These Boots Weren't Made for Walking

by Melody Carlson

  “Hey, Audra.” His eyes crinkle at the edges as he puts his hand on her shoulder. Other than having a little gray at the temples, he has a youthful, boyish look that's quite appealing. In fact, I'll bet he's not even ten years older than I am.

  “Hey, Phil.” My mom beams up at him in a way that I can only describe as… as flirtatious! I mean, she's literally sparkling! My mom is sparkling!

  “I noticed you have the listing for that house on Park Side.”

  “I do!” She beams even brighter now.

  “Well, you and I should get together,” he says in a slightly seductive voice that makes me feel like gagging on my partially chewed bite of turkey sandwich.

  “We should.” Then Mom seems to remember she's not alone. “Phil, have you met my daughter Cassidy?”

  He turns and smiles at me now. But I don't think his smile is as big for me as it was for my sparkling mom. Or maybe I'm getting totally paranoid.

  “Nice to meet you, Cassidy. Are you just visiting Black Bear?”

  “Actually, I've moved back.”

  He nods. “Good for you. This town is getting to be quite the hot spot.” Then he laughs as though he thinks that's very clever. He turns back to Mom. “Call me, okay?”

  “You got it.” She beams him another bright smile. Mom, show a little restraint, will you?

  “Another boyfriend?” I ask after he's out of earshot.

  She giggles. “Goodness, no. Phil is a happily married man with two small children.”

  “Lucky him.”

  “He's a Realtor too. He works for the competition. But if he's got buyers, I won't complain if he brings them my way.”

  “What if he insists you go out with him first?” I try to make this sound like I'm being funny, but when I see her expression, I can tell that I'm not.

  “Oh, Cassidy.” She shakes her head. “That thing about going out with Todd—at first, well, it was mostly a joke. You must know that.”

  “So you're not serious about him?”

  “Serious?” Her Botoxed brow almost creases but not quite. “I don't think so.”

  “But you were out with him again the other night,” I point out, trying not to remember how humiliating it was to see Todd while it appeared I was on a date with Gary Frye.

  “He happened to call after I got home from work. I'd been planning a quiet evening at home, but you'd already'gone out, and I thought, Why not?” She laughs. “I was so surprised to see you and your date—”

  “Like I already said, Mom, Gary was not my date.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.”

  I try to shake the image of my mom wearing my Valentino boots as she and Todd paraded into the brewery. Instead, I see my mom as a cougar in Valentino boots, dragging in her poor victim as she prepares to devour him. “So you're not serious about Todd?”

  “I'm not sure I'll ever be serious about a man again.” She sets down her fork and looks evenly at me. “I don't know if I have that in me anymore, Cassie.”

  “Really?” I feel skeptical. “Did Dad hurt you that much?”

  She sighs. “It's hard to explain… without getting all weepy. But I'm sure it must be a little like how you felt when Eric broke up with you. Especially if you didn't see it coming. Sort of like being blindsided. It can shatter a person.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I suppose so. So you really didn't see it coming? Dad didn't give you any clues or anything?”

  “Looking back, I'm sure there were clues. But I recognize them only because of hindsight. I never figured that after all those years, after all we'd been through—and I put up with a lot of things, things no one ever knew about, Cassie—I just never thought he'd leave me. I thought we'd been through the worst of our trials. I figured we'd grow old and gray together. And suddenly I was old and gray and by myself.” She shudders as if the memory still stings.

  “You really loved Dad?”

  She blinks as if she thinks I must be kidding. “Of course I loved him. He was everything to me.” And now she picks up her napkin and uses it to blot the corners of her eyes, and I realize I've hit a sore spot. I can't believe I was thinking my own mom was a cougar. I'm such a thoughdess daughter.

  “I'm sorry, Mom.” I shake my head and want to slap myself. “Let's not talk about Dad anymore. What's important is, you're doing really great now. You're making a life for yourself, and you'll have to excuse me if I look envious sometimes.”

  “Oh, it's okay, sweetie. I know you're going to be fine too. But it might take time, and I've probably been rushing you too much. I'm sorry.” She wipes her nose. “And if I pressured you into going to the Halloween party and you really don't want to, well, I'll understand. You'll have to remind me not to be so pushy.”

