REAGAN
“You what?  What are you talking about?”
 
“I must make a visit to my tailors in London.  If you feel well enough to undertake the journey – and if your physician agrees – I would like you to accompany me.”
 
“Hold on a minute there, Cowboy.  You’re going to London, England, to have new suits made?”
 
“Of course.  That is the location of my tailor.”
 
“Max, you must have 30 suits hanging in the closet.  Your wardrobe space doubles mine …don’t you see something a bit strange in that equation?”
 
My husband turned those teal-green eyes on me in utter lack of comprehension.
 
“No, I do not.  What imbalance do you perceive?”  He just doesn’t realise that women’s clothing is supposed to occupy two-thirds – if not 75% – of a shared closet.  Okay, so I’m not a clothes-horse, or at least I haven’t been for a very long while.  I shook my head and tried another approach.
 
“What’s wrong with the suits you have?”
 
“Some of them are becoming worn.”
 
“Show me.”  He sighed and hauled his butt out of his comfy seat on the couch and stood, holding out his hand to assist me to my feet.  I wasn’t all that cumbersome at this stage of my pregnancy, but once past your fourth month help is always appreciated.  I followed him to the bedroom and into the closet.  Bear in mind that we no longer have that huge walk-in closet we did before moving to the farm. 
 
We have a teensy, little closet, the bulk of which houses his wardrobe, at least the summer-to-early fall portion of it.  His winter and spring suits were still in wardrobe boxes in the barn, liberally sprinkled with moth flakes and literally surrounded by mouse and rat traps.  He checked all the boxes each day to ensure no mutant, trap-evading rodent had managed to get past the traps and gnaw its way into his clothing.
 
He pulled half-a-dozen suits from the closet and placed them on the bed.  He pulled out the trousers and opened them to show me the worn spots.  I was expecting shiny patches on the seat and on the hip pocket where he kept his wallet; I couldn’t see a damned thing wrong with any of them.  I shook my head at him in bewilderment.
 
“Max, I don’t see anything wrong with any of these.”  He picked up one pair of slacks and held them out to me.

“Look at this!”  He was tugging on a tiny little thread –it was no more than three-eighths of an inch long – and had a look of utter dismay on his face.
 
“It is falling apart!”  I sighed and went to the lounge for my sewing basket that sits on the floor beside my chair, plopped it on the bed and opened it.  I took out my embroidery scissors, snipped off the offending thread after testing to see that it wouldn’t ravel or pull loose on its own, and held the slacks out to him.
 
“Better now?”  That earnt me the world famous Maximus scowl.
 
“Thank you, but no.  Though I appreciate your efforts, it is not better.  Custom-made suits should not have loose threads.  It is time to replace it, along with several others in this collection,” and I could not believe he called them a collection, “as well as several in my spring and summer collection.” 
 
He did it again …the collection bit.  Well, hey, if he wants to take an unnecessary trip to London and drop a bundle on new clothes plus travel expenses, he can afford it …and far be it from me to discourage him.  The last trip we made to the UK was far from pleasant, and this might be fun.  I looked up at him.
 
“Okey, dokey, Stud.  That works for me.  When do we leave?”  He hates it when I call him ‘Stud’ or ‘Cowboy,’ but I was having way too much fun not to rag on him.  This man is more of a clothes horse than Georgio Armani ever thought of being.
 
“What about Terry?  How’s his wardrobe holding up?  Maybe he and Dee would like to go with us.”  His frown disappeared, and he smiled.
 
“I will ask him.  The four of us might make a holiday of it.”  I did manage to suppress my laughter until he returned to the closet to rehang his suits.
 
 
MAXIMUS
I called her before ten the next morning.
 
“Terry has need of new suits as well.  He will consult with Diana, and the four of us will plan a date for our departure.  Do you wish to stay at the Dorchester again, or would you prefer another hotel?”  I thought for a moment.  I do like the Dorchester, but that last stay had been so fraught with emotion that I really did want to stay elsewhere.
 
“How about Claridge’s?  It’s lovely and, if possible, more luxurious than the Dorchester.  Have you ever stayed in a hotel that had 24-karat gold leaf tiles in the tub and shower?”  It took him a couple of seconds to answer me.
 
“Golden tiles in the showers and tubs?  That sounds as if it is fit for a Caesar.”  I couldn’t resist …I just had to fucking say it.
 
“Max, you are ‘Caesar’ to me, and I think you deserve it.”  That got me a laugh.
 
“Have you stayed there in years past?”
 
“How else would I know about the gold leaf in the showers?”
 
“Of course …once Terry and I have settled on dates, I leave the hotel reservations in your capable hands.  I am sure Sooze will be grateful not to have to make them for a change.”
 
She is a most amazing woman.  For all her earthiness on occasion, she can move in the highest circles with the greatest ease.  I saw that in Washington when we attended the Ambassador’s ball our first year together.  I did not ask when or under what circumstances she had spent time at Claridge’s, though I surmise it was during her first marriage.  I went online and checked out the hotel.  I was curious.  I was amazed.  I was looking forward to the experience.
 
