Rita Hayworth's Shoes (3 page)

“Oh, that's horrible,” Jane gasped, now looking to Amy. “Isn't that horrible?!”

“What?” said Amy, seemingly to her drink. “Yeah, terrible.”

Amy pulled the paper off a straw lying on the table and added it to her drink. So delighted was she with the speed the drink now went down with two straws, she ordered another. And proceeded to add yet another straw. It seemed the more straws she sucked her drinks through, the faster they went to her head, and the less she actually had to hear what was going on around her. Her friends didn't seem to notice what she was up to. They had other things to think about now.

“We all have a story like that,” Jane mused.

“Really?” asked Hannah as the waiter placed another drink in front of Amy and she tore open another straw. “What's yours?”

“Well, my ex, Zoë's father…he ran off with the UPS delivery woman.”

“He didn't!” Hannah gasped, clearly enjoying the scandal.

“He didn't—”Amy interrupted.

“He
did
!” Jane insisted.  

Amy shrugged her shoulders and went back to her drink.

“Well, I for one am glad he didn't go through with it, personally,” Hannah suddenly blurted, and Amy glared at her.

“On second thought, maybe this isn't the best conversation to be having right now,” Jane deflected.

“Appropriate or not,” scoffed Hannah. “You can't say it isn't true.”

“I think we should get off the topic,” Jane said noticing that Amy was starting to look a bit wobbly. “It's really none of our business, and I think it's making Amy uncomfortable.”

“Look, all I'm saying is that Amy's got a twisted view of this thing—of her whole relationship with David. You know it and I know it. Even Zoë knows it.” Zoë didn't look up, but a quick wave of her right hand confirmed her position.

“Well, just because she hasn't fucked everything she could wrap her legs around,” Jane snapped before catching herself. “I mean ducked every goose—oh God, whatever! That's no reason—”

“He never did anything for her, and you know it,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “He never did anything, I don't know,
special
—”

“Liz. Lizzie. Fizzie Lizzie. Dizzie Lizzie,” Amy slurred as she slurped around the ice melting in her glass.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” said Jane. “Honey, maybe it's time we got you home?”

“Lizzie Borden. Lizbeth Borden. Lizabeth Borden took an axe—”

“Waiter—check, please!” Jane called out.

Amy ignored Jane, now sucking only air through five straws. “Lizabeth. Elizabeth. Queen Elizabeth! Elizabeth Taylor. Lizabeth… Elizabeth… Eliza- “ she slurped, “Bitch! Eliza-bitch!”

Jane lunged across the table to cover a squirming Zoë's ears with her hands.

“Eliza-BITCH! ELIZABITCH!” Amy squeaked as Hannah and Jane exchanged looks of bemused horror. “ELIZAPHANT!” With that, Amy snorted and passed out on the table. “At least now she'll sleep,” Zoë remarked.

The waiter finally brought the check, which Jane paid, and they set about getting Amy home. Together they maneuvered Amy out of her seat, sliding her out of the booth as one of her blue denim clogs slipped off her foot. Jane bent down to get it.

“No. Let it go.” said Hannah, dead serious.

Jane looked at Hannah, annoyed.

“Really. I hate those shoes,” Hannah said. “I'll take her shopping tomorrow if I can revive her. But she can't wear those anymore. She just can't.”

Jane shot Hannah a sharp look out of loyalty to her friend. But she knew Hannah was right.

“She's right, Mama,” said Zoë. “Those shoes suck.”

“I know,” Jane said, shaking her head sadly at the shoe. “I know you guys are right. But Zoë, I don't think–”

“Yes, Mama. I'm sorry. Those shoes are not suited to Amy's sparkling personality and are certainly worth replacing. Better?”

“That'll do.”

“Freamy-manna-hotta-cown-flewn-buck,” Amy murmured as they lifted her arms over Hannah's ample shoulders.

“I'm sorry, honey. What was that?” Jane tried.

“Freakish-mannish-husky-corn-fed-flab-bucket!” Amy managed to utter before slipping off Hannah's shoulders and falling in a clump at the exit.

##

Amy opened her eyes, now startled. Was it morning? Where was she? Why was her head pounding and her throat so painfully dry?
Oh. Right
.

Remembering the diner and the drinks, she reached over to her night table where she hoped she had at least had the sense to leave herself a glass of water. Upon leaning over, she fell right out of the bed. The night table wasn't there. This woke her right up. Realizing she was nearly naked (and without even the vaguest memory of how her clothes had come off) she spotted something white poking out from under the bed and she grabbed it. It turned out to be one of David's dirty T-shirts.

