Aye, I am a Fairy

by Dani Haviland

  She had asked him about whether he wanted to go shopping or not, but it was just a courtesy query and she knew he knew it. She had already pulled into the mall. She was looking for a place to park, trying to remember which side of the huge complex had the most shoe stores, when it hit her. She shook her head in mild self-disgust. The whole idea of the trip was to get shoes so they could exercise at least once a day, and here she was, prowling the parking lot so she could get closer to her stores of choice. Bad Leah, she scolded herself.

  There, a tree at the end of the lot without a car underneath. Shade would be better in the long run—ha ha, she thought—than a shorter trek to the air conditioning inside. That brought up another concern.

  “This sounds ridiculous, but the air is so smoggy and nasty in town late in the day that maybe we ought to drive out of town to do our walking, at least for the evening walk.”

  James paused to think about what she had said before he replied. “Normally, I would agree with you, but this will only be for a few days. I would assume that when we do go back, the air will be considerably cleaner.” Leah snorted at his remark, but he ignored it and continued, “Our lungs will be able to recover from any potential damage that a week of smog could incur. They will also be stronger when they have fresh air to process. Hence, breathe the crud now, and we’ll have more energy from breathing the cleaner, more oxygenated-air later, right?”

  “Right,” she said. He came around to open her door for her, but once again, she was already out before he could get there.

  “You know, you’re going to have to practice being a lady,” he said in exasperation.

  Leah didn’t say a word, but glared a ‘what are you talkin about?’ scowl at him.

  “I mean, letting a man open the door for you, expecting a man to rise when you leave the table: common, for me, courtesies that Americans used to have, or so I would expect. I know not everyone in that era was from England—or Great Britain, as it were—but other countries in Europe had the same respect for women that seems to have disappeared with the women’s lib movement in the late twentieth century.”

  Leah started to make a smart aleck remark, but instead said, “You’re right. I’m sorry, sir, and I will do my best to keep that mindset in place. I would appreciate it,” she looked over at him as he held open the door at the mall entrance for her, “if you would gently remind me when I am being—how shall we say?—inappropriate in my actions?”

  “Yes, my Lady Leah, and since you are a lady, I will strive to always be gentle with you.” James gave her a short bow, raised her hand to his lips, and gave a brief, soft kiss. He glanced up and saw her smile. She was blushing which made him grin with pride. He reached over to take her elbow, then saw one of the reasons for her blushing. The two of them and their little display of elegant manners had attracted a small covey of teenaged girls. They were all huddled together, bumping shoulders with each other, grinning, giggling, and ‘ahh-ing’ at the sight of an attentive gentleman. Just beyond them was a group—well, it almost looked like a gang—of young men tsk-ing and snorting.

  James shook his head at them. There still may be hope for the lads. Maybe they’d see that having one fine lady to appreciate was better than hanging about with their mates. A pack of lonely males lolling about, wishing for—but not brave enough to seek out—female companionship could be taught.

  James nodded at the ladies as he passed, aware of—but ignoring—their tittering and blushing. He then winked at the young men, tipped his head, and looked back to the ladies with a visual suggestion that they go see to the fair damsels. If the lads didn’t have a man in their lives to show them how to make a woman feel like a lady, the least he could do was let them see how his woman appreciated it.

  ӁӁ

  Leah had ushered him into three different shoe stores before settling into one that satisfied her. James had heard stories of women and their shoes. Wasn’t it Imelda Marcos who had rooms and rooms loaded with thousands of pairs of black dress shoes? Well, at least Leah had moved quickly through the first two stores. She had evaluated their styles with a two-minute tour, then walked with him arm in arm to the next venue.

  The third emporium apparently suited her needs. She picked up two similar pairs of tan-colored high top sports shoes and carried them to the checkout counter, patiently waiting for the bald, slightly heavy set and mustached older man to finish his transaction with the mother of three youngsters.

  “You’re monsters!” the woman screamed at her young school-aged children. “And you,” she scolded the youngest, the only girl, “you’re as bad as or worse than your brothers! If you don’t settle down, I won’t take you to McDonald’s, d’you hear me?”

