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Sonja laced up her brogued flats with derby lacing and launched off the front stoop to the sidewalk below. She was running late for work once again (the warmth of the summer nights had a way of charming her so), and there was no telling how angry Mr. Zwillings was going to be when she showed up. Sonja slid onto the leather seat of her bicycle, plopped her purse into the basket and peddled for dear life and livelihood.
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“Nice shoes.”
India brought her eyes and nose up from the array of hard cheeses to find a very tall, very lanky, very attractive young man in some very interesting brown cowboy boots saddled up next to her holding a ball of shrink-wrapped fresh mozzarella. India’s heart fluttered a bit, as she had always considered a man who could appreciate a pair of shoes worth her time and attention.”Thanks. Yours aren’t so bad either.”
“I’ve been looking for a pair of brogued oxfords like those myself. Where’d you get them?”
India nearly fainted. A man who knew that an oxford was not the same as a brogue and that a brogued oxford was not a brogue? This was rarer than any cheese she’d ever found in the dairy section…
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“Kathy, do you fancy a walk across the Mill’ today?”
Kathy was sheepish. “Oh, you know I would, but these shoes I’ve got on today — well, I don’t suppose I’ll be able to last even to Blackfriar’s. Maybe tomorrow, Vicky.”
“What’ve you got there for shoes, Kathy? They’re absolutely gorgeous!”
“Thank you, Vicky, but — as you can see — they aren’t quite ideal for lunchtime strolls, are they?”
“I suppose not, but they are certainly good for putting a few eyes out on the tube, you saucy little strumpet! Promise me you’ll wear something more appropros to going out for lunch tomorrow, will you?”
“I promise, Vicky.”
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Esmerelda never had a chance. She had spent the day walking all about town on a mission to find that perfect bag to go with the perfect boots. She ended up walking into the very heart of trouble with nothing but a four-inch heel and a set of good intentions.
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A Paris winter had a way of making you reflect.
The chill and the gray made the past more vivid and colorful and enticing to think about. Christiane’s mind began to drift along with the whisperings of the Seine and the clacking of her heels on the stones underfoot.
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She had known it was wrong. She had known it was wrong the whole time, and still she hadn’t been able to stop herself. He was too charming. He was too sweet. The cliché wilting words of romance were like dancing fireflies rising into the night sky when they came out of his mouth, and the passion — the passion! — it was enough to make her pull her coat open — buttons be damned! — to throw herself into the sinful mire of love and deceit that this affair had turned into. More pressing to her mind now, though, was how she was to explain the missing button and the late hour of her return to Charles…
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“Reow!” Tracy leaped over the trail of clothes Chad had left behind as he had made his way to bed. He shed clothes like a snake does skin and was totally unabashed about it. She hugged his ribs and squeezed. “How many times do I have to tell you to quit leaving a mess!?”
“I know! I know! Nice sweater.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah. It looks good on you.”
“That’s sweet.”
“And it fits your personality.”
“How so?”
“It makes you look like a cougar.”
“You dummy. Like a leopard. I look like a leopard. Cougars don’t have spots, and if you ever call me old, desperate, and easy again I’ll have your head.” She waved a finger in his laughing face. “Your head!”
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Two days with no electricity. That was just great. Fantastic. It was a good thing she had just bought a great new faux-fur coat that would keep her as snug as a bug in a rug.
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“So how do you know Yuri?”
“Yuri is my good friend. We knew each other from the old times in high school. He was not very good at sports!” Olaf chortled.
“No, I don’t imagine he would be. He is much too refined for that.”
“Oh, yes — refined.” Olaf bunched up the thigh of his pant leg in his sweaty palm. This was not going well.
“Yuri has always been very refined. Too refined, maybe!” He chortled again. The waiter was startled by the boom of Olaf’s laugh.
“And what is it you do now, again? Yuri said you owned a business?”
“Yes, yes. I am a contractor. I build everything that needs to be built. I work with my hands and build, build, build. And you?”
“I work at the community center. I don’t do much that interesting there.”
“You must do something interesting, of course.”
