Seconds And Irregulars : 2

A Fit-4-U Tale
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Camille was flat-out astonished when Laura announced that Ozzie agreed to take a cab. "Are you sure you heard right?" she asked her friend. "Ozzie said that?"

"Yep! He sure did."

"I'm so... He never..." She blinked in disbelief. "I mean, Ozzie... you know that he's a little pig-headed–"

"A *little*?" Mark laughed, but it was a friendly laugh.

"Yes! He said you two would take a cab home." Laura insisted, triumphantly. "His exact words were Might as well play it safe!" She glowed, pleased at her success. "I think it made him feel like a hero of discretion," Laura boasted.

"Discretion?" Camille echoed. "Discretion? That doesn't sound like the Ozzie *I* know."

The three friends chuckled. Camille was pleased, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of doubt. "Thanks for doing that, Laura, but let's not mention this any more, okay? Especially to Ozzie. If somebody else hears and repeats it to him, or if anybody, you know, flat out says that Ozzie drank too much to drive, he might feel that we've thrown down a challenge."

"Right. That would be very much in character for Ozzie," Mark agreed. "It would give him something to prove. He'd drive home come hell or high water, and even throw back a couple more drinks just out of spite."

"Exactly."

Camille declared she was going to bite her tongue. Mark and Laura, for their part, agreed to avoid the topic.

The evening was cool, and Camille shivered again, sending Laura dashing off to fetch something warm for her friend, as promised. She returned in a few moments, holding a fashionable dark-green jacket. Camille loved the color, the cut, the look of it right away, but given the difference in size between the two women, it was clearly impossible that something belonging to a woman as small as Laura could ever fit Camille. "It's beautiful..." Camille began, but Laura cut her off.

"You don't think it will fit," Laura smirked.

"I can SEE that it won't fit," Camille retorted. "It's as plain as day! I mean, look at it! The shoulders are way too narrow." She held it up to her body, making her point. "I couldn't even drape it over me without looking silly."

Laura waved away Camille's objection, and briefly explained the brand, Fit-4-U. "It's guaranteed to fit," she said, and repeated the phrase several times.

"That makes zero sense," Camille replied.

"Just try it on," Laura urged, still with the same smirk.

Camille remained incredulous. She was by no means a big woman, but the jacket was clearly not big enough for her. She wouldn't have bothered to try it on if it weren't for Laura's forceful insistence. Camille's attitude abruptly changed as soon as she slid her arm into the sleeve. The garment not only felt incredibly comfortable, it gave her the familiar sensation one gets from clothes that are exactly your size. The moment the unmistakeably too-small garment settled on Camille's shoulders, everything fell into place – neatly, perfectly into place! Camille touched the shoulders, astonished. She buttoned up the jacket in front – unbelievable! It was as if the jacket had been tailor-made for Camille herself!

She blinked several times, open-mouthed with surprise. She tried to speak, but had no words to express her bewilderment.

Laura, quite pleased with herself and the success of her apparently magical jacket, grinned and nearly danced with delight.

Time passed. The party continued. Other conversations were had, and Camille received many compliments on the borrowed jacket.

When the party began to break up, Ozzie ambled up to Camille, who happened to be talking with Laura once again. Ozzie made a bit of silly small talk, and then (after a glance at his watch) announced to Camille that their Uber would arrive in five minutes.

Laura's eyes twinkled, but she wisely made no comment.

Ozzie was about to take Camille's arm to lead her to the door, but stopped stock still before taking a step. He turned and looked Camille up and down, as if he hadn't noticed her before.

"Were you wearing that jacket when we left the house?"

"No," she replied. "It's Laura's. I've only borrowed it."

Ozzie nodded in approval. "Fits you perfectly," he commented, and once again looked the jacket up and down.

"Told you!" Laura crowed, with a huge smile. She ran her hand over Camille's shoulders and patted her back, admiring the fit. "You can bring it back tomorrow," she said. "when you come for the car."

"You can't let her keep it?" Ozzie joked. Or half-joked.

