“You’re a madman.” Kurt said as the little elf of a tailor finished his adjustments to the tuxedo coat, “Don’t you have anything better to spend your money on?”
“I’ll not hear a word of it! Left to your own devices you’d wear that horrid brown monstrosity or God forbid your uniform.” Franz said from behind his newspaper, his voice cascading with emotion and range while his hands remained static and the paper unmoved.
“What’s wrong with my uniform?” Kurt asked.
“Not a thing…if we were to go to an officer’s club.” Franz answered. The paper continued to block his face but Kurt could imagine the tinge of mischief crawling up from the corners of his friend’s mouth.
“Signore, the suit is finished.” the tailor said, scrutinizing all the while through his glasses. With that Franz shot up and folded the paper all in one motion. For a man with the frame of a bear, he was remarkably graceful.
“Signore Garelli, you’ve outdone yourself.” the old man twitched his mustache and continued putting away his instruments. Franz smiled at Kurt and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Now you look presentable.”
Kurt frowned. Franz was always generous with money but all this expense for Kurt’s promotion was more uncomfortable than the starched white collar holding his neck upright. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is! Promotion to Kapitänleutnent is no small achievement and a freshly commissioned ship to boot.” Franz said with genuine admiration and pride in his voice. Kurt shifted in place.
“Were it up to you, you’d spend the night in some stuffy party full of Prussians with chests full of medals, holding up a corner sipping cheap vodka, feeling insignificant. Well not on my watch. You can devote yourself to the Navy tomorrow but tonight, we celebrate. Properly”
Kurt knew there was no point in trying to argue with Franz. He’d drown out voices of doubt to his schemes with his booming and melodic voice or pull a wavering soul close with his over-sized and warm butcher’s hands. His lack of hair and unremarkable face did nothing to dull the sharpness of his charm. He had the grace and affability of an English playboy in the body of a cooper. Resigned to his evening, Kurt checked his look in the mirror while Franz settled up with the tailor. Even he had to admit it was a fine suit.
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