“Something less formal,” Jerry said.
“Hmm,” the old man said without stopping his measurements. “Pity. I could do some real good things for both of you in suits.” He sighed. “But these days, you don’t get a chance to show off what you know. Well, at least it’s not leisure suits any more.”
Museum exhibit or no, Meyer knew his business. With hardly a pause he had both Jerry and Bal-Simba measured and the sample book laid out for them to pick the cloth.
“Here you go. Not a thread of polyester in the bunch. Just show me what you want and in two, three days we’ll have you turned out sharp.”
“We were hoping for something today. Something we can wear out of here.”
“You want miracles too?”
“We can’t go walking around like this.”
“I don’t see why not. You look like a bartender from the Excalibur. That’s a hotel,” he added at Jerry’s puzzled expression. Then he nodded toward Bal-Simba. “Him, he’s a problem.”
“It can be just about anything. We’re kinda desperate.”
He looked at Jerry. “In that case, you I can fit off the rack, almost. Your friend—” He shrugged. “That’s special.”
“How long will it take?”
“So you’re in a hurry too?”
“Look, if it’s a matter of money…” The old man waved him to silence. “It’s a matter of possible. A challenge like this I haven’t had in a long time, but even so…” Again the shrug. Then he brightened. “Wait a minute. I do have something a customer never picked up. I can even make you a price on it”
A few minutes later Jerry stepped out of the dressing room the picture of Las Vegas casual. His polo shirt and slacks fit him beautifully. The clothing felt odd after the loose shirts, tunics and breeches he had worn for so long at the Wizards’ Keep. The shoes were stiff and pinched a little after the soft leather boots of the other world, but he could get used to it.
“Are you ready?” he called into the dressing room where Bal-Simba was changing.
“I believe so,” Bal-Simba said, somewhat hesitantly.
Bal-Simba emerged wearing a puffy-sleeved pink shirt open to the navel. A fancy vest fitted tightly over the shirt. Tight tan bell-bottoms stretched across his ample rear. He had left his bone necklace around his chest and a snap-brim hat with a leopard-skin band completed the outfit. Meyer fussed around him, pulling down the vest here and tugging the shirt into position there.
Jerry looked his friend up and down. “We don’t have to guess the guy’s profession, do we?”
The old man shrugged. “So who asks? Now come on up front and we’ll get you taken care of.”
Jerry gulped when he saw the bill, but he peeled off hundreds without comment. “The rest of the stuff, four o’clock tomorrow,” Meyer admonished. “I swear not a minute sooner.”
They found Moira outside by the dolphin pool, posing for pictures with a family of tourists while a couple of bemused security guards looked on.
“Don’t you need a leash for that thing?” one of the guards asked when Jerry came up to rejoin her.
“Audio-Animatronics,” Jerry explained.
“No kidding?” one of the guards said. “Like the showgirls?” Jerry wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not so he just smiled.
There was a covered slideway from the lobby to the street, but Jerry led them down the ordinary sidewalk beneath it. He wasn’t sure how his friends would take to a moving walkway and he wasn’t at all sure Moira would be able to keep her tail out of the gears.
“How do we begin our search for this wizard?” Moira asked as the three made their way out to the street.
“First things first. We gotta get registered. We do that at the main Convention Center.”
“Where is that?”
“There.” Jerry pointed to one of the towers springing up out of the desert. “It’s further than it looks.”
“How will we get there?”
“Walk. I don’t think they would let a dragon on a shuttle bus. Besides, we don’t have credentials so they won’t let us in either.”
Bal-Simba nodded and the strangely assorted trio joined the knots of business-suited convention-goers drifting down the sidewalk toward the distant tower.