Height of Fashion

Riley had the steep, vulpine, parsimonious nose of a nineteenth
century accountant and thin, oily hair that clung to his pink forehead.
He licked his crooked teeth, placed his palms flat against his
desk.

"I'm not saying it's without risk&;#8230;" His nostrils were bunged
up with a cold. His breathing was loud, gaspy.

"Does that bother you?" I asked.

"What?"

"The risks involved. That's not a problem, is it?"

Riley withdrew his hands from the desk. He opened a drawer, pretended
to look in it for something.

"No, no&;#8230;" He shot me a cautious glance. "It's your choice,
after all. I just want you to be aware-"

"Riley."

"What?"

"You fuck shit up." His lips narrowed to a slit. "I'm not going into
this blind." I gripped the arms of my chair and pulled myself up
straight. "You're a fuck-up artist. You always have been."

Riley was quiet for a moment, then, "why choose me?" He coughed into
his fist. "If you think I'm such a&;#8230; if I'm so incompetent?" I
saw his gaze flicking to the framed certificates on the wall to his
right.

"Because you're a fuck-up artist." He blinked at me, eyes opaque as
marbles. "You can't help it." His hands dropped into his lap.

"I love people," he murmured.

"What?"

"I love people," he repeated, louder. "I love beauty. I love making
people beautiful."

"You don't do what you do for love's sake. Not for love or beauty. It'd
be like being a butcher because you're fond of animals." He flinched at
'butcher'. "You've never made anyone beautiful."

He hesitated. "Yes I have."

"Riley - I've seen the photos."

He sniffed once, twice, trying to unblock his nostrils, then produced a
red checkered handkerchief and blew into it. He unselfconsciously
examined the contents before folding it and stuffing it back into his
pocket.

"I can't help it if you let your prejudices soil everything you see,"
he said.

"Those women were mutilated."

Riley got to his feet. He glared down at me. "Do you want my help or
not?"

I had a headache. I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep
breaths.

"Yes," I said, "if you think you're up to the task."

Standing, Riley was tall, lean. I loved and envied his height. How
proud he stood compared to me, with my stubby doll legs and withered
arms. He scrutinised me up and down.

"I can always do something," he said.