."
"Yeah," Oliver said.
For the hell of it, he checked out Filene's Basement, but he couldn't
find anything that didn't have the executive leisurewear look. The next
day he was in Freeport and stopped at the Ralph Lauren factory outlet
store. He bought a linen bush jacket that was radically marked down. It
was dyed a dark sandy color and looked as though it would last. The
traditional cut made it seem less trendy. Maybe that was why it had
been marked down.
Oliver was lonely, but he continued to feel as though a weight had been
lifted from him.
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