 
REAGAN
“Terry says we’re going to London so he and Max can have suits made …is he shitting me?”

“He’s as serious as a heart attack.  Those two men are more clothes conscious than you and I ever thought of or ever could be.”
 
“What does a Savile Row suit cost?”
 
“I’d no clue until I went online …and two-piece suits start at $3,000 U. S. dollars.  Since Max won’t even consider anything that doesn’t have a vest, I figure he’s looking at $3,500 to $4,000 a pop.”  Silence.
 
“Dee?”  More silence.
 
“DEE!”  I heard a sharp intake of breath.  Maybe she hadn’t breathed since I offered the dollar signs.
 
“You mean $3,000 to $4,000 for a SUIT?”  That started off at a whisper and ended in a shriek.
 
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.  The shirts start at about $175 each, and then there are the ties, the sports coats, the leisure wear ….”
 
“Are they fucking CRAZY?”
 
“Probably, but shit, Dee, they can afford it.  You and I get to go along for the ride.  It’s time for you to hang up the frugal hat for a while because, trust me, you are NOT going to get Terrence Steven Thorne to change tailors at this stage of his life any more than I’m going to change Max’s mind.”  There was another deafening silence before she spoke.
 
“Well, I guess I have to get used to it.  This was Terry’s lifestyle long before I met him; he shouldn’t be expected to change it just because he now lives with Ms. Penny-Pincher.  Terry said we’ll be staying at Claridge’s …is that right?”
 
“That’s a roger.  I’ll be making the reservations as soon as Terry and Max give me dates.  I was thinking a suite for the four of us, unless you and Terry want a suite on your own.”
 
“Hey, this is going to be a pleasure trip for you and me …go for the gaudiest two-bedroom suite they have!”  We laughed.
 
“Claridge’s doesn’t do gaudy, but I was thinking of the Brook Penthouse.  It has a gorgeous balcony, two bedrooms, a lounge, huge baths …all the bells and whistles.  You’ll love it, once you get past being afraid to touch anything.”
 
“Bitch!”
 
“Cunt!” 
 
We really do love each other to death.  You can only use those words of ‘affection’ with someone you’d go to the mattresses for.  We were both laughing when I hung up the phone.
 
 
MAXIMUS
We determined to leave at week’s end thus affording ourselves a day of rest before Terry and I met with our respective tailors on Monday morning.  The appointments were set, airline and hotel reservations finalised, and Cassandra was packing.  It was Tuesday evening, and we were scheduled to leave on American Airlines’ 1705 flight Thursday evening and arrive in London at 0805 on Friday morning.  Claridge’s would have a limousine waiting for us on arrival.  Cassandra had taken care of everything; she is as efficient as is Sooze.  She had very few items in her suitcase and turned to me with an annoyed look on her face.
 
“What is it, Cara?”
 
“I have to go shopping before I can finish packing.  I have no maternity clothes.  I’ve been slopping round the house here in my fat jeans and sweat pants, and I really can’t travel first class – must less walk into the lobby at Claridge’s – dressed like that.”
 
“Travel dressed in any manner you wish.  You can purchase clothing in London.  I am sure they sell maternity clothing there.”  She raised an eyebrow.
 
“Max, I need at least three changes of clothing to get to London and go shopping.  Shit!  Okay, tomorrow I’m going to the office with you.  If Dee wants she can come in with Terry and go with me, or I’ll go it alone, but I do have to have three days’ worth of decent clothing to take with me.”  I put the shirt in my hands into my own suitcase and took her in my arms.
 
“Do whatever you wish, whenever you wish.  You have my charge cards and the chequebook for our account, and you know I care not how much you spend.  I do not think it has escaped your notice, but in the event it has I assure you we are rather well situated financially.  You – like Diana – are inordinately frugal, and on occasion need nudging out of your innate parsimony.”  She looked up at me, first with a frown and finally smiled.
 
“I know …but I just didn’t inherit the ‘shopping gene’ from my mother.  You know I only shop when I have no option.”
 
“I know, but now you must do so.  Shall I plan on leaving a bit later than usual tomorrow, or can you be ready to leave at six-thirty?”
 
“I’m always up with you anyway.  I can’t think of a reason in the world I can’t be ready to leave with you at your usual time.”  She was dressed and ready to leave 10 minutes ahead of me.  Punctuality is one of her strong suits.
 
 
DIANA
“I think it’s great on you.”
 
“It makes me look like a cow.”
 
“It does not.  It makes you look pregnant, but since you are pregnant, that’s fine.”
 
“I feel as if I should be wearing a WIDE LOAD sign on my ass.”  She was right; it did make her look a lot wider than she usually is, but pregnancy will do that for you.  Now, how to agree with her tactfully ….
 
“Reags, please tell me you didn’t expect to go through this pregnancy a trim size eight.”  That got me a scowl.

