Dinner With Mr. Cole: Part I

I

At twenty-seven years old Dormitan Cole had only ever owned one suit. It was a dark green, double breasted number that looked like it had been plucked off of the costumes rack of a 1970’s blaxploitation flick. It was the same one he had worn for his high school leaver’s party as well as for every other formal occasion he had been forced to attend ever since. It didn’t matter that the trousers were now two sizes too small and that the collar of the jacket was now faded and frayed from age, Dormitan Cole didn’t believe in suits, he believed that they were for monkeys and for the uninspired and so seeing himself as more than a mere primate as well as a rather inspired human being, Dormitan Cole had made an oath to himself that he would never under any circumstance indulge himself in the purchase of a suit. Ever. On the 15th of June of this year however, Mr. Cole was seriously considering breaking this very oath. Dormitan, you see, had earned himself, through a rather well written yarn about a boy and his guitar that he had sent to a rather prestigious stateside literary publication five months prior, a dinner with his favorite living author, D.C. Bryce. D.C. Bryce was an Ugandan born writer who had moved to the United States in his late twenties to pursue an MFA in creative writing at Syracuse University. During his time at Syracuse D.C. Bryce had completed and published his first novel Ssshhh, Can You Hear Them Screaming? Which was an instant success, not only garnering him a number of accolades but also a New York Times Bestsellers ranking. D.C. then went ahead to write five more books, each one more successful than the last, each one earning him a plethora of award nominations. He didn’t always win of course, because no one could ever always win, but being nominated still had its merits, right?
What it all boiled down to though, was that D.C. Bryce was the writer that Dormitan had always wanted to be and so to have the chance to break bread with his hero, to get a chance to pick his brain was more than amazing, it was a dream come true. This dream though, unfortunately for Dormitan, did not include him wearing a ten year old green suit that looked liked something Superfly might have worn.
At first, Dormitan had thought that the suit would suit the occasion just fine (pardon the pun) but as he stood in front of the mirror staring himself down he suddenly realized that he had grossly miscalculated. What the hell had he been thinking? Of course, if given the choice Dormitan would have been more than happy to wear his customary jeans and t-shirt but again, unfortunately for him, the dinner was supposed to be somewhere nice, some trendy Japanese restaurant where Reebok Classics and ratty Old Navy t-shirts were heavily frowned upon. He doubted he would have even been allowed to make it through the front door.
Ok, so now what? What now? What now? Dormitan thought as he slipped out off the suit jacket and struggled out of its trousers. Where on earth could he get a suit at such short notice? The dinner was only two hours away, it was a Saturday evening and most of the shops were closed and even if they weren’t he didn’t have the kind of money it would take to buy a brand new one. Or a second hand one, or even to rent one.
Ok, so lemme think, lemme think, lemme see…
Standing akimbo in his boxers and his just-as-tattered-as-the-suit blue button down, Dormitan ran through is options…there really weren’t that many.
Dormitan, then walking to his bed, ran his hands across the landscape of the mattress until he found his phone.
Ok, so now who to call? Who can I call? Who can I call…?
Dormitan thought about it for a moment and then Bang! He had it…Brian. Brian had like a gazillion Indian made, cheap as dirt but still designer looking suits, he would definitely be able to help Dormitan out. Hopefully. Because even though he was Dormitan’s best friend, Brian was still kind of an asshole.
Dialing Brian’s number, Dormitan put the phone up to his ear.
Brian picked up after the fourth ring.
“Who dis’ who be callin’ my phone?” Brian shouted into the phone sounding a little short of breath.
“Dude, you watch way too much Californication, you really need to stop with that. Anyway, I need to borrow a suit, can you hook a brutha up?”
“When do you need it?”
“Like right now.”
“Aight cool…Come on…through.”
“You sure? You sound like you might be--”
“Yeah…yeah I’m sure.”
“Cool. I’ll be there in a sec.”
Hanging up the phone Dormitan tossed it onto the bed, walked out of his bedroom and crossing the small hallway walked into the room opposite where he found Brian balls deep inside some chick who, after a perfunctory once over, Dormitan realized wasn’t his girlfriend. Brian had a bottle of Bond 7 in one hand and the right breast of the female he was jockeying in the other.
“Help yourself.” Brian wheezed, still pumping away, using the Bond 7 to point at his closet.
Dormitan nodded in the direction of the girl.
“Who’s that?”
Brian, without missing a beat,
“Does it matter?”
Dormitan could see the girl’s face from where he was standing and let his gaze linger. She was pretty with brown tinted hair cropped to a little less than an inch long. Her eyes were glazed over and her liner had run as if she had been crying.
“Guess not.” Dormitan shrugged. “Just make sure you send her home with some food in her belly man.”
“Yes sir.”
Brian said, mock saluting.
Shaking his head Dormitan turned away from Brian and his glaze eyed meal for the evening and turning towards Brian’s closet stopped worrying about what Girl X was going to have for dinner and once again returned to worrying about what he was going to wear to his.