What In The World

Yves. Oh god, I'm ready and it's nearly time to go and I'm worried I don't look alright. Indigo trousers, very dark red velvet jacket, unstructured, with a vague hint at tails. White half-collared shirt, cotton. Impossible choice between silver chelsea boots and gold brogues. I go for the boots, and imagine I'll regret it later on. I assess my reflection: hopefully understated enough to show that I didn't spend the last two hours thinking about my outfit, whilst being dressy enough to look 'special', as Gabriel put it.
Time to leave. I hover by the door considering whether or not to bring my coat. I decide it's better to have it so I can cover up if my outfit is wrong. My coat is never wrong. It's like a cape. A dark blue cape.
The door swings open and the cat greets my ankles with a purr.
-Come in...
Gabriel's voice from another room. I oblige, and wonder if the cat opened the door. I don't know why I keep jumping to the least likely conclusions whilst in Gabriel's flat. It just seems...apt.
He rushes in all of a sudden, wearing black, as I predicted. But you can kind of tell it's not his casual outfit, because it's all a mixture of silky fabric and rich-looking texture. What he's wearing under a very loose fitting jumper-type thing is made from a fabric so fine that where the top slips off his right shoulder you can see the hint of his pale skin underneath, his collarbone casting shadows up his neck, which is liberated from the fabric in a waterfall of ruffles. I'd consider myself quite a connoisseur when it comes to style, I pay careful attention to matters of aesthetics as it's part of my job, but I get the feeling that I can add that what will probably soon become the list of things that Gabriel is better than me at. Intriguing. I wouldn't usually so much as hear out anyone else's opinion on what I'm wearing but right now I find myself anticipating his inevitable assessment on my chosen attire.
I feel his eyes on me sooner than I register the way he's taking in my appearance very slowly, starting from my feet.
-Open your coat.
I think I'd probably kept it closed out of a slight fear of what he'd think, and right now my impulse is to close it even tighter around me, but I do what he says anyway because he doesn't sound like he's giving me a choice.
His expression is quite unreadable, I'm just about now sensing something quite surreal about the whole situation- this is not the sort of thing normal people do. This is not the sort of thing I do, actually- find a person who you've only met just that day's input on your outfit valuable in any way. This is insane. But I still want to know what he thinks. I remember why I'm doing it, why I'm here - I want to be a part of this city. So obviously looking the part is integral.
He's now looking at my face.
-Well?
-I like it, perfect. Hang on.
He darts out the room while I stand there with the sensation of having just been strip-searched at an airport.
-Close your eyes...
Woah. Do I trust him? He's waiting expectantly, obviously I don't get a choice in this either. I obey, and then snap my eyes open again when I realise he's touching my face.
-What are you...
He's looking thoroughly irked and pointing a pencil at my face. Oh. An eyeliner pencil. That's kind of a relief.
-What did you think I was doing?
he says, the irritation evident in his tone.
-Well, I don't know, people don't usually touch my face without any warning at all. Are you putting that on me?
-Obviously?
-Right. I'm not sure I'm cool with that.
-Well you should be 'cool with that', you won't look good enough otherwise.
I sigh, audibly, admitting defeat, and close my eyes. He makes an annoyingly satisfied-sounding noise and continues to attack me with the pencil. I content my bruised ego and questioned masculinity by saying 'ow' every few seconds (although on second thoughts that doesn't really confirm any masculinity at all. Oh well.) which generally makes him continue in a slightly more agressive way- however agressive putting make-up on another person can conceivably be.
My mind wanders to a hilarious conjured scene of two people in a boxing ring where the only attack or defence they are allowed is attempting to put make-up on their opponent. My imagination is sometimes a happy place to be.
-Stop smiling.
Of course, this makes it impossible for me to not laugh. He sounds like this is the most serious thing in the world.
-Okay, fine, you're done.
I look in the mirror. I'm actually quite impressed, he's drawn black almonds around my eyes and the feline flicks at the end make me look quite dramatic.
-What do you think?
He sounds slightly less dismissive of my opinion now.
-I...like it, surprisingly.
-Rubbish. You knew it would look amazing. Come on.
Okay, we're leaving. He puts on a coat not dissimilar to mine, but of course, black, and with a belt around the waist. It is definitely not a man's coat.
At the bottom of the stairs we're met by two people I can't quite believe I'm actually seeing. They look almost exactly the same. Platinum blonde hair, in perfect, shiny curls, one wearing green and the other red. Forties-style dresses, I'd say. A pretty successful attempt to look like two Monroe-style pin-ups, but there's something not quite right about these girls.
-Gabe!
-At last...
One shrieks, the other purrs. I've got it- they aren't girls.
He hugs them both, a moment of affection that actually seems quite unexpected.
-This is Yves. He's new.
-Oh Gabe. He's pretty.
-Quite pretty. Did you do that?
-Of course,
he smiles.
A long pause. They don't really appear to have registered my existence any further then a quick look up and down me to see if they approve or not. The 'did you do that?' was accompanied by a hand gesture in my general direction. I am a creation of Gabriel. Interesting.
-Yves, this is Shirley, and this is Sally-Ann, by the way.
-Lovely to meet you both.
I hold out my hand. Shirly or Sally-Ann takes it and kisses me on the cheek. I think his/her lipstick left a mark.
I think I like them.
We head off down the road, where Gabriel motions for a taxi and we all get in.
Sitting opposite these two is really quite unnerving; no one has said a word and they're just staring at me. Gabriel, who is next to me, spends the whole journey in exactly the same position, looking out the window. I think this is something I'm going to have to get used to.

After about twenty minutes we arrive somewhere.
Sally-Ann or Shirley steps out the cab with one red-stilleto'd foot, and I can imagine that from the outside it's a scene straight from a movie. They move with a similar elegance to Gabriel, although theirs is a more exagguratedly feminine strut, as I follow them to wherever we're going, Gabriel's coat trailing out behind him.
I get the feeling this is just the beginning.