Amy pulled the shirt up off the floor and clutched it to her face. She breathed in the scent that still lingered in the fabric. A mix of musk and Old Spice. The smell of David. The smell of her love. She pushed the T-shirt up closer to her face and tried to take it all in, tried to breathe the scent right off the material.

Her beautiful David, with his deep brown eyes, his eyelashes so long they spread like fans over his eyes when they were shut. His chiseled cheeks and chin. His exquisite skin. His bow-shaped mouth—a mouth she would never kiss again. She sighed, pulled the T-shirt over herself, and headed for the kitchen.

But she didn't get any further than the living room. Everything in her apartment was gone. No tiny couch. No ratty old coffee table. No wool rug that David had had since college and refused to replace because it was still useful. No TV. And all her books. Her precious books were gone. She realized that he must have come in while she was out and taken it all. In a panic, she whipped her head around to the opposite side of the room and breathed a great sigh of relief. At least he had left the babies. Thank God he had left the babies.

Amy headed into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, but the coffee pot was gone. For the first time, she considered it a good thing that David had never liked tea. She had always loved it, drinking full pots of it from the delicate antique china cups she collected. She had hoped David would join her—if for nothing else because of the joy it gave her. But that would not have been David's style.

So Amy made a pot of tea and poured some into her favorite little cup, the one with the green flowers. She headed into the living room and sat cross-legged on the floor as she looked around. She tried to feel something.
Anything
. She wanted to shake but she didn't have the energy. She wanted to cry but she was simply too numb. So she sat there and sniffed, trying to force the tears to come.

It was through this sniffing that she detected the scent of something unusual. That scent…great memories of summer washed over her and began to calm and soothe her as she began to think about her parents and how much she missed them, of eating fried chicken with them at the carnival before they disappeared…

Amy sniffed harder. That smell. That now-stale odor of chicken. Did she detect the presence of—she sniffed harder—was that
artificial sweetener
? Oh, God!
She
had been there. Elizabitch. Elizaphant! That blobby gnome had been in
her
apartment. Her home.

As Amy breathed in the toxic fumes of the man-stealer, nausea erupted in her like a geyser. She threw up all over David's shirt, which she'd now have to wash or throw away.

And now she cried.

Monday morning arrived quickly, but Amy was ready for it. Or at least ready to escape her empty apartment. After a quick shower, she dressed in a gray sweater and loose-fitting black pants. She slipped her foot into one of her favorite shoes, her blue denim clogs, and searched everywhere for the other. It was nowhere to be found, but it was too late already to care. She settled instead on a pair of Chuck Taylor low tops, swung her improbably large bag over her shoulder, and headed out the door.

As she exited her building, she was stopped, “Yo baby!”

“Dammit,” she whispered under her breath before plastering on a polite smile and turning to face the group of white-T-shirt-wearing, gold-chain-donning, twenty-somethings who lived in her building with their mamas, and who spent most of their time hanging out on the front steps.

She knew them all, of course. Having lived in this building since they were in middle school, she'd even watched them grow up—from pre-adolescent boys who had occasionally needed her help with their English homework, to these men standing here. These sexy young men. She felt a shudder, not unpleasant, course within her.

“Hi, Tony,” she waved. “Hi, Mario and Frankie. And hello there, Angelo.”

They each nodded their hellos as they looked her up and down. “Where you off to, Miss Amy?” asked Angelo.

She held up her bag. “Work. You know?” From the looks they gave her, it was clear they did not.

“Saw your old man the other day,” said Mario, puzzled. “Looked like he was moving?”

“Here with his aunt or something,” added Frankie.

“A little chummy for an aunt,” sneered Tony.

“
Chum
being the key word there,” Angelo said, and they all burst out laughing. Except for Amy. A fact of which they were soon painfully aware and which silenced the mirth.

“Who was that broad?” Frankie wanted to know.

Angelo laughed again. “
Broad
being the key word…”

Now Amy burst into tears and Tony immediately threw his arms around her. He held her a bit too close as he glared at Angelo. “Whatsa matter with you? Show some respect.”

“Uh, sorry,” said Angelo.

Amy cried in Tony's young, strong Italian arms, and she felt a stirring of something like lust. But she quickly shook it off. Truth was it had been so long since she and David had done it, a shrub scratching up against her legs would likely have had the same effect. But still, there was something so gentle, yet manly about him. Something so unexpected about his touch that she looked up at him and smiled for a second.

He smiled back. “You okay, toots?”

She pulled herself away and took a deep breath. “Long story,” she said.

