[Jennifer Cloud 01.0] The Shoes Come First

by Janet Leigh

  I opened the sliding-glass door and took Ace inside. Gertie’s empty popcorn bowl was sitting on the coffee table. The demon cat was lazily stretched across the back of the couch.

  “Hello, little kitty,” Ace said.

  “He’s really mean—I wouldn’t get too close.”

  “It would shed all over my Vera Wang, and we can’t have that, now can we?” Ace asked as he moved away from the cat.

  Gertie’s Brando movie had restarted, and the opening credits were running, waiting for the play button to be pressed.

  “Ooooh, I love this one!” Ace remarked. “Marlon Brando is so sexy.”

  “Um, yeah,” I agreed. I bent down to pick up the remote from the coffee table to turn off the movie and knocked Gertie’s gum wrapper on the floor. “Hey, that reminds me—Gertie had gum in her mouth when we transported back to 1915. I thought you couldn’t take anything back.”

  He took the silver piece of foil from me. “If you put something in your mouth, it can go back with you.”

  “Really?” I thought about the possibilities of this statement. “What, like maybe a small knife, or some other weapon we could use for protection?”

  Ace’s freshly glossed cherry lips curved into a cunning smile. “Or maybe a condom.”

  OK, not the type of protection I had in mind, but it resolved some of my unanswered questions.

  Ace moved around the room and flopped down in an easy chair. “These shoes are murder on my feet.” He pulled off his pumps, revealing big hairy toes painted red to match his hair. Egads.

  “Yep, we had a defender come back with the clap after he had been visiting 1965. Those hippies like to get it on with everyone and everything.”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to go back for our own pleasure.”

  “Girl, there are rules that are meant to be broken. Sometimes our job may take a while, and let’s just say you run into James Dean while he’s filming Rebel Without a Cause. You gonna pass up that piece of meat?”

  “Mmmm, how did you figure out you could transport objects in your mouth?”

  “Caiyan figured it out. Talk about a piece a meat—that boy is finer than frog hair split three ways. From what I heard, he was sixteen when he first started travelin’. You know how the hormones rage at that age. Anyhow, girls in the past, or the present for that matter, couldn’t take their hands off him. His transporter had to save his butt many times so he wouldn’t get shot by an irate daddy or beheaded for deflowering the Queen of England.”

  Crap, I could have lived all day without that information.

  “Now that you’re his sexy new transporter, you’d better watch that tight little butt of yours, or he’ll have you for lunch.”

  I guess my face said it all.

  “Uh-oh, looks like he already conquered that territory.” Ace came over and put an arm around me. “Don’t worry, doll, men are just shit.”

  “You’re a man.”

  “Yes, but I am a man on estrogen, so I’ve got your back.”

  “It’s complicated, and it’s in the past anyway.”

  “Always is, sugar. Why don’t I go upstairs and help you put together an outfit that will make him wish he treated you better.”

  “I thought you had a date?”

  “Always better to make ‘em wait.”

  We climbed the stairs, and I showed Ace my closet next to my bedroom. “Have at it,” I offered.

  Ace rambled around in my closet for a while. I went to my bedroom, plopped down in my comfy chair, and put my feet up on the matching footstool. While working at Steve Stone Shoes, I used my discount to redecorate my room. I had found a Ralph Lauren chair at a boutique on Knox Henderson, a street with trendy shops, and coordinated my duvet for my bed.

  As Ace entered my room, he said, “Trés chic, sort of Mary Poppins meets Versace.” He laid out a few tops on my bed, then went to my dresser to search for jewelry. I noticed the picture I always kept on my dresser of Jake and me at the prom. So did Ace.

  “Well, well, well, looks like you and the boss man go way back,” Ace said.

  “We grew up together. He’s been my best friend since fourth grade, a little more than that these last few years.”

  “He was sexy back then too. I loooove the Zac Efron hair. Met him at the Oscars, you know.”

  “Jake?” I asked.

  “No, Zac Efron, right after High School Musical Three. He’s totally gorgeous. I found a few good pieces in your closet, but you know, girl, the shoes have got to come first.”