"Nope! Sorry. That jacket is very special to me."

Once outside, Camille took Ozzie's arm to help her navigate the white-gravel driveway. "Great party, huh?" he commented, and once again stopped in his tracks so he could turn and look her over. He seemed unable to take his eyes off the jacket.

"Yes," she agreed. "Nice people, excellent food..." She felt good: about the party, about Ozzie agreeing to not get behind the wheel, and about the lovely jacket that fit her so perfectly. What put the cherry on top, so to speak, was Ozzie's behavior: he almost never paid her compliments, and he *absolutely* had never before declined to get behind the wheel after drinking.

"So... that jacket...," Ozzie puzzled, pausing in his steps once again at end of the driveway, "You said it's Laura's, right?"

"Yes."

"So how in the hell does it fit you?" He scratched his chin and took a step away from her, staring, taking her hand to give her a half-twirl left, then right. "It fits you to a T! Like it was made for you! How is that possible?"

"I don't know."

"I mean, honey, no offense, but Laura is kind of small. Smaller than you. I don't think ANY of her clothes could fit you. Right? I mean, what – those numbers you two were saying earlier – you're an eight and she's a four, right?"

He chuckled to himself. "Of course, you're both tens! You know what I'm saying?" He laughed at his own joke, and as he did, he clicked his key fob to unlock their car.

"Uh, Ozzie? I thought you said we were taking a cab. I mean, an uber."

He scoffed. "I just said that to keep Laura off my back. Jesus Christ! Sometimes that woman can be a merciless nag! Do you want to take a cab? Do you feel unsafe with me behind the wheel?"

"No, no! I'm fine with you driving."

"You sure? You didn't put Laura up to asking me?"

"No, of course not! Why would I do that?"

"Okay," he said, "it's not a problem! It's fine!" Gesturing broadly with both arms he offered, somewhat forcefully, almost menacing, "... because if you WANT to take a cab–"

"No, I don't want to take a cab! Ozzie, I'm perfectly fine getting in the car with you."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. Absolutely sure." To demonstrate her agreement, she got into the car and fastened her seat belt.

"Make sure you've got that seat belt good and tight," he told her. "Just in case I run a red light or drive into a tree or flip the car over or something."

"I'm fine, Ozzie. I'm fine."

He started the engine with a roar and made quite a noise, fumbling as he put it in gear. Before pulling away from the curb, though, he took another look at the jacket.

"You know, I have to say – that jacket, it really suits you. It's a hell of a jacket. You ought to keep it." He nodded several times to add emphasis.

"You really think so?"

"I just said so, didn't I? And you know, being a man, I don't usually notice clothes, but that one–" he nodded three times, full of approval.

Then he pulled away from the curb like a shot, abruptly cutting off an oncoming car as if it wasn't there. Camille bit her tongue.

Even so, in spite of not feeling completely at ease with Ozzie behind the wheel, she was pleased with his compliments about the jacket. He was right: Ozzie never noticed things: new clothes, a new hairstyle... that sort of thing usually blew right by him. But he was right, totally right, about Laura's jacket. It did suit her. It suited her perfectly. She was going to have to get one of her own. Maybe in a different color?

Ozzie stirred in his seat. "But, what I don't get–" he began, actually squirming as he drove, and continuing to shoot glances in her direction, "is, how can that be Laura's jacket. Did she buy the wrong size or something?"

What Camille should have done at that point was feign innocence. Or – even better – she could have simply agreed with his mistaken assertion. If she'd only left it there, if she hadn't responded to Ozzie's questions, he would have been happy with the idea that Laura had bought the wrong size. He'd go on to repeat, pressing it on Camille over and over, and she'd have to keep on agreeing, over and over, though she knew he was wrong.

That would have been the wise thing to do: that was the way to keep the peace.

However, that's not what she did. Like Ozzie, Camille had consumed a drink or two, and the alcohol, combined with Ozzie's compliments, relaxed her, lowered her guard, and she inadvisably repeated the phrases Laura told her. "This is a Fit-4-U jacket. It's a guaranteed fit."

