“Me, too,” I said. “You ought to come over tonight and I’ll give you my full explanation.”

“What?” he said.

“I should write that book,” I said, “and give my full explanation.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a fine idea.” Then he laughed.

We said a couple more things and hung up.

AFTER WORK THE next day I drove to the mall. I walked into every store. It was like wishing you were hungry so you could satisfy the craving, but what food would you want? Not chocolate, not booze, not salty or sweet, not cheesy, not ice cream, not chips.

A men’s boutique had some loose, blousey shirts on sale, with rounded cuffs and pleats on the shoulders. I bought a tan one. I bought some navy pants made of a thin material, and a pair of flat black shoes. Then I went down to the department store and got some new hair gel and some cream that’s supposed to tone your skin.

The woman behind the counter was in her fifties. She had a pretty, narrow face and a pointed chin, circular, drawn-on eyebrows, maroon lipstick, and a stiff yellow crown of hair surrounding her head like a plastic lion’s mane. I asked her what a model would use to maybe improve his look. “If you want to look the way average men look, then go home. You’re in the range of expectation.” She took out a jar of white cream and a tray of what looked like pastel crayons. “But if you want to look better, sit down in that seat. Let’s give you some zest. Let’s give you some pep. Some sex appeal.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

She held a red crayon up to the light. “Let’s give you a touch of masculine pizzazz.”

“O.K.,” I said.

“That’s the way you wear your hair?”

“What do you mean?”

“Too flat,” she said, fluffing up the front part.

She showed me an eyebrow darkener, to make the brow stronger, she said—more expressive. I leaned over the counter, and she gently drew a tiny black brush through my left eyebrow. I watched in the mirror. Then she did the other one. With each stroke I looked more and more like my sixth-grade football coach, Mr. Gaspari. I held her wrist. “That’s wonderful,” I said, “I don’t want it on me now. Just tell me what to buy.”

They had a cream to make it look as though you were tan, and a lip moisturizer that makes the lips a deeper red. I bought those and something you brush on your eyelashes, because mine barely exist. She gave me a special sponge to start with and a powder-finish thing that goes on last. I bought another powder, too, for drying up excess moisture. I paid with my credit card, and she said, “For touch-ups!” handing me the bag.