Page 76 of Stars and Scars

I look at the so-called clothing available and cringe on the inside. Hip hop street wear seems to be the order of the day. There’s an entire section for baseball caps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many different kinds in one place before.

“Your character is going to be a bro-type influencer,” Charlotte says by way of preamble. “So we need to dress you to look the part.”

“Like a douchebag?”

She smiles and nods.

“Yes. Exactly. No one will look twice at you when we get to the party.”

I stare at the clothing and laugh.

“No one would ever expect me to dress in this getup, that’s for certain. I hope none of the Platinum Security crew sees me.”

I give her a sharp look.

“Don’t even think of taking a photo to send to them, either.”

“You aren’t even dressed yet, calm down.”

I let her do the talking to the sales clerk, a young man with so much metal in his face he’s probably visible from space. Once I’m decked out in oversized, ostentatious clothing, I give her an incredulous look.

“You’d think with how much these clothes cost, they would at least fit.”

“This is how they’re supposed to fit. You look great, by the way.”

I have to disagree, but I also have to admit it’s a good disguise.

When we get in the Jeep, she shows me a few videos of the type of guy I’m supposed to emulate. I chuckle at their over-the-top antics.

“Does anyone actually talk like that? He can’t form a single sentence without adding the word ‘yo’ to the beginning or end.”

“He’s playing it up for the camera, but yes, that’s kind of what's expected from someone who shops at Dudebros and makes their living as an Influencer.”

I give her a look.

“Won’t people suspect something’s wrong when it turns out I don’t have a bunch of social media pages to back this character up?”

“Trust me, no one is going to want to see anything of the sort. Just be obnoxious as possible. You know, your natural state.”

I burst into laughter, which grows louder when I catch my reflection in the rear view mirror. I have to stop myself from adjusting my ball cap so the bill faces the correct way. According to Charlotte, no one does that anymore. Other than baseball players, I suppose.

“You need something else for your look,” Charlotte says, giving me an appraising stare. “I know. Pull into this gas station.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

I pull over, and she dashes inside. A moment later, she returns with a small package in her hands.

“What…is this a vape?” I ask as she deposits the longish item in my palm.

“You bet it is. Nothing says ‘douchebag’ quite like puffing on a vape indoors.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“It’s just fruit flavored fog, essentially.”

I try hitting the device, and then nearly gag on the sickly sweet flavor.

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