"What?" he scoffed. "Guaranteed fit? Guaranteed for the person it's made for, you mean. It fits the person it was made to fit."

"No," she replied, a bit feebly. As she spoke, she began to realize her mistake. She hadn't quite believed, or fully understood, Laura's explanation, and now she was in the unenviable position of defending a phenomenon she didn't understand.

"What, then? It's guaranteed to fit her AND you?"

"I guess so."

"And what about–" here Ozzie named a plus-sized woman of their acquaintance– "Would it fit her too?"

"I don't know!"

"You don't know?"

"Well, I guess so... I mean, I guess not! I don't know!"

He laughed scornfully.

"I'd like to read this so-called guarantee," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, you two – you and Laura –" grinning, he shook his head again "– have you seen this guarantee? Have you read it?"

"No."

"What it is – what it must be – is that you can keep returning it until they send you right size, or the customer just gives up and keeps the damn thing, whether it fits or not. Like this–" He gestured toward the jacket. "Laura bought the wrong size. She can't wear it, so she's passing it to you."

"No," Camille protested. "She wants it back. Tomorrow."

"Right."

"Look, Ozzie, I saw her try it on. It fits her perfectly, the same way as it fits me."

Ozzie came to an abrupt stop a few yards past a stop sign. "Honey, that's just impossible." He reached over and felt the fabric between his thumb and index finger. Then he took a bit of the sleeve in both hands and pulled. "Weird. It's not stretchy."

"Right – it doesn't fit by stretching."

"Then how *does* it work?"

Camille hesitated, took a breath, then admitted, "I don't know. It just does."

Ozzie frowned and gave his wife the look one gives an idiot. "Look, honey, either the thing stretches, or it's your size. There's no way that it can fit you both. It's impossible. It's against the laws of physics, am I right?" A sudden thought came to him: "Hey, when you saw her try on a jacket, are you sure it was *this* jacket? I mean, think about it: it must have been a different jacket, another jacket – one in *her* size, right?"

"No, Ozzie, it's the same jacket."

Ozzie huffed impatiently and pulled further into the intersection. He didn't bother checking for cross traffic. Luckily, there was none. "Come on! Think about it, honey, think about it! There had to be another jacket!"

Camille pictured the moment, then shook her head.

"Look, you two were standing by the front door. There were all these coats around you."

Camille again shook her head.

"No, we weren't near the door. We were at the top of those little stairs. There weren't any other coats around."

"You just didn't see," Ozzie scoffed. "She and Mark, they did a switcheroo, and you fell for it." He thought for a moment, then, nodding, came to a new conclusion: "It's a trick. It's a practical joke. Probably Mark's idea of a joke. The asshole."

He pulled into their driveway a bit too fast, and screeched to a halt inches from the garage door. He fumbled with the remote, opening the door.

"What a pompous jerk that Mark is, huh? Thinks we're stupid, that we'd fall for something so..." He huffed impatiently, waiting for the garage door to fully open.

He turned to look at Camille, and realized, to his utter bewilderment, that she was in emotional retreat. She had shut down. He'd pressed her too far, too hard. But he couldn't help it! He was right! That's was the important thing! Camille would come to see it, in the morning, after she'd slept on it.

Still, he felt he should throw her a bone, hold out an olive branch. But what?

He pulled into the garage, easing the car in gently, with what he believed to be light-handed finesse, moving forward until he felt the soft resistance of their trash barrels, which he pressed and compressed against the garage's back wall until the lids popped off, flipped in the air, and clattered to the floor.

Jaw set, lips pressed tight in a firm line, Camille released her seatbelt and began to open her door. Ozzie stopped her by resting his hand on her arm.

"Listen, honey, you know what? You know what you ought to do? Keep the jacket. Fuck 'em. Right? Fuck 'em. Fuck the pair of 'em. Keep the jacket."

She didn't reply. She looked at him, her face devoid of expression. The corner of her eye twitched. Then she turned away, left the car, and walked into the house before he switched off the car engine.