“I enjoy theater. I enjoy balls and fine food. I work for the Opera. I help them extensively. And, of course when I find time, I travel. It has been years since I was last on a good trip, but the desire is still there.”
“Oh, yes. Opera. You are beautiful enough to be in an opera, I think,” ventured Olaf.
Dasha shifted in her seat and tried to conceal a grimace. The sequins of her jacket were too good for an uncouth man like this, and the sounds they made were far more interesting than anything this Olaf had yet managed to mutter…
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This coat has no past but does have an illustrious future. It will probably be used by its future owner for days in which she will want to garner attention for her sense of style, quirkiness, and unfettered iconoclasm. Art openings, ladies’ nights out, and dinners at trendy establishments (where the size of your servings is inversely proportional to the prices in the menu) will be filled with gawkers too smitten with this coat to do anything but think about how much they envy the future owner. Praise and adulation may even become tiresome, but the coat will remain a glorious monument to the future owner’s visionary view of life.
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James held the door open for his wife and her friend, Richard, and Richard’s wife, Rosemary. James’ wife was a nice enough woman, pretty and proper and endowed with the social graces only a lifetime of training could instill in you, and she made a good wife and had made a good wife for years. Richard was almost a mirror of her, so it was no mystery why they had gotten along so well when they had gone to Wellesley. Rosemary, though, she was different. She had escaped the rigid sculpting of the moneyed life, but she knew how to play by the rules when it was necessary. She could even conceal her disdain for the rules when the situation called for it.
As they removed their coats at the coat check, Richard took James’ wife’s coat, leaving James to show his chivalrousness to Rosemary. Rosemary turned her back to him but kept her eyes and face turned over her shoulder to hold him in an enveloping gaze as he removed her brown faux-fur coat. She slipped gracefully out of her coat and placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you, James,” she said, not breaking the bridge spanning the distance between their eyes. James felt fear and excitement pulse from his wrists through his toes. Richard and James’ wife were already moving toward the table reserved for their foursome and had completely missed the moment in which James’ and Rosemary’s long-standing betrayal could have been so flippantly betrayed.
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“I’m headed out!”
“Don’t forget your coat!”
Kelly pulled her fringed suede jacket and pulled on her hunting moccasins. The fringe sounded like drops of rain on hot shale and provided comforting company on her daily berry-gathering expeditions. She buttoned up and left the yurt for the cool embrace of the forest.
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Heather pulled the collars of her black faux-fur coat up against her neck. Winter was coming, and there was no telling how cold it was going to get. She wondered if real fur would have been warmer, but she could hardly bring herself to eat a piece of fried chicken, let alone don a dead animal’s skin. The very idea chilled her spine, and that was clearly counterproductive in the dead of winter.
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“I brought you something, Sammy.” Dad pulled a brown grocery store bag with its top rolled down from his suitcase which lay splayed open on the living room floor. “I think you’re gonna like it.”
Sammy was just happy to see Dad home again, safe and sound. His trip to Washington D.C. — wherever that was — had taken him away for a whole week. She had cried with reckless abandon at the bus station, but Mom kept telling her it would be okay, and that he would be back soon. Imagine her excitement when he really did come back!
Dad unrolled the top of the bag and held its open mouth out for Sammy to peer in. “I know the wrapping isn’t much, but I think you’ll like what’s inside…”
Sammy leaped off the floor as her attention fell into the bag. It was black and just peeking off the top was a golden space shuttle — a space shuttle! Her hands flew into the bag, and when they came out, they held a beautiful black nylon bomber jacket with golden zippers and a golden space shuttle on the lapel.
“Thanks, Daddy!” squealed Sammy. “Thanks!” She flung her arms around Dad’s neck and squeezed.
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Dawn was fuming. She’d been stood up again. Something about those Wall Street types made them act like real jerks. They’d wine and dine you and let you use the carphone to make long distance calls one week and then the next they’d have their secretary tell you you weren’t in the Rolodex of “approved” people. It was downright insulting what those pigs thought they could get away with.
Dawn was all dressed up in her skin tight black dress, and she had no plans to take it off herself. She knew she could find a one night boy toy to help her with her predicament…