“I didn’t and I don’t, but I didn’t think my butt would get this wide.”
 
“I don’t think it’s your butt.  I think it’s more that your front is now wider than your hips, and it makes everything hang funny.”  She turned from the mirror to look at me and grinned.
 
“That’s the most tactful way I’ve ever heard anyone tell someone else they need a back-up horn.” 
 
We were at Neiman Marcus – Reags tends to refer to them as ‘Needless Mark-ups’ – and she was getting frustrated fast.  The poor little sales assistant had been running her butt off for the past 45 minutes, and my dearest friend had found one – count it – one thing she liked.  Unfortunately, that one thing was a cocktail dress.  She sighed as the poor child came in with another armload of possibilities.
 
“Why don’t they make maternity clothes in camouflage?”  The ‘child’ had been on her way out of the dressing room and turned on a dime.
 
“You like camos, Dr. Espan-Kavanagh?”  Reags’ head snapped up.
 
“I love them.”  The poor kid smiled for the first time since we’d grabbed her on the floor.
 
“Wait right here!”  Five minutes later she was back with – you guessed it – camo pants and a beautiful green silk blouse.
 
It took Reags all of 30 seconds to get into the pants and top, and she turned to look at herself in the mirror.
 
“Oh, my God!  I LOVE it!”  Well, yes.  She would.

She held what she termed ‘the best’ until the end, going into the bathroom and closing the door to change clothing though she had changed into the previous garments in our bedroom as I sat on the bed watching her.
 
She called to me from behind the closed door before reappearing.
 
“Close your eyes.  I’ll tell you when you can open them.”  I sighed, doing as she asked.  I heard the door open and smelt her perfume as she returned. 
 
“Okay …you can open your eyes.”
 
I was stunned.  She was wearing the pants that are part of military issue Battle Dress Uniform and an emerald green silk blouse.  I cannot explain why her appearance had the effect it did on me.  I know only that I found myself suddenly erect and pulsing in want of her. 
 
The combined impact of her femininity with clothing partly of a soldier’s dress and partly soft and feminine served to arouse me in a manner totally unanticipated.  I attempted to shift my position and rearrange myself before she could note my state.  I should have known that would not be possible; she sees everything.
 
Her left eyebrow went up as her gaze swept from my eyes to my manhood and lingered there before returning to meet my eyes; she licked her lips in a most wanton fashion.  Her voice was husky with passion when she spoke.
 
“Hey, Soldier …I have something that can help with that swelling you have.”
 
Indeed she did, and she spent the next half hour attending to the aforementioned ‘swelling.’
 
I am a most fortunate man.
 
 
TERRY
I noted on arrival at the airport that Max seemed more than a bit fond of the way Reags was dressed, and I did have to admit she looked good in BDUs.  He’d finally gotten the stick out of his arse and was travelling in 501s, his usual button-down style shirt, and a sports coat.  I noted that each time he looked at Reags in her camos that his jeans seemed to get a bit tighter across the fly; this might be a long flight for him.  I had to admit that even pregnant she looked better in them than anyone else I’d ever seen wear them.
 
Diana and I were both in jeans and jackets, and Reags had a mid-thigh length sweater jacket over her arm.  Her pregnancy got the four of us boarded early, and we settled into our seats and waited for the rest of the passengers to board.  We put wheels up on time and arrived in London half-an-hour under the scheduled nine hours flying time.  Sometimes the jet stream works in your favour.
 
The limo from Claridge’s was waiting when we walked out of Gatwick Airport, the driver standing beside the car with a sign saying Espan & Thorne in his hand.  He loaded our bags into the boot and advised that there was a thermos of coffee, one of tea, and cups in the passenger compartment.  There was also champagne and flutes in the mini-fridge if we preferred that.  We opted for coffee and tea.  It took us less than five minutes to get to our suite once we arrived at the hotel.  You may pay a bit more at hotels like Claridge’s, but you get more than your money’s worth in service.
 
Diana and Reags headed for the showers in our respective rooms, and Max and I sat in the lounge flipping through the channels on the telly.  Fifteen minutes later Reags popped her head in the room to announce that she was going for a bit of a kip.  I wasn’t in the least surprised when he stood and said he’d join her.  I was in a mind to join Diana and test the springs of the huge bed in our room.  We’d catch up with each other for a late lunch.  As I stood to head for our room, Diana’s head popped out the door.
 
“OK, I want one of the fabulous English breakfasts I’ve heard so much about.  After that we’re off to Hyde Park and then to the Mews.”  So much for my hopes of testing our bed.
 
“Diana, we’re away from our horses.  We don’t need to go to the Mews to watch Her Majesty’s horses.  They aren’t going to let you ride any of them.  Of course, I might be able to get you a gig polishing bridles.”
 
“No, no, OK, then the Mews is out.”  I pulled the room service menu from the desk and picked up the phone.  If we had breakfast in the room I’d at least stand a chance of testing the mattress.