  Well, they certainly heard her, as did everyone else in a fifty-yard radius. He wasn’t an expert on children—actually knew nothing of child-rearing except to recall how he had been treated—but he was certain that this woman had lost control over these children years ago. He couldn’t imagine Marty behaving like her. Child care and discipline theories—he and Leah could talk about that this afternoon maybe. When they were lying down in that comfortable bed together, resting….

  “Hey, you,” Leah said in a hoarse whisper as she shook his arm, “what size shoe do you wear?”

  A red blush of embarrassment flashed across his face; she had caught him daydreaming again. “Um, eleven,” he answered. “Regular width,” he added. Ho boy…

  “Look at these,” she said and handed him the pair of size eleven shoes she had already selected. “For me, these might just pass as the real thing, at least from a distance. See.” Leah modeled the shoes she had on, turning her ankle to show him the sides and back, then the waffle pattern on the bottom. “I mean, they look like leather, and they’ll be good enough just like they are, except for maybe the stripes on the sides. Those’ll come off easily enough, though. They’re probably too light in color, but under a long dress, hey, I might be able to get by with these cool, comfortable shoes. Do you want to try a pair? They’re unisex or whatever they call it. See, size 11 men’s or 13 women’s,” she added, pointing to the back of the box.

  “These are the latest in shoe fabric technology,” said the shoe salesman—his tag read Walter. “Actually, I think we were only supposed to test market them for the manufacturer. I read about them in the trades, but I didn’t know they were in production yet. These got here in the last shipment, but didn’t have a bar code, so I’m not sure what they cost. This lady sure knew what she was looking for, though. Those,” he said, pointing to the other pair of tan high-top running shoes on the checkout counter, “are almost the same, but these are more versatile. They feel like a cross trainer with the heavy duty insoles, arch and ankle supports, but look more like a dress boot. Well, except for those stupid diagonal accent pieces that shoe manufacturers insist on putting on the sides. The fabric is micro-porous so your foot can breathe out, but water and mud can’t get in. They look like leather, but are synthetic, and can actually sustain more wear and tear than the finest calf hide.”

  James tried on a pair, then noticed that the laces would have to be changed. “Can I dye the fabric?—I assume that’s what you call it—so it looks like a darker leather?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Walter said. “We have a wide range of dyes, although most of them are in the pastel and neon ranges—bridesmaid’s and prom shoes, you know.”

  James didn’t know, but accepted his word for it. “Do you have real leather laces that are long enough for these?” he asked, hoping that this would be a one-stop shop for the shoes they needed.

  “It just so happens that I have some over here in the clearance area. Lumberjacks and construction workers prefer the leather laces over the nylon ones because of the spark factor.” Walter could tell his customer didn’t know what he was talking about. “Nylon, static electricity, working in a spark-free environment—well, it’s a safety issue. One stray spark could cause an explosion. So, anyway, these should work for you if you want to go with
the ‘war era’ look. You must not be re-enactors, though. They only go with the real deal. You see, the tread pattern in these shoes would cause all sorts of protests.”

  Walter looked up and saw James look concerned. “However, you just go down to the hardware store, pick up a cheap little electric grinder, and grind down all the ridges. The shoe’s traction will suck afterwards, and you won’t get the wear life, but your buds out there in the field won’t give you any guff.”

  James gave a sigh of relief. He could do that. Tomorrow. Right now, he would pay the man. Then he and Leah could go take a siesta…

  James pulled out his smaller money roll, peeled back four one-hundred-dollar bills, and looked up at Walter. “How much do you think they should be?” he asked since Walter had already told him they didn’t carry a price tag.

