Page 3 of Spades

I pass an Indian restaurant. I love Indian, but I never have it delivered. How have I not noticed that this place is within walking distance of my apartment? I take a deep breath in and enjoy the enchanting aroma of spices coming from inside. If I didn’t already have a chicken breast thawing in my fridge for tonight’s dinner, I’d go in and order take-out.

Next I walk by a small theater, apparently about to mount a production of the musicalCabaret. Produced by a company called the Windy City Players. I loveCabaret—it’s one of my favorites. I stop by the box office and look at the show dates. I don’t buy a ticket, but I take a mental note to buy a ticket online once I get home.

And then I happen upon a shop that makes me squint.

Hathaway Haberdashery.

Haberdashery. I’ve heard that word before, but I never quite knew what it meant. I think it’s some kind of clothing store.

A blast of wind nearly knocks me off my feet. I really should go home.

But haberdashery is such a fun word. A good combination of syllables.

And I’m trying something new.

At the very least, I want to find out what a haberdashery is.

So on a whim, I walk inside.

2

MADDOX

I yawnand stretch my arms over my head.

It’s been a boring day.

Most days are, especially in the winter. I’m lucky to get a baker’s dozen of customers between January and March. I get a pretty big bump in customers right before Christmas—people shopping for their dads or husbands—but other than that, it’s usually just too damned cold in the Midwest for people to venture outside of their homes for anything other than the necessities.

Men’s fashion usually doesn’t make the cut.

But for me, it’s my life.

From the day I first picked up a copy ofGQmagazine in the lobby of one of my dad’s many campaign offices, I’ve been hooked.

I was told that an interest in fashion made a man effeminate. I should be interested in football, whiskey, and trucks.

But what could be more masculine than wanting to look good? Wanting to present yourself as a man to be taken seriously, as one who cares how he portrays himself to the rest of the world?

The ladies love it. Every time I go down to my club, they flock to me, oohing and aahing over the perfectly tailored blazer I’m wearing that evening, the cuff links and matching pocket square I’ve paired it with, even the carefully trimmed shape of the stubble on my cheeks.

Compared to Joe Cargo Shorts, I’m definitely the winner.

But this time of year, it’s all I can do to scrape the money together to keep this place running.

I own the building. It already belonged to my family, and I made a deal with the devil—more commonly known as Henry Hathaway, my father—to get my name on the deed. The haberdashery has been in the family for years, but it had fallen into pretty bad disrepair by the time I got my hands on it.

But after years of hard work, I brought it back to life. Kept the same style that my Great-Uncle Stephen—the last person to run the place full-time—had, while adding some modern touches. The shelves and displays are all the original dark cherry wood that Stephen had built, and I polished them all until they were new. I replaced the glass on the displays where I exhibit watches, cuff links, and tie pins, and even managed to refurbish the brass cash register that Stephen used back in the day.

I outfitted the vintage hanging pendant lamps with new eco-friendly lightbulbs. I even found an old phonograph from a nearby antique store, which I use to play jazz vinyl. The music mixes perfectly with the decades-old aroma of leather, wool, and pipe tobacco that permeates every corner of the shop. I did add a few things to bring the place into the twenty-first century. Metallic accents on the walls and some vivid contemporary art that I’ve picked up at shows across the city.

I love the haberdashery.

I just wish it weren’t such a pain in the ass to run this time of year.

I look at my watch. It’s almost seven p.m. I could close a little early. I think it’s safe to say that no one is going to?—

Never mind.

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