  “No no. It's okay,” I assure her. “I probably need some pushing now and then. And I think a Halloween party sounds sort of fun. If I dress up, maybe no one will know who I am.”

  “That's right,” she says. “You could pretend to be anyone.”

  “It could be fun.”

  She reaches over and takes my hand. “Yes, it'll be lots of fun. Now let's get home and find something cute to wear.”

  e're in the midst of dusty cardboard boxes and footlockers, trying to figure out some clever costumes for the party tonight, when the phone rings. Mom, still wearing Cal-lie's old black and gold cheerleading skirt, hurries down the steep attic stairs to answer it. I can hear her chattering away, then she calls up, “Cassie, I have to run to town to show Phils buyers that house. I should be back in an hour or so.”

  “No problem.” I pick up the Ralph Lauren jeans that she left on the floor when she tried on the skirt. The jeans look to be about a size six (not that I'm actually looking). “You going out dressed like that?”

  She laughs. “Now wouldn't that make an impression!” So I toss her pants down to her, then I continue perusing the weird clothes and hats and props. Most of the old costumes are way too small for me. I'm about to give up when I find an ancient-looking box that's tied up with a string, and to my surprise there's an old baseball uniform inside. Then I remember that Dad played semipro ball on a farm team one summer. He was only nineteen when he got scouted off his college team, but a shoulder injury cut his catching career short, and to his parents’ relief, he returned to college in the fall. Now, my dad's always been a pretty hefty guy, and I think it's possible this baseball uniform might actually fit me. It might even be big. Here's hoping.

  So I take it downstairs and give it a try. I don't know whether to be pleased or ashamed when the uniform actually fits, albeit a bit snugly in the rear and the bust. If I wear my sports bra to hold the girls in and try not to bend over too much, it might just work. Besides, I think I look sort of cute in the cap.

  By five o'clock, trick-or-treaters are starting to come to the door. Mom's fake electric jack-o’-lanterns are lined up on the porch and glowing, and her big pumpkin-shaped candy bowl is full of Snickers and Three Musketeers and M&M'S—the tempting kinds of candy we've both tried to avoid all afternoon. I asked her why she couldn't have gotten something besides chocolate. “What would be the fun in that?” she said.

  At first it's kind of fun handing out the goodies to these miniature princesses and superheroes. This is something I hardly ever did in the city, since kids rarely came to the apartment house. For the most part, these little ones are accompanied by parents, who linger on the sidewalk. After a while I think I recognize some of the parents as kids I once went to school with. So far no one has recognized me. Or maybe they're just too preoccupied with their kids. I feel sad to think that people my age are out there, happily married with kids of their own, trick-or-treating and having fun doing parental kinds of things, while here I am, living with my mom and being an overgrown kid with barely a life at all. It's so depressing that I eat several Snickers bars before Moms car pulls into the driveway.

  She's flushed and pleased when she comes inside. Tossing off her leather coat, she informs me that she might Ve just sold another house. “They sp
ent two hours going over every inch of the place, then they wrote up an offer right there. I just dropped it off with the sellers, and we should know by tomorrow whether its a go.”

  I give her a high-five. “So what're you going to wear to the party tonight?”

  She slaps her forehead. “In all the excitement, I nearly forgot.”

  “The cheerleader outfit was sort of cute,” I say, hoping she'll have better sense.

  She makes a face. “Cute, but a bit much for someone my age.”

  I shrug, relieved that the doorbell is ringing agaiti. Mom answers it, oohing and aahing over the costumes as she plops generous handfuls of chocolate into their bags and buckets.

  “What are you going to wear?” she asks me as she closes the door.

  “Ill surprise you,” I say.

  “Great. Then I'll surprise you too. Can you ride herd on the little goblins for a while?”

  “Sure. Its kind of fun. And my costumes all ready to go anyway.” So I continue to answer the door, and after about twenty minutes, Mom reappears, dressed in black.

  “Is that it?” I ask as she shoos me upstairs to change.

