Steffi in Velour

Michael rents an apartment.

Once the mover brings up the last load and piles it with the rest of the stuff in the middle of the living room, he says, “I’m gonna take a look around.”

“Okay.” Michael stares at his heap of belongings and wonders how much of it is broken.

The mover comes back from the bedroom and says, “There’s a pitcher back there. People before you musta left it. I can take it off your hands.”

“I’d better take a look at it first,” Michael says.

He wanders into the bedroom and sees the painting of a woman. He finds it pleasing but … odd. Why would someone just leave this behind.

“So, whaddya think?” the mover says.

“I think I’ll hang onto it,” Michael says.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna go buy a sandwich and eat it. Then I’m gonna go home and take a nap. All this movin’ stuff makes me tired.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Michael is captivated by the painting of the woman.

* * *

After putting away his meager possessions, Michael finds himself without any spare clothes.

“Dammit,” he thinks. “The idiot mover must have forgotten to load them into the truck.”

He goes out to buy more clothes. Most of the storefronts on his street seem to be abandoned and someone has stolen the wheels off his scooter. He drifts down the street until he comes to a shop called Velour and More. Michael thinks people stopped wearing velour a number of years ago but … he doesn’t really know.

He walks into the store and it’s just rows and rows of beige velour running suits. The clerk behind the counter looks a lot like the mover.

“The sign says ‘Velour and More’,” Michael says. “Where’s the more?”

“That’s kind of a joke,” the man says. “It’s really just velour. Maybe we shoulda called it Just Velour, huh? But we can put whatever you want on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, we can put pitchers on it or bedazzle it. You know, whatever you want really. Want us to staple some cheese slices to it. We can. We can do pretty much anything. Velour’s a very versatile fabric.”

Michael’s mind is spinning.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

He returns with the painting.

“Can you put this on there?” It’s the most beautiful thing Michael can think of.

“Sure can,” the clerk says. “Like I said. We can do just about anything.”

“Great,” Michael says.

“You can pick it up tomorrow.”

“Will I …?” Michael still hasn’t let go of the painting.

“Yep. You’ll have to leave the painting.”

Reluctantly, Michael does so, returning to his apartment and wondering if he made the right decision both about leaving the painting with a questionable person and what could possibly be a questionable fashion choice. He watches a reality show where everyone makes far worse decisions than he just made and is able to doze off feeling a little better.

He calls into work the next morning and returns to Velour and More.

The same clerk is there.

“Here you go,” the clerk says. “I been workin’ on it all night.”

He lifts the plastic from the velour tracksuit and a fairly faithful facsimile of the painting covers the entire front of it. Proudly, the clerk flips it around. The back is covered in the same image.

“Beautiful,” Michael says. “May I have the original painting, too?”

“No can do,” the clerk says. “My greatest apologies but I seem to have misplaced it. I got your number. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

Michael finds himself suddenly furious. He snatches the velour suit out of the man’s hands.

“This is completely unacceptable,” Michael says.

“Yeah, well, here’s what I’ll do. No charge on the suit. It’s all yours. Even Steven.”

Michael stalks out of the store and heads back to his apartment. He quickly shucks out of his clothes and slides into the velour suit. It feels nice. It feels perfect.

Michael goes everywhere in his suit, only taking it off once he gets back to the apartment, carefully removing it and hanging it in a corner. His suit attracts stares and, sometimes, even compliments.

One day as he’s walking around downtown he hears a voice behind him.

“Excuse me,” the voice says. “Excuse me, sir.”

It’s the sweetest voice Michael has ever heard and he already knows what he will see before turning around.

“Yes.” He turns around, smiling.

“Why is my face on your clothes?”

Already, looking into her eyes, he sees some look of recognition or, what? He isn’t sure. Fate maybe.

And she is wearing a nearly identical velour suit. For all he knows, it could have been purchased from the same place. And his face is staring back at him.

They don’t need to say anything else.