  Finally a girl—or guy, I guess—after my own heart. I opened the slider closet in my room, revealing floor-to-ceiling shelves of designer shoes.

  “Be still, my heart,” Ace said, dramatically grabbing his chest. “Where did you get all these precious babies?”

  “I worked as a shoe buyer, and I got a great discount.”

  “Honey, these Malono Blahniks are gonna make his tongue roll clean out of his mouth. I think with this Marc Jacobs top and that rockin’ miniskirt,” he said, holding up the red low-back top. “In fact, there may just be a war between the WTF and the CIA.”

  “I just want to get Gertie back.”

  “We will. Those boys will figure out something. I’ve got to get goin’; my date awaits.”

  “Thanks, Ace.”

  “No problem, sugar. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be back to pick you up at 0700 hours—that way we can stop off at La Marmount for breakfast.”

  “I don’t think there is one around here,” I said as I walked Ace down to his vessel.

  “Of course not, silly, the only La Marmount is in Paris.”

  “Paris? As in Paris, France? How do we get to Paris?”

  “Lateral travel, hon, didn’t you read your contract?”

  “Well, um…”

  “Honey, you gotta read before you sign. They’ll have you doin’ all the dirty work and not havin’ any fun. Page three, paragraph eighteen, line seven says if we are not engaged in working for the WTF, we are free to travel inconspicuously as we please.”

  “I thought there had to be a full moon?”

  “Not for lateral travel, hon. Anytime, day or night.”

  I had my hand over my heart in disbelief. “You mean we can just pop over to Paris and go shopping?”

  “Absolutely, but you have to be discreet, because it makes General Poopy Potts grumpy.”

  I envisioned myself strolling down the Champs-Élysées carrying bags of Prada and Sephora. “I’m in!”

  “Of course you are. See ya tomorrow, doll.” Ace gave me a wave and he was gone.

  I was pretty sure stopping off for breakfast in Paris was breaking a rule. I returned to my room and relaxed against the big pillows on my bed, thinking about everything that had happened over the last couple of days, at least time traveling–wise. Based on the present time, we had returned approximately four and a half hours after I left, and that included my stop at Gitmo. I felt exhausted, when actually only a few hours had passed. Time traveling was going to take some getting used to.

  There had to be some way to rescue Gert and get my key back. I wanted to prove to Jake I wasn’t some dumb blonde who couldn’t be trusted to protect my key and do my job as a transporter.

  A ringing noise jostled me back to reality. The phone next to my bed was ringing. I checked the caller ID. Perfect…Cousin Trish. What was I going to tell her? Sorry, your daughter hitched a ride back to 1915 and then was kidnapped by the bad guys, who turned out to be the Mafia. Maybe Gertie’s stepdad, Vinnie the Fish, knew this Mafia family and could ask them to release Gertie. I decided to answer.

  “Jen,” came Trish’s sultry voice. I always thought she sounded like Cher and looked like Kristin Chenoweth. “It’s your cousin Trish. I was just trying to get hold of Gertie; is she there?”

  “Um, no, not at the moment.” It wasn’t a lie.

  “She’s probably got her nose in some book at the library. Could you tell her Vinnie’s family is coming for the weekend? And I
want all my family here too. Ya know, those Ferraris are so highfalutin’—I want some of my kin here too.”

  “Sure. Uh, Trish, do you know a family by the name of Mafuso?”

  “Well, doesn’t everybody this side of Manhattan? Bunch of gamblin’, no-good thieves. Always jammin’ up the port authority so my sweet Vinnie-pie can’t get his fish shipments.”

  I guess they are not on such good terms after all.

  “Tell Gertie I’m e-mailing her a plane ticket for next weekend. The twins are coming too. Gonna cost me extra since they take up two seats each on the plane. I keep tellin’ Vinnie we should get our own jet. The Ferraris have their own jet. You remember Vinnie’s nephew Marco, don’tcha? He’s always showing up in fancy places all over the world. One day London, then the next day he’s in Rome. Disgusting, the way they flash their money.”

  “Trish,” I interrupted. “I’ll tell Gertie next time I see her.”

  “Oh, OK, thanks a bunch, sweetie. Give your dad a kiss for me. Bye now.”

