More designer brand than man.  More Dolce and Gabbana than a nation of Italians.  So physically fit looking, so handsome, so on brief I wondered if he was indeed the first humanoid robot.

He took me to one side peering over the top of thick black Mad Men style spectacle frames.  “You are a tailor you say” he said in conspiratorial fashion.

“Um, well yes, I am” I replied.  “But I’m pretty good at selling too.”  He smiled.  The smile of a man accustomed to ingratiating himself to foreign princes and celebrities.  It was a smile that said ‘I can give you this much, no more, no less. I’m going to spend minimum amount of time and physical energy to get what’s required from you’.

“We do need someone to do alterations” he said.

“Ah, you misunderstand me.” I replied.  I was actually thinking of sales.  I’ve worked in womenswear but I figured I’d like to try menswear for a while – given my, you know, background.”

He looked down through sparklingly clean lenses, past his neatly fitted mohair suit, finally resting his gaze on my silver metallic sneakers.

“Yes, I see” he said with an expression that could have been misconstrued as a very slight grimace, but perhaps I was being paranoid.  I thought I heard the clicking of heels.

As I put my handbag down on the nearby gilt edged sofa I felt his eyes swivel left.  I removed it and cast it aside rapidly to the floor.

Various other D & G’ites wandered past, predominantly men, one better looking than the next.  Where do they get them from I wondered, and did they all speak Chinese?

One of them glanced over: waved hair, blonde, muscles straining against his fitted single breasted suit.  Silvestro caught his gaze and paused.  Something was happening.  I didn’t know what exactly.  I panicked.  I needed Silvestro’s full attention.  What if my destiny was to work for D & G?  What if this really was the holy grail?  Menswear.  Bespoke tailoring.  Wavy hair.  It ticked all the boxes.

I hurriedly reached for my CV.  “Um, Silvestro, let me give you this” I said pulling one out of a hard-backed envelope and scribbling my availability on it: ‘NOW’.

He turned to face me once more.  I noted the tightly knotted tie, the immaculate nails, the shining loafers – with socks.  “Thank you” he said, with an imperceptible nod of his head and an equally subtle waving towards the door.  The doorman opened it.  I turned to say goodbye but Silvestro was already engaged, head bowed, finger to lips, listening attentively to his wavy haired colleague, preciously killing time until the next sale.