Tony pulled her back again and she stirred again, this time with a little more intensity. “We gonna have to kick someone's ass?”

She smiled. “Thanks, but I don't think…”

“I never liked that guy,” said Tony, shaking his head. “Total dick.” Though the
way
he said it, full of manliness and rage and sex, made Amy even hotter than before. She pulled away again, and this time took a few steps out of his reach.

“Thanks, guys. But it's just a temporary thing. David will be back and everything will be back to normal before we know it.”

Mario shook his head. “I sure hope not,” he said, undressing her with his eyes.

She shuddered, but not with disgust. “Gotta go!” she gasped and ran off.

##

An hour later, Amy was sitting in her cubicle outside Professor Heimlich's office in the English department of Stratton University, chatting with Jane on the phone instead of dealing with the pile of files mounting on her desk as she tried to make sense of things. Including the strange new stirrings her young neighbors had sparked.

“But they're barely
twenty
,” said Amy, cradling the receiver between her shoulder and chin as she shuffled through stacks of unopened mail.

“And what? You haven't done it since they were all in middle school?”

“Oh, come on. It hasn't been that long.”

“Really?” Jane paused. “How many years were you with David?”

“Seven.”

“And how many times did you do it in the past five years?”

Amy was silent.

“How many?”

“Uh,” she stammered. “I dunno. Maybe seven?”

“Not even close. In the first two years
maybe
.”

“David just wasn't that into—”

“
You
. I'm sorry to be so harsh about it, sweetie. But that's what it comes down to.”

Amy looked up briefly to see that Hannah was standing over her desk. “The sooner you—”

“I gotta go,” Amy snapped and hung up the phone. She looked up at Hannah. “Can I help you?”

Hannah started down at her for a minute without speaking. She then produced a giant box of cookies, which she handed to Amy. “Peace offering?”

Amy took the box, screwing up her face as she read the package. “Almond biscotti?” She looked back at Hannah. “For what?”

“Well, for your shoe. For one.”

Amy cocked her head. “My shoe?”

“What? Oh, nothing. Just forget about that. So, how was your weekend?”

“Horrendous,” said Amy, looking away. “
She
was in my apartment, you know. That woman. And David.” She shook her head. “They took
everything
.”

“I know,” said Hannah, in the same nonchalant manner someone might acknowledge a crumb on a coffee table.

Amy narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, you
know
?”

“David told me.” Again, in the same irritatingly casual tone.

“You spoke to David?”

“Well, I wasn't planning to talk to
him,
” said Hannah. “I was trying to have a conversation with Liz and–”

“With
Liz
? Liz French?”

“Uh, yeah. We're, um…we're kind of friends,” Hannah looked away guiltily. “I mean, we're not
friends
, friends. We just know each other. We both worked—”

“I don't think I want the details, thanks,” Amy said, looking away.

“Look, I wanted to tell you the other day. I just didn't know how—”

Amy shook her head. “I don't understand. Why didn't you
say
something.” And then the realization burned through her. “Holy shit, you
knew
. Didn't you? You knew there was someone else!”

“Well, yes. And
no
. I mean, I knew Liz was involved with
someone
. I just didn't figure out that it was David until just a few days ago.” She put up a hand, “After the wedding,” she offered, helpfully. It did not help.

Amy took a deep breath and tried to suppress the urge to scream. “How long has it been going on?”

Hannah looked away. “You don't want to know.”

“How long?”

“Oh, come on, Amy. What good is this going to do anyone?”

“
How long
!?”

“About six months.”

“What?”

“I said about six—”

“I heard you. I just don't understand. How could it have gone on that long?” She slinked down into her chair. “Right under my nose.”

“It wasn't serious all that time. I mean, of course they were sleeping together the whole time but…” Hannah stopped talking for a while when Amy let out a noise not unlike a yelp. “You know, she's also kind of into reptiles.”

“As a food source,” Amy jabbed.

“Say what you will but it's not
her
fault he's with her. Surely you can't blame her for what happened. I mean, she's actually a really nice girl. Once you get to know her you might like her…”

Amy stared at Hannah a few moments and then stood.

“Where are you going?” asked Hannah.

“I am going to have a word with him,” said Amy, pushing around the side of her desk.

Hannah grabbed her by the shoulders. “You can't do that.”

“I can
do
whatever I want.”

“No, I mean you
can't
.…”

“Look, I don't think you're really in the position of playing the friendship card right now. I don't see why I need to look out for your best interests when you couldn't give a crap about mine,” said Amy, growing ever more determined to extricate herself from Hannah's iron grasp.

