Rita Hayworth's Shoes

by Francine LaSala

  He scribbled again: ABOUT MY HAIR.

  Amy was mortified. “What hair?”

  “Aha!” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “This is almost too easy.”

  “It’s not from chemo, is it?”

  “That’s just what you need. Two dead bosses in one year.”

  “Cancer isn’t funny.”

  “No. I don’t suppose it is.”

  “So what is it?”

  “I have something called alopecia,” he explained. “The latest thinking is that it’s an autoimmune disease. Basically my white blood cells woke up one day all crazy and paranoid and decided my hair cells were out to get me. So they attacked them and killed them off—you know, like when you fight off an infection. Sometimes major stress can trigger it.”

  “Your white blood cells attacked all your hair cells?”

  “What can I say? Much like the rest of me, they’re not that smart. And no, it isn’t contagious, so if you ever feel the urge to kiss me, you’ll probably keep your hair. Though I can’t promise about your heart.”

  “Seriously. Can you be serious for a minute?” He nodded. “Please tell me what happened. How did this happen to you?”

  He opened his mouth to speak then shook his head. “Okay. This is seriously what happened. My wife left me.”

  “Okay.”

  “She was having an affair. I knew about it. We were supposed to be working things out. She said she’d call it off with the other person. And the next thing I know, she just disappeared. Did I tell you she was also my assistant?”

  Amy blushed. “Uh, no.”

  “Yes. Pretty stupid, right? Anyway, I guess I couldn’t give her what she needed.” He paused once again. “So I filed a missing persons report and everything. This is how I know Ollie. Detective Franks. Funny story about the cops. They all felt pretty bad for me. Kind of adopted me after a while, I was at the station so much,” he spoke with a faraway look on his face, which turned serious. “I was really determined to find her. She tore my heart out, but I loved her desperately.”

  “I think I understand that.”

  “Turns out, her lover disappeared, too. I guess they ran off together or something,” he smirked. “Anyway, I never heard from her again.”

  “And then your hair fell out? Overnight or something?”

  “It’s not really that simple, but I guess you could say it happened that way.”

  “So will it grow back?”

  “Nothing’s grown back yet. Who knows? I’m used to it anyway. You can’t imagine how much money I save on shampoo and shaving cream.”

  “You really don’t have a single hair anywhere on you?”

  “Not a one,” he said. “But enough about me and my bare bum. What’s your story? With the ex-fiancé, I mean. What happened there?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure…”

  “You now know that there isn’t a single hair on me. And it’s written all over your face that you’ve been scanning my entire body for hair in that twisted mind of yours. Now if that’s not intimate, I don’t know—”

  “He jilted me,” she said. “On our wedding day. He left me at the altar.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Not really an altar. More like a deli counter. But still. It was pretty bad,” she fought back tears. “I’m surprised you don’t already know about it because everyone here knows about it.”

  “Wait a minute. This isn’t the poor bastard who hooked up with Liz French?”

  “Elizabitch French. Yes. Why? Do you know her?”

  “Alas, Liz French. I knew her, Horatio. And Elizabitch is a pretty apt moniker.”

  “I’m sorry? You know her?”

  “Such a delight she is. It takes a mighty magnificent kind of beast to be able to assault all the senses at once. Freakin’ Grendel of a woman.”

  Amy laughed.

  “Wait, it gets better.”

  “Do tell,” she urged.

  “She was dumped by the very same person my wife dumped me for.”

  “Come on.”

  “No, really. We all worked together. Made for a gorgeous scandal.”

  “I don’t get it. How could anyone want to be with that?”

  “I have no idea,” he laughed. “But that’s not even the best part,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye. “After they took off, Liz kind of hit on me.”

  “Oh, God! That’s ridiculous,” Amy shrieked with laughter.

  “Hey, that’s not fair. I wasn’t always ugly,” Deck deadpanned.

  “Oh, no. I didn’t mean… I mean, I’m sorry. You know that’s not why I’m laughing.”

  He smiled. “You don’t think I’m ugly?”

  “Oh, God no,” she said. “I mean…” She looked at him, into his eyes, a glance that lasted maybe a second too long. Self-conscious, she quickly looked away.

  “It’s nice, by the way,” he said. “Your new look. I thought you were pretty before, but this is very nice. I guess the date was a success?”

  Amy was embarrassed and even felt a little guilty. “How did you know about that?”

  A devilish grin turned up the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. “Thin walls.”

  ##

  Hours later, Amy was wrapping up her work and trying to figure out what to do with her free evening when a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. “You’re looking well.”

  Amy froze. She knew that voice all too well. “You don’t sound very sincere,” she told David.

  “Well look at you,” he said. “I can’t believe you ruined yourself.”

  “I ruined myself.”

  “Do you not remember The Beauty Myth? I mean, my God, you’re like a Barbie doll.”

