The Importance of a Suit

Lunch with his father had become an ordeal. It had become something that warranted a great deal of preparation and planning. Richard had been slowly marking the days on his calendar. Each day Richard would rise late in the afternoon and after completing his usual morning routine Richard would look at his Bird of the Month calendar; which had been a lukewarm gift from his mother. Richard would sigh and cross another day off. After enough time the calendar had become filled with Xs.
The morning of his lunch Richard awoke early, hours before his usual rising time, Richard made sure he left himself ample time to pace about his apartment before he had to meet his father. Richard examined his face in the mirror, looking for things that his father might disapprove of. It was evident that he must shave. He had let his facial hair grow for a little over a month now. He could already feel his father’s teases and taunts at the sight of his makeshift beard. Forgoing any sort of electric device Richard started the shaving process. He didn’t mind the cuts he knew he would receive; it would show his father just how much effort he had put forth for this lunch date of theirs. Richard was the type of man who wanted people to know how much he tried. He carried two lighters with him, one a silver Zippo which he used to light cigarettes in the company of others, as well as a plain bic lighter which was used when he was alone.
Richards face looked much more clean and angular now that it was free of hair. Running his hand over his face he traced he blood that had started to blossom out of the small gashes, the blood created a sanguine tribal mask. He washed the blood from his face using cold water and then countered the cuts with a dose of a designer aftershave, a gift from his father that had been as well received as his bird calendar. Dressing quickly Richard took out his sole suit, which was reserved for funerals; funerals and lunch with his father. Richard liked to think of himself as dashing in the suit, but in truth he looked more like a child putting on his father’s suit then James Bond.
The bus caused Richard to arrive at the upscale restaurant a half hour early. Richard had hoped that the half an hour was enough to beat his father here. It wasn’t. When Richard nervously told the maître de he was the first part of the Grayson party, the maître de politely corrected him, he was the second person to arrive. Richard was crestfallen; no matter how early he arrived his father was there first. He suspected next time he would need to camp out in front of the restaurant. The head of the restaurant led him to his father’s table. Richard couldn’t help but feel as if he was being brought before a mob boss.
They found his father at home in the back of the place conducting business loudly and pleasantly on his cell phone. His eyes met both of them and motioned for Richard to sit and the maître due to fetch him another drink. While his father continued his phone call Richard browsed the menu. He quickly found what he would order, a frittata with ham, onions, peppers and Gouda cheese. He continued to look through the menu even though he knew nothing he read would change his mind. Richard needed something in his hands to keep him from fiddling with the objects on the table. Last time he had done this his father, who was on the phone again, had snatched away the creamer packets from him, which Richard had been politely stacking.
Soon enough the phone call was over. Richards father placed his phone on the table, his forth utensil. His father then lifted his gaze to his son and gave what Richard saw as a predatory flash of his teeth, other might have called it a smile.
“Hiya Pap.”
“Son,” it was said with a false sense of formality, and then his father grinned again.
“So, how’s mom?” It was an admittedly weak question, but Richard knew it wouldn’t lead to something embarrassing.
His father waved away the question with his hand that wasn’t clutching a drink, but answered the question none the less. “She’s good, bored I guess. She misses you, she says that a lot. “
Richard knew it was true and could feel himself start to turn a brighter shade of red. “I’ll call her tomorrow,” it was the best Richard could do.
“See that you do. I mean you have a cell phone, I get the bill every month,” This was true. “Nice suit by the way.” Richards’s father had also bought the suit and made the same comment every time he saw his son in it.
Finding himself very uncomfortable Richard began to fiddle with the aglet at the end of his shoelace.
“What’d you do get in a fight with a weed whacker?” His father started in.

Richard just shrugged and sighed. He was now preparing for the rest of the lunch, which would be very similar to how things were going now, how things had been going on the last Friday of every month for well over a year. Every day in Richards Bird of the Month calendar was filled with Xs.