  I fell back against the pillows. Now I was truly exhausted. I let my mind wander and remembered the last time I had seen Marco. I was sixteen.

  Chapter 19

  July 2004

  As spring turned into summer, Texas began her early ascent into triple-digit temperatures. It was ninety degrees in the shade when we received the invitation to Cousin Trish’s fourth wedding. I overheard Mom telling Dad she couldn’t believe Trish was having an outdoor wedding in the month of July.

  “July Fourth, can you believe it?” echoed Mom’s shrill voice. “She wants to have fireworks at the wedding. What’s going to be next, an elephant parade?”

  “I’m sure whatever happens will be fine, dear,” Dad replied from behind his newspaper. “I heard the lucky groom is a wealthy businessman from New York. Maybe he is from your neck of the woods.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Unlikely,” she replied.

  “I think it’s nice Trish has found love,” I said, coming into the den. “I think Gertie needs a father figure. She doesn’t see her dad very often.”

  “Mmmm,” was Mom’s only response.

  When Aint Elma passed away, she gave me an outhouse and gave Cousin Trish her little white house in Mount Vernon. Gertie’s family moved out of the trailer house and into the small white frame house with the beautiful garden.

  Cousin Trish decided to marry her wealthy New York businessman in the hundred-degree heat in the backyard of the Mount Vernon home. Knowing her family, and more importantly her friends, could not afford to fly to New York, Cousin Trish had made the decision to have the wedding in Texas. The decision was based more on the fact that she wanted her nosy friends to be green with envy, not that she cared a hoot about them being present at her wedding. We piled in the car once again to drive the two hours to the country. Since Melody was away at college, Eli and I each got the privilege of a window seat. Everyone had on his Sunday best. Eli kept trying to loosen the tie around his neck.

  “I swear, when I get a job, I am not wearing a stinkin’ tie,” Eli said with a moan.

  “Your tie looks nice, dear,” Mom said.

  “But, Mom, it’s friggin’ one hundred degrees outside.”

  “Eli, please do not say frigging; it’s not polite,” she said.

  “Well, it sucks,” he said under his breath.

  “We could play slug bug,” I suggested.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Mom scolded again. “The last time you played that game, Jen ended up with bruises all down her arm. She is wearing a sundress, for crying out loud.”

  “But, Mom, that’s the whole point of the game—when you see a Volkswagen Beetle, you are supposed to slug the other person.”

  “No, and that’s final.”

  No more words were spoken except the mumble of “that sucks” from Eli.

  We traveled the rest of the way in peace. Eli and I were listening to music on our CD players. Mom was talking to herself as she edited Paula Dean’s latest cookbook, and Dad was humming along to George Jones. Thank God for headphones.

  Dad turned off the main road and entered the tree tunnel. I loved the way the light filtered through the branches. Even though the weather was warm, I thought an outdoor wedding was very romantic. We turned into Aint Elma’s driveway. I guess it would be Cousin Trish’s driveway now. Instead of a chaotic parking lot, there were two men in black tuxedos, sweating profusely, waiting to take our car. My dad pulled up and rolled down the window.

  “Howdy.”

  “Hey there, yous wantin’ your car parked?” asked the big guy, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “Sure thing,” said Dad, turning off the ignition and handing over the keys. A smaller guy with dark, curly hair and wing-tip shoes came around and opened the doors for Mom and me.

  Everyone climbed out, and the smaller guy said, “I’m Sid, Vinnie’s cousin, and this here’s Anthony.” He pointed to the big man who had placed himself in the driver’s seat.

  “Yo.” I guess that means hello in Anthony language.

  We made introductions. Sid and Anthony took off in the car to God knows where—probably the chop shop.

  I looked around the yard that I played in as a child. The tire swing was gone, and a new coat of white paint had been recently applied to the house. Several rosebushes were growing in the flower beds, and an artificial flowering garland had been woven around the banister on the front porch. Papier-mâché wedding bells hung above the door.

  As we entered, I swear the same old people from the family reunion were seated in exactly the same places. Aunt Mable clapped as we entered, and I dodged the hug. I definitely didn’t want to be in the middle of that again. For one, I was bigger, and two, so was she. The extra weight made her take twice as long to get out of the easy chair. Lucky for me, I had more time to get away.