  Amy was incensed by the comment, especially coming from someone as attractive as David was. And she was even more incensed at herself that she still felt that way about him—that he was so good-looking. She composed herself. She played it cool. “Because to be beautiful you have to plain?”

  “All I’m saying is beauty is in what’s natural. It’s primitive. It’s visceral.”

  “Like the smell of fried chicken and saccharine in the morning,” she mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” she smiled to herself.

  “Look, I’m only trying to help you.”

  She looked at him. “Oh, but you already have. More than you know.”

  David stormed away and Amy sat back, savoring the satisfaction of not giving a rat’s ass if he ever returned.

  A blip from her computer signaled an email was waiting and she rolled over to the screen:

  Hi Amy,

  You Want To Do Sumething Later? Ive Been Thinking, Of You All Day.

  Luv,

  B

  While the superfluous initial caps and odd spelling made her cringe, she decided to focus instead on what was important now: More of that drug that only Brendan could give her. She typed back a quick reply and hit “send” before she could change her mind.

  Sitting back, she noticed Deck had left a file on her desk and she got up to return it.

  She found him perched over the Scrabble board again, which made her smile. “Do you need anything else?” she asked. “I’m heading out now.”

  “Another date?” he asked.

  “Uh. Well, yeah.” She was uncomfortable but she wasn’t sure why. “Haven’t you been out there yet?”

  “Not ready,” he smiled weakly. “I know, it’s weird, right. Because who wouldn’t want me? A socially awkward aesthetic atrocity. It’s a wonder I haven’t been snatched up by now,” he said with a giant laugh.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, with a t
winge of sadness for him.

  “Just be careful,” he said, with a sincerity so unexpected, Amy had the sudden urge to cancel her plans. To stay with Deck just a little longer. But it was too late to cancel with Brendan without standing him up. She had to go.

  ##

  It had been Brendan’s idea to meet at a place called The Slot & Joystick, one of those combination video arcade, sporting arena, and restaurant establishments. The plan was to have dinner and then partake in the various amusements available—maybe even take a spin on the famed go-cart track. Amy had very little enthusiasm for the idea of any of this, and nothing but enthusiasm for the “after party.” It had not been a great day, especially considering the confrontation with David and she needed some of Brendan’s magic to take the edge off.

  “I didn’t know what risotto was,” he said. “So I just ordered the rice.”

  “I see,” she remarked, with nothing else to contribute. It becoming all too apparent that there wasn’t anything at all they could talk about. The empty look on his face when she gently explained to him what risotto actually was only confirmed it for her.

  “So you embarrassed me into reading a book, you know.”

  Maybe there was hope? “You read a whole book since I saw you last?”

  “Uh, not. Not even close. But I started one!”

  “Great! Fiction? Nonfiction?” he stared at her dumbly and sexily. “A true story or made up?”

  “It’s gotta be made up. It’s too funny not to be made up. There’s no way any of this could happen,” he beamed.

  “I’m intrigued,” she smiled. “What is it?”

  He folded his arms over his chest and smiled almost smugly. “Ever hear of a little book called I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell?”

  Now the spell he held her under was definitely beginning to splinter away, evidenced by a headache that was taking hold of her brain. She rationalized. It could have had something to do with the constant beeping of the video games, the whir of the go-carts on the track that circled the restaurant. She didn’t want to believe the truth of what it really was: Brendan. Sexy Brendan. With the body of a god. And not an interesting thought in his head.

  “So that’s when I told him what he could do with his tinted windows!” he exclaimed.

  “How nice,” she said. Amy picked at her spicy fries as she tried to follow what he was saying. She was hoping that he would say something, anything, that would ignite the fire from the other night. But it was just one cold splash of water in the face after the other.

  When they finished eating, he took her hand in his. “How about a little Primal Fear,” he asked, pulling her into the vortex of blinking and beeping and whirring that was the arcade.

  “Primal what?”

  He shook his head in kind of a patronizing way. “It’s a video game where you’re both dinosaurs and you tear each other to pieces. It’s so cool.”

  “How about we skip the games?” she said, in the most sexy tone she could deliver.

  And finally, the light of understanding illuminated his face. “That sounds like a great idea to me.”

  Back at Amy’s apartment, she prayed the electricity of the other night would return. That when he kissed her, her body would light up like it had that weekend. That the same hunger to conquer him and to be conquered by him would return. But it didn’t. Every kiss felt like a jellyfish was slapping at her face. Every time he touched her, she could actually feel her skin cells recoil. How could that mad attraction have transformed into repulsion so quickly? All she could think was that seeing David had flipped a switch in her. And now she really wanted to kill David.

  “Is everything okay, baby?” said Brendan. “You don’t seem that into this.”

  “Actually,” she said, trying to wriggle out from under him. “I’m not. I’m sorry. I think you’re really nice, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

  “Kind of a strange time to tell a guy something like this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But if you could just…”

  Brendan shook his head. “I knew this was going to happen. I knew it!” He jumped off the bed and into his clothes. “Your friends told me you were bad news, you know. But I didn’t listen. Stupid me.”