  “Well,” Walter stroked his chin and looked around. He grabbed two pair of long leather boot laces and pushed them next to the bottle of shoe dye. “Just a minute.” He left then came back with two different styles of shoe brushes and a small, non-descript bottle of whitish fluid. “Here, dye the shoes, then grind down the soles. Rough up the fabric with the brushes, re-dye a second time using a very light coat mixed in with some of this stuff, then grind out any traces of dye on the soles. Make sure you give them a coarse brushing a few times while they’re drying to give them some depth and aging. Use your own discretion on how much of the sole to grind down, though. Hopefully there aren’t too many purists in your re-enactment group. If so, just try and stay on grassy or rocky areas and keep away from mud and fine dust. They’ll never know the difference. Here,” he pulled out a business card from his shirt pocket protector, “let me give you my cell number. If you need anything else, I might be able to help you. I’ve been doing events since I was in clouts.”

  He wrote his number on the back of the card then looked up and saw the puzzled look on James’s face, “That’s diapers, mate. I’m a second generation re-enactor.”

  “Oh, really? I have a lady who is supposed to be making some pants and a shirt for me, but I can’t seem to get her motivated. Do you happen to have a spare set that you’d be willing to sell?”

  “Let’s see, I have a shirt that I was going to put on eBay that should fit you, but my spare pair of pants would probably be too big in the waist. But if you want them, I could make you a deal on the set. If it works out for you, I could meet you after I get off work. I’d need to go home to get them. I don’t get off until 7, so how about 8:30 or 9 and say, $100 for the set?”

  “That sounds great! Hmm, do you happen have access to a shift that will fit my lady?” James asked, dipping his head in acknowledgement to Leah who, he was glad to notice, was blushing again.

  “I don’t, but my sister just might. Let’s get done here, and then I’ll give her a call. That is, after I get these other folks taken care of.” James turned around and saw there were two other couples browsing in the store now. “How about $400 for the two pairs of shoes…er, boots…the dye, brushes, laces, and goop? No charge for the hints.”

  James pulled out the bills, and said, “Don’t worry; I don’t need a receipt. I’ll call you later.”

  James waved good-bye and joined Leah outside the store in the mall corridor. She was holding the oversized bag of shoe boxes and assorted paraphernalia close to her chest. “You look like you’re carrying a very big baby,” he said before he could stop himself. Rather than wince—which is what he would have done three days ago—he added to the comment, bravely saying, “You’re going to be a beautiful mommy, and do you know how I know that?”

  Leah was both flustered and flattered, but not at all embarrassed. She tilted her head to the side, trying to think of a quick, sharp retort. Oops, too late for the quick part—better just go for the vanilla reply. “Okay, how do you know?” she paused, adding dramatically, “my good Sir James Melbourne.”

  “Because you are already the most beautiful woman in the world, and pregnancy could only enhance your inner and outer beauty. Come on; let’s go back home, Lady Leah.” James took the large bag and offered her his elbow, ready to escort her outside.

  They passed the same youths they had seen earlier. This time, he was glad to see, the boys and girls had changed social structures and were now congealed into a large group with clusters of paired-off couples. They were learning to interact, and he had helped.

  Cupid can take all forms; who would have thunk it?

  **36 An Afternoon Nap

  When they arrived at the motel, their same convenient parking place was still available. It appeared that not much was going on for tourism in mid-August Greensboro. James got out and opened the car door for Leah. She gave him a big smile; she had remembered to wait for him. He grabbed the big bag of shoes from the back with one hand, his leather bag with the other.

  “Let me have the key,” Leah asked, “my hands aren’t full.” He turned around and let her fish the key card out of his back pocket. He couldn’t help but enjoy the proximity of her hand and managed to keep quiet, foregoing any sassy remarks. Soon enough, man, soon enough.

  She let him into the room, then took the sack of shoes from him and set it under the refrigeration unit. They could do the cobbler tasks later…it was time for a break. She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. She reached up for a hand towel and found his hand attached to the other end.

  “Next,” he said. “Even with refrigeration in both the car and room, I still feel like I’ve been bathed in sweat and dust. I guess we’ll have to get used to each other’s body odor, too. I never read about anyone using deodorant in the 18th century.”

  “I don’t think people stank as much back then—but you’re right, except that I don’t think you ever stink.”

