I lost count of the money I had Brian Schulberg spend on his honeymoon. He and Brenda were going to his house in Mustique, the chic island refuge of Mick Jagger and Princess Margaret years back. Aside from bathing suits, both of their wardrobes were heavy on silk and linen as well as cotton T-shirts, cargo pants, and shorts.
For someone who was so seemingly oblivious to what he wore before, it was hard to believe that Brian had become so taken with his new, sleeker image. It was as though he saw himself reborn, a different person from the one who had married and divorced before.
“These are part of my new life, my new me,” he said to me one day as I met him for another few hours of shopping. “I have you to thank,” he said. I waved away the compliment. “I’m serious,” he said. “I never thought about what kind of impression I made before. That matters, at least in the beginning.”
Clothes helped him play the part, they were his props. There was that word again. While Brenda didn’t seem terribly preoccupied with what she wore, she loved the idea that I was picking everything out for her and that it would all come out right.
I got home from work and called Arnie. He wasn’t home. He was dating the girl he met at W, whom I now dubbed Donna K. I didn’t know whether they had a future together, but I knew one thing. After they went out for the second time, he stayed over at her apartment. He didn’t discuss the evening. He didn’t say a word. But when I left for work the following morning, I ran into him coming in as I was going out. He had on the same suit as the night before. There was no mistaking the crooked grin he gave me as we passed each other in the lobby.