  The wedding was to take place in the backyard. There were about fifty white folding chairs set up under the old oak tree. A long red carpet had been rolled out, dividing the chairs in half and forming an aisle for the bride to walk down. A white arch decorated with flowers was at the end of the carpet. The sun was setting in the sky, and two of the junior bridesmaids were lighting candles on either side of the arch. I was milling around listening to Eli talk to a group of girls. He was definitely flirting, which made me want to barf, so I went in search of my parents.

  I found them surrounded by relatives.

  Mamma Bea had named all her children after famous people. I had an uncle Buster Keaton and an aunt Loretta Lynn. Uncle Buster and Aunt Loretta’s husband, Wayne, were flanking my dad. He was telling them a story, and they were all laughing. My dad was a master storyteller, probably because most of his stories were true, thanks to his crazy family. Of course he never told a lie, just embellished a little.

  “What’s up, pretty lady?” I turned to find a boy a little taller than me with his hair slicked back like John Travolta in the movie Grease. He had a cherry Blow Pop in his hand that went in his mouth after he spoke to me.

  “Um…” was all I could say.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he said after popping the sucker out of his mouth. “I know, I have that effect on women. I’m Joey, Vinnie’s cousin.” He held out his nonlollipop hand for me to shake.

  Eeew. I grudgingly stuck my hand in his. “I’m Jennifer, second cousin of the bride.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it with his Blow Pop–red lips. I immediately snatched it back.

  “Nice to meecha.”

  “How many of Vinnie’s cousins are here? I have already met Anthony and Sid.”

  “Sid’s my brother. Anthony, he ain’t no cousin, but he’s part of the family, if ya get my drift?”

  I could tell Sid and Joey were brothers; they both had slicked-back hair and made my skin crawl.

  I felt a shadow fall over me. “This little weasel botherin’ you?” I looked up to see Billy Ray and Bobby Ray, Gertie’s half brothers. They couldn’t have been more than thirteen. What in the world are they feeding the k
ids down here? Both of them were at least six feet tall. They had matching Afros, and when they smiled, both of their front teeth were missing.

  “Where are your teeth?” was the first thing that popped out of my mouth.

  “We got them knocked out kickboxin’,” one of them responded, but I couldn’t tell who was whom.

  “Yo, buzz off, kids…Me and the lady are havin’ a chat,” slick Joey responded.

  “Bobby Ray and Billy Ray, this is Joey, Vinnie’s cousin,” I said, trying to subdue the fight that was building.

  “Yeah, we know him; he’s supposed to help us usher the guests in. Mamma Bea sent us over here to drag his skinny Yankee ass back to the usherin’.”

  “Well, let’s go,” I said, looping my arm through Joey’s so he could usher me up the aisle. Lord knows I didn’t want a brawl to start so early in the ceremony.

  Joey gave the twins a smirk, then popped the sucker back in his Yankee mouth and strutted me up the aisle to my seat.

  I was seated with my family. We were each given a fan on a stick. I flipped it over and laughed at the picture of Cousin Trish with her groom. She was all boobs and teeth, while the groom was dark in comparison to her light features and had a menacing look on his face. We all sat fanning ourselves, waiting for the magical moment when the bride would appear.

  Aint Elma’s siblings began to enter and take their places in the front two rows assigned to the immediate family of the wedding party—family and friends of the bride on the left side and the groom on the right side.

  Since Aint Mable was so large, they brought an extra-big chair out for her to sit in comfortably. It creaked under the strain as she sat down. Her husband, Uncle Earl, sat next to her in a white folding chair. They were truly the Jack Sprat nursery rhyme come to life. Uncle Earl tugged on his clerical collar, trying to let in some air. I had never seen him without the collar, although he had been retired for many years.

  Uncle Durr, Aint Elma’s baby brother, came strolling down the aisle unescorted in a big black cowboy hat and tails. He was dressed for the occasion by his own personal stylist, Willie Nelson. Last but not least, Mamma Bea, representing my grandfather, John Wolfe Cloud, took her seat in the front row next to the chair decorated for Aint Azona, mother of the bride.