Page 229 - A Little Life: A Novel

once him, someone who could trip, goatlike, to the Upper East Side and
home again, all eleven miles on his own?—but today he’s meeting Malcolm
and taking him to his suitmaker’s, because Malcolm is going to get married

and needs to buy a suit.
They’re not completely certain if Malcolm is actually getting married or
not. They think he is. Over the past three years, he and Sophie have broken
up and gotten back together, and broken up, and gotten back together. But
in the past year, Malcolm has had conversations with Willem about
weddings, and does Willem think they’re an indulgence or not; and with JB
about jewelry, and when women say they don’t like diamonds, do they

really mean it, or are they just testing the way it sounds; and with him about
prenuptial agreements.
He had answered Malcolm’s questions as best as he could, and then had
given him the name of a classmate from law school, a matrimonial attorney.
“Oh,” Malcolm had said, moving backward, as if he had offered him the
name of a professional assassin. “I’m not sure I need this yet, Jude.”

“All right,” he said, and withdrew the card, which Malcolm seemed
unwilling to even touch. “Well, if and when you do, just ask.”
And then, a month ago, Malcolm had asked if he could help him pick out
a suit. “I don’t even really have one, isn’t that nuts?” he asked. “Don’t you
think I should have one? Don’t you think I should start looking, I don’t
know, more grown-up or something? Don’t you think it’d be good for
business?”

“I think you look great, Mal,” he said. “And I don’t think you need any
help on the business front. But if you want one, sure, I’m happy to help
you.”
“Thanks,” said Malcolm. “I mean, I just think it’s something I should
have. You know, just in case something comes up.” He paused. “I can’t
believe you have a suitmaker, by the way.”

He smiled. “He’s not my suitmaker,” he said. “He’s just someone who
makes suits, and some of them happen to be mine.”
“God,” said Malcolm, “Harold really created a monster.”
He laughed, obligingly. But he often feels as if a suit is the only thing that
makes him look normal. For the months he was in a wheelchair, those suits
were a way of reassuring his clients that he was competent and,
simultaneously, of reassuring himself that he belonged with the others, that

he could at least dress the way they did. He doesn’t consider himself vain,