  “No, but I can finish down here and answer the door too. Hurry and get your costume on. The party is already starting.”

  “We'll be fashionably late,” I call as I go into my room.

  I wish I'd thought to air out this wool uniform. It smells strongly of mothballs, but I give it a misting of Poison perfume, hoping that'll help camouflage the musty aroma. First I button up the shirt, which is fitting better thanks to my constricting bra. Hopefully I won't faint from lack of oxygen. Then I put the short pants over the funny socks and pin up my hair and secure the baseball cap. For shoes, I decide on my Dansko clogs, since their dark color sort of makes them resemble old-fashioned baseball shoes. Or so I tell myself.

  I study my reflection in the full-length mirror and decide I make a rather cute ballplayer, although a little on the feminine side. I'd really wanted to go incognito tonight, but short of a mask, which I don't have, I can't do much about it. Just the same, I try on an old pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses, which actually add something. Then I decide to use my eyeliner pencil to create a small, sporty mustache. There—I don't think anyone should recognize me now. Especially if the lights are dim.

  I go downstairs and find Mom in the powder room, putting the finishing touches on her ensemble. When she turns around, I see that, like me, she's used an eyeliner pencil for whiskers, but hers are curly feline whiskers. She's turned herself into a cat. A rather sexy black cat with hot pink pouty lips and heavy blue eye shadow.

  “Wow,” I say as she turns around to show off her costume.

  “These rhinestones are from your grandma,” she points out, showing off her sparkling blue cuff bracelet and matching collar. SheVa rich kitty

  “How about the ears and tail?” I ask.

  “That was my inspiration. I think they were Callie's. Remember when her dance team dressed like cats for a competition one year?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Well, I found them in the attic and remembered I had these black velour sweats, and it all seemed so simple.”

  “You look great,” I tell her, trying not to feel too envious of her cool outfit. I mean, I have some black sweats too—-maybe not as elegant as her velour ones, which also fit her like a glove—but I could ve been a black cat. Even if I was a plumpish cat, it might have been better than this dumpy ballplayer.

  “You look great too,” she says. “Or maybe I'm just being catty.”

  I make a fake-sounding laugh. I'm thinking I probably resemble Rosie O'Donnell in that women's baseball movie, A League of Their Own, when I'd really rather be Geena Davis. “And if the Halloween party doesn't work out for you,” I say to Mom, “you could always go down to the Highball and offer to serve cocktails.” Who's catty now?

  She makes her hands into claws and actually hisses at me.

  So it is that I (the cross-dressing ballplayer) appear to be escorting a sexy black cat in faux diamonds (is that really my mother?) to a costume party Mom's the one who drives us there, though.

  I try not to feel too dumpy as we walk up to the fitness club, which has been transformed into Halloween Central, complete with pumpkins and spider webs and skeletons and ghosts. Were barely in the front door when Todd, dressed like an old fighter pilot, comes up and starts talking—make that flirting—with Mom. When he finally notices me, it seems like an afterthought. “Hey, Babe,” he says, gently punching me in the arm, “hows your batting average these days?”

  At first I think “Babe” is a compliment, and I smile and joke back. But when he turns his attention back to Catwoman, I get it. Babe Ruth was pretty chunky too.

  “Hey, is that you, Cassie?” says a guy in a bandanna. He has a black patch over one eye and a fake parrot on his shoulder. He, too, is sporting a fake mustache.

  “Yeah?” I say, trying to figure out who this guy is.

  “Aye, it's me, Gary Frye,” he says, chuckling. “Aargh, I'm a pirate of the Caribbean, mate-tee.”

  “Hi, Gary,” I say in a flat voice. I don't want to encourage him.

  He slips his sword into his belt and fingers the fabric of my jersey. “Cool. This is the real thing, huh?”

  So I tell him about my dad's one season in the minors.

  “Yep,” he says. “Same thing happened with me and football.”

  “What's that?” I ask, falling for it.

  He launches into a long tale about how he had all these full-scholarship offers from some of the smaller Pacific Northwest schools and how he decided on Seattle Pacific, but then he injured his knee midway through the season and eventually lost his scholarship and had to drop out and get a job at Boeing to support his wife and kid.