  “Thank you and back at you. What do you mean people didn’t stink as much? I mean, body odor is body odor, right?”

  “Well, yes and no,” Leah explained as she took her smartphone out of her purse and put it on the table, plugging it into the charger. She didn’t want to open the curtains to use the solar charger. “It’s all the crud and poisons we put in our bodies that come out through our pores that makes us stink so badly. American spies in Vietnam couldn’t eat chocolate or other American food, or they would be smelled for miles, or at least detected by the locals. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about getting sniffed out as aliens or spies or anything, though. So, that being said, I’m going to enjoy myself and make sure I get lots of chocolate before we leave. Too bad I can’t get cacao trees to grow in North Carolina. Hmm, but maybe I could find some carob beans...”

  “Hey, you,” James said, after he finished washing his face and neck. He accepted the towel she gave him with a thank you nod, “stop thinking for a little while and give that brain and body a rest.” He finished drying off and hung up the towel. “We’re going on a run, or at least a walk, tonight, and I don’t want to carry you back; now lie down,” he ordered with a grin.

  James kicked off his shoes, tugged at his sweaty socks until they came loose, then stepped on the heels to pull them off. He walked around to his side of the bed, fluffed his pillows, then lay back with an exhalation of contentment—mid-afternoon mattress-enhanced bliss.

  Leah crawled onto the bed next to him and lay flat on her back, her pose mimicking his. She reached over and moved her hand next to his until they were touching, pinkie to pinkie. She sighed contentedly, then held her breath and squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to know—had to know. She took a deep breath, then asked the question all at once before she lost her nerve, “If we got married, I mean when we get married, do you think you could do it?”

  “What? Yes, I could do it. I’ve done it before.” He started to add ‘you know’ to the sentence—she knew he had been married—but thought that by adding that remark, he’d sound arrogant. Instead, he looked up at the ceiling, feeling just a bit insulted, and asked, “How about you? Do you know how to do it?” He turned to look at her, not sure if he should see her expression when
she replied, but curious just the same.

  She turned to face him, “If you’re asking if I’m a virgin or not,” she glared at him, then backed off in resignation, “I’m not. I don’t want you to think that I’ve been promiscuous or anything, because I haven’t.”

  Leah took a deep breath, then decided he should know more about her. She got up from the bed and moved to the table, patting the chair next to her as an invitation for him to sit with her. This was too personal to talk about while lying next to each other. He rolled out of bed quietly and sat down, facing her.

  “I had a big crush on the second string quarterback—that’s a football player—in high school,” she said, looking at his chin rather than his eyes. She was embarrassed, but determined to tell him the story. “I was truly, deeply, madly in love with him. After a couple of months, just after football season was over, he finally noticed me. He said I was the most beautiful girl in the world and asked me to go steady with him. I was in seventh heaven, the happiest girl on campus. After a while—shoot, maybe a week—he said that if I really loved him, I would, you know.” Leah glanced up at James to make sure he knew what she was talking about. He briefly closed his eyes then nodded, letting her know that he knew it was painful, and she could continue uninterrupted.

  “Well, I resisted, I really did. I wanted to make sure that he loved me first, before I would, well, do it. So, we went down to the river and parked and messed around, you know, kissing and stuff. Well, he said that he loved me and then we, you know… Shoot, it was over so quickly that I wondered what the big deal was supposed to be. I mean, really, there wasn’t any pleasure in it for me, that’s for sure.

  “Then the next day at school, he was standing there by the lockers with his buddies. They were all slapping him on the back and he was grinning, and then the way they all looked at me… Well, I have never, ever felt that bad in my life. I didn’t tell my mother about it, and she was nice enough not to ask. I think she hoped it hadn’t happened, and that I was just upset because my boyfriend had dumped me. Well, I refused to go back to that school. So, she let me finish high school at home. It was actually better for me; I was more motivated that way. I didn’t have the distraction of all the guys and those girls—they were just as bad as the guys—talking about me behind my back.