The Thousandth Floor

Avery gave him a funny look. “That’s so they can build settings. Didn’t they do that at your last tux fitting?”

“Avery, my dear.” A pale, drawn salesgirl with dark circles around her eyes glided from a back room, the sleeves of her charcoal sweater dipping past her skinny wrists. She looked familiar, but Watt couldn’t place her. Nadia? “Who have you brought for me today? Not Atlas?”

“Rebecca, this is Watt, a friend of mine. He needs a new tux.”

Rebecca pursed her lips when she saw Watt, and her eyes narrowed in recognition. She looked a few years older than Watt and Avery, but not many. Hadn’t he …

December 11 last year, Anchor Bar. She told you her name was Bex and that she was a freshman at Amherst. She saw you again the next night but you ignored her to talk to her friend, Nadia informed him.

Well, that explained why she seemed familiar.

“Let’s get started,” Rebecca said, in clipped tones. “Watt, can you—oh.” She paused, wrinkling her nose in distaste at Watt, who’d started unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “There’s no need to disrobe here. We’re not at Bloomingdale’s.” She shuddered.

“Don’t you want to measure me?” Watt asked, and Rebecca barked out a laugh.

“Norton Harcrow took a 4-D scan of your body when you walked inside,” Avery said gently. “It’s accurate down to the millimeter, and the tux will be made to fit. You know their motto, ‘No alterations needed.’”

“How is it 4-D?” Watt said without thinking, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“They track you each time you come in, keep your measurements updated, let you know how your body’s changing over time,” Avery explained. “I know guys who come in here just to track their workout progress.” Rebecca began typing on a tablet, and a holographic scan of Watt’s body, a big blue silhouette, was projected in the middle of the room.

“What kinds of details will you be wanting? Button size, lining, lapels …?” Rebecca asked, a little edge to her voice, and looked at Watt expectantly.

Nadia? Where are you?

“Why don’t you set the scene,” Avery suggested to Rebecca, reading Watt’s silence. “It’s for the University Club gala, so I’d say cherry floors, dim lighting, and the dark walls lined with those terrible white curtains—you know which ones I’m talking about.”

You told me not to volunteer information unless it was requested directly, Nadia answered.

Well, I take it back, Watt snapped.

Rebecca clicked away at the tablet some more, and instantly the room transformed into the empty dance floor of a distinguished wooden ballroom, with high, narrow windows looking out into the night. A few more taps, and holographic couples in tuxes and floor-length dresses appeared in several small clusters.

The silhouette of Watt’s body was still hovering there, like a ghostly headless mannequin. Rebecca nodded and a black tux materialized on it, the exact size and shape that it would be when it was sewed to Watt’s specifications. “Midnight blue, navy, or black?” she asked.

“Black?” Watt guessed. He watched as she approached and began moving her hands through the air, pinching her fingers to zoom out or widening them to focus on certain details. She chose the lapel first, scrolling between various widths and textures of silk, glancing from the projection to Watt and back.

“Formal attire is supposed to be minimalist, to detract attention from the body of the wearer,” she was saying, almost under her breath, “but you have such a wide chest, I’m thinking you might want a broad notched lapel, to balance you out.”

“Sure,” he said helplessly. Was that supposed to be an insult?

“Is your bow tie butterfly or bat-winged?”

Nadia had projected a guide to bow-tie shapes onto his eyes, but Watt was still floundering. Avery and Rebecca were both looking at him, expectant. “I don’t have a bow tie,” he said. “I mean, it got ruined too, with my last tux. I need everything.”

Understanding flashed in Avery’s eyes, and she stepped forward. “I like butterfly, myself,” she said quickly. “I prefer more classic styles. What do you think of jetted pocket, cummerbund, and optional suspenders?”

“That’s perfect,” Watt said, grateful, as Rebecca glared at him and made the necessary adjustments to the projection.

Watt swallowed when he saw the bill, but he could afford it thanks to all the payments he’d collected from Leda lately, especially the bonus she’d given him for the pics of Atlas in the Amazon. Really he owed this entire date to Leda, he thought, with a strange amusement. If it wasn’t for her, he would never have realized that Avery existed.

As he and Avery walked out the front doors—which had now taken the form of old ironwork gates, with holographic vines creeping over them—Avery turned to him. “This is your first tux, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

Nadia offered him an array of excuses, but Watt felt tired of hiding the truth. “It is,” he told her.

Avery looked unsurprised. “You didn’t have to lie to me, you know.”

“I didn’t lie. At least, not about anything important. I just didn’t tell you everything,” Watt hastened to say. He’d told Avery the truth whenever she asked—about how many siblings he had, for instance, or what he liked to do. Whenever she asked a question he didn’t want to answer he had neatly dodged it, and let her fill in the blanks with the assumptions he knew she would make. He’d been so proud of himself, but suddenly it did seem a lot like lying.