“No. It's not that.”

“What is it then?"“Well…he's not here.”

“He's not here?” she asked, confused for a moment. “Okay. So I'll go have a word with her.” And she wriggled away from Hannah.

Who clamped right back down on her. “She's not here, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“They…uh…” Hannah let go finally and looked away. “They went…out of town.”

Amy realized immediately what Hannah meant. “They went on my honeymoon,” she whispered, deflated.

“Well. Yeah.”

Walking backward to her desk, Amy slammed square into a filing cabinet. “Shit!”

“Language!” shouted Heimlich from his office.

“Sorry,” she said.

Doctor Heimlich emerged from his office, dressed in his professorial tweeds and khaki pants, and hobbled over to Amy's desk. At seventy-two, he didn't look a day over seventy-eight. “So, you're back now, are you?”

“It was time.”

“You get those notes I left here typed yet?” he snapped, noticing the mountain of yet-to-be filed papers on her desk.

“I guess I forgot,” she said.

“We're back at that one again, eh? And who's this?” he asked pointing to Hannah with one of his Band-Aid wrapped fingertips.

“I've been filling in for Amy all week—”

“Never mind,” he cut her off. “Don't care.”

“Professor, I'm so sorry for all the noise,” said Amy. “I just learned some disturbing news.”

“What? That snake boy took off to the Bahamas with his new girl?”

Amy looked away, choking back tears. “Well. Yes.”

“A damn shame, that,” he said, shaking his head. “Talk of the whole damned campus.” Amy felt herself flush with color. “Bahamas, eh?” She nodded. He shrugged his shoulders. “Would have been a nice trip.”

“Yes, I suppose it would,” she said.

Heimlich stared at her for a while, then gave her a playful punch in the arm. “Ah, but you're here with us now,” he smiled. “Now back to work,” he added, businesslike, tapping her twice on the tush. “Chop, chop.”

“Okay…well…let's see. Messages.” She took a deep breath as she held up a stack and began to read. “Dean Cornish called about—”

“Ah, screw old Cornish,” Heimlich said, talking over her. “How about some coffee?”

Amy was shocked at the thoughtfulness of the craggly old man. “Why, thank you. I'd love some.”

“Not for you, silly girl!” he laughed, shaking his head at Hannah as if he and she had been involved in some kind of private joke over the coffee. Hannah laughed back and Amy glared at her.

“How about that new hazelnut over there in the lounge,” he said. “Grab me a cup of that.”

Amy fought to keep her composure. “But you're allergic to nuts.”

Heimlich regarded her like she was an infant just discovering that she had hands. “I can't eat
PEA
-nuts,” he cooed. “But to humor your silly little simple brain, just make it regular this time.” He giggled to himself as he sauntered off down the hallway.

“Speaking of nuts…” Hannah tried.

Amy ignored Hannah's attempt at levity as she headed down the hall in the other direction.

##

Later that day, Amy received a disturbing phone call. It seemed the ice sculptor that had been hired for her wedding felt his business would now be irredeemably hurt by his association with her abysmal affair. He was demanding restitution. As Amy argued the finer points of getting jilted in a dive deli and understanding better than anyone alive the meaning of “irreparable social disgrace,” Professor Heimlich entered her workspace in search of a snack.

Spotting the new box of treats Hannah had gifted earlier, he craned his neck around the increasingly agitated Amy, reaching behind her as he tried to get to the biscotti. To spare herself further humiliation, perhaps of having the old man land in her lap, she handed the box to Heimlich, who happily snatched it away and ran off.

Even later that day, just as Amy was wrapping her conversation with the ice-hearted ice sculptor, Professor Heimlich began dancing wildly around in his office. Amy didn't notice Heimlich dancing and she didn't notice as he began gesticulating wildly, flopping about back and forth, this way and that. And at the very moment that she slammed down the phone, she did not notice Heimlich's dramatic crash to the floor. The loud clamoring his fall generated got her attention, to be sure, and she looked back at the phone for a moment in pure disbelief that she had slammed it down so hard as to make such a sound. Then she realized that it had emanated from Heimlich's office. So loud was the crash, in fact, that it had attracted everyone in the English department to Heimlich's door, and also some anthropologists. Including Hannah.

Amy ran into Heimlich's office to find him lying on the floor, a half-eaten biscotti clutched in his wiry, Band-Aid-wrapped fingertips. She wasn't even aware that Hannah had followed her in until she spoke.

“This is bad,” was all Hannah said as they pondered what do next over Heimlich's prone and lifeless body.