  “Tough luck,” I say.

  He nods, and his parrot nods with him. “Yep. All my NFL dreams straight down the toilet.

  “Hey, Penny,” he says when a petite belly dancer comes up. She has on a long, dark wig, and I can tell that Gary thinks she looks pretty hot in that outfit.

  “Hey, Gary. Who's the cute ballplayer?”

  “It's me, Cassie,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I actually thought you were a guy.”

  “That's the whole point.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, but I was going to ask you to dance.”

  “Why don't you dance?” says Gary in a suggestive voice.

  So she actually does a little belly dance for us, complete with finger cymbals and jingling coin jewelry, causing a few others to stop and watch.

  “Wow, you're really good,” says Gary. “Where'd you learn to do that?”

  “I've been taking a class at the rec center.” She pats her toned midsection. “It helps to slim the waist.”

  “Maybe I should come,” says Gary, patting his paunch.

  While everyone is joking about the benefits pf belly dancing, I decide to slip off to the sidelines, maybe even get something to eat. It figures, this being a fitness club and all, that most of the refreshments are healthy. I fill a paper plate with veggies and fruit and go to stand next to a woman dressed like a bowling ball, who turns out to be Emma Carpenter, the chubby gal who was inspired by my mom to join the fitness club. I tell her that I officially joined the club and plan to set up my own workout regimen, which won't include spinning.

  “Maybe we could work out together sometime,” she suggests again.

  I glance down at her rotund costume, which is covering her rotund figure, and just nod. “Yeah, sure, maybe.”

  “I don t know why I came tonight,” she admits. “I usually avoid things like this. But that Cindy at the front desk talked me into it. Then I went to the costume shop, and all she had left was this stupid bowling ball.” She looks down at the three white spots, which I assume are the finger holes. “Its pretty bad, huh?”

  I laugh. “Well, I'm not too thrilled about being taken for a guy. Penny, the belly dancer, tried to pick me up.”

  She laughs. “An
d then they don't have any real food here.” She lowers her voice. “I mean, I'm trying to diet just like the next person, but I understood this was supposed to be dinner?

  I nod. “I know. I'm starving.”

  “Me too.” Then she looks at me with a devious expression. “Want to go get something to eat?”

  As tempting as this sounds, I'm not sure I want to be seen leaving with the bowling ball to go eat. “Let me think about it,” I tell her. “I mean, I just got here, and I came with my mom. Maybe I shouldn't run off right away.”

  “Yes, I understand. I should probably stay awhile longer too. But if you change your mind, let me know.”

  I thank her, then set off to find Penny, the precocious belly dancer, again. I want to ask her why she ditched me at happy hour on Friday.

  “Sorry,” she tells me after I corner her at the drink table. “It was my nephews fourth birthday. The party ended at four, but it took forever to clean up the house after the kids finally left. I should Ve called you.”

  “Well, no one was there except Gary and me.”

  She giggles. “Oh. That must ve been fun.”

  I frown. “Actually, Gary's not that bad. But it was kind of embarrassing. I'm sure people thought we were on a date.”

  “Hey, are you two a couple or something?” asks Gary. He's got a guy dressed like a cowboy in tow.

  “Yeah, we're lesbians, Gary,” teases Penny as she links her arm through mine. “You going to leave us alone now?”

  He looks sort of embarrassed, then his brows lift in curiosity. “Hey, no problem. I'm an open-minded guy.”

  She makes a face as she thumps his lopsided parrot, then introduces me to the cowboy, whose name is Bob and who's sort of cute in a nerdy way, although I notice right off that his teeth are crooked. I can also tell by the way he avoids eye contact that he's probably pretty shy. Probably due to those choppers. He seems to be trying to camouflage them with a big bushy mustache, which is slightly askew, but it only draws more attention to his mouth.

  “We thought you girls might like to try out the dance floor,” says Gary with his eye on Penny and her exotic getup. He elbows Cowboy Bob, who nods and says, “Yeah, sure. Wanna dance?”