  “Friends?” she wondered. “You mean Lauren and Jane?”

  “I mean those guys that hang out on the front steps,” he said, pointing at the window. “They said to watch out for you because while you may seem like a big nerd, you were really pretty nuts.”

  “They did, huh? Well…sorry.” She was torn between being annoyed at their interference but also moved at them looking out for her.

  “Next time I’ll be smarter,” he said, and he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  After Brendan left, Amy got up out of bed and headed to the kitchen, where she found another half-finished bottle of cabernet and poured herself a glass. Considering the amount for a minute, she grabbed up the bottle and headed to the living room. She curled up on a beanbag chair next to the wall where her babies lived.

  She was sad. Conflicted and confused. She hadn’t realized until much too late how talking to David today had made such an impact on her. And she was so mean to him. She was feeling terrible at the way things went down, about the way she had treated David. And she was sure now that if there was any chance they would get back together, she had totally blown it.

  The more wine she drank, the more she missed David. She thought she was over him, getting over him. But clearly she had thought wrong. “I don’t think Daddy’s coming back, babies,” she told them, burning with regret.

  Amy finished the rest of the wine and stumbled back to her bedroom. Snuggled under the blankets, she thought of David. Of the way things were. Of how much it sucked to be alone. And of how good Deck smelled, kind of like rain. She opened her eyes for a second at that, but then chalked it up to wine-confusion as she slipped back into a deep, quiet sleep.

  9. How Zoë, Jane, Lauren, and Even Deck Try to Talk Sense into Amy—and How it All Falls on Deaf Ears

  “What the hell?” Amy walked in the following morning to the sound of loud guitar and trumpet music blaring out of Deck’s office and she headed over to investigate. Was that Chicago? She hadn’t heard that song since she was a kid. Yet, there was Deck, singing at the top of his lungs, and moving his body in a way that might be described as dancing, but only in the most indefinite terms.

  Seeing her, Deck waved, took three walking spins to the door, grabbed her by both hands, and pulled her in as he continued to sing, “Only the beginning…”

  “This is too stupid,” Amy said, yet somehow fell under his spell, as he twirled and pulled and she allowed him to twirl and pull her again and again.

  “Of what I want to feel forever…” he belted as she laughed until she coughed, yet still allowed him to lead her in the dance like he was playing with a marionette. “Only the beginning!” he screeched with so much enthusiasm, Amy actually lost her footing from laughing so hard and hit the floor—still laughing.

  “My, you are a clumsy little thing, aren’t you?” he smiled, righting her again, and leading her into a quick spin, and then a very deep dip. He pulled her up with his left hand and he knelt down on one knee as he pulled, so that when she came up, she was sitting on the other knee, which was bent, her face inches away from his. They sat there for a long moment, looking into each other’s eyes, until Amy jumped up. Deck shook his head, stood, and turned off the music.

  “You get crazier by the day,” she said to him, shaking off the glee and trying to get back to serious.

  “Better mad as a hatter than sly as an adder,” he said.

  “Who said that?” she asked. “And what does it even mean?”

  “Me,” he smiled. “But they’re words to live by. What it means is that I’d rather
show you up front who I really am, crazy or not, than hide in the brush and give you a little death bite when you stumble upon it for yourself.”

  She thought for a moment about this, but it still didn’t make any sense to her. “Huh,” she said. “Well, good morning.”

  “Good morning to you,” he parroted, and went behind his desk. “Hey, I was just looking for the notes on the Flaubert lecture in the server, but I couldn’t find them. Did you put those in my folder yet?”

  She looked away. “Uh, no. I guess I forgot.”

  “To put them in the folder?”

  “Um, no. To transcribe them.”

  “I see,” he said. “You know, Flaubert’s been gone for more than a hundred years but I’m certain he’s really anxious about me getting my thoughts about his life and work published as quickly as possible,” he said lightheartedly, but she missed the joke.

  “Sorry.”

  “You really are kind of a serious one, aren’t you?” He squinted at her, and then tried again. “Then how about for a punishment, you go to that party Wednesday night with me?”

  “Oh, I kind of already asked my friend Jane to go,” she said, edging toward the door.

  “Too bad,” he said. “Well, how about you let me take you for an ice cream later then?”

  “That’s a punishment?”

  “I guess it’s all relative,” he said, leaning forward. “So what do you say? You like ice cream?”

  Amy felt a little warm and whole lot awkward. “I dunno,” she said, nervously. “I don’t really think we should—”

  “Jesus, Amy. It’s just ice cream.”

  “Uh, okay,” she said, tentatively.

  “So, yes?”

  “Oh, no. I can’t,” she said. “I have to babysit for Zoë tonight.”

  “Some other time, then?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well in that case, please be sure to muck things up around here as much as possible going forward so I’ll have another opportunity to invite you?”

  “Oh,” she said, unsure. “Okay.”