by Cach, Lisa
“Some of them looked okay. It’s just that the ones I like are not the ones I think would look good on me.”
“You don’t think any of them would look good on you!”
“Not really.”
Holly groaned and pushed away from the desk. “Sunday we’re going shopping downtown. You will try things on, see that you look great, and buy them.”
“I’d rather buy something online,” Kelsey said faintly, imagining department stores with entire floors full of clothing to be tried on in dressing rooms with three-way mirrors and over-attentive clerks.
“Then buy something. For God’s sake, Kelsey, just buy something. It can’t be worse than what’s in your closet.”
“Everything’s so expensive, I don’t want to make a mistake—“
“That’s why they have return policies.”
“But it’s such a bother to—“
Holly put up her hand, stopping her. “It’s always no with you. You say no to new clothes, no to make-up, no to cutting or coloring your hair, no to almost every guy, no to invitations. You say no to fun. No, no, no. No more no, Kelsey! I don’t want to hear it. It’s past time you said yes to something other than a new garden project. Either buy something online, or we go downtown on Sunday.” She stood. “I’m going to bed.”
Kelsey spun round in her desk chair as Holly walked away. “Don’t go! You have to help me choose!”
“You don’t listen to what I say, and I’m tired.”
“I’ll listen! I’ll say yes!”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Holly!”
“Goodnight.”
Kelsey whimpered and looked back at the computer screen. It was two o’clock in the morning and she was alone with the vast shopping jungle that was the Internet. Her guide had abandoned her. Bad taste and unflattering silhouettes lurked on every site, and one wrong click could bring box loads of sartorial evil to her front porch, delivered by UPS. That’s what she’d get for saying yes.
Half the problem was that she had no idea what she was looking for. What she wanted was for the perfect garment to announce itself on the page, with labels saying it was designed expressly for 5’6” sandy redheads with sinewy, square-shouldered bodies and 34B chests, and if she bought this garment a tornado of fairy dust would sweep out of the delivery box and transform her into a Disney princess. If a dress clearly said that to her, then she’d say yes in a heartbeat.
She clicked through clothes she and Holly had already looked at, at Saks, Nordstrom, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie, MaxStudio, Trashy Diva… There were so many pretty dresses, and so few clues to how they’d look on her. She wanted to say yes; she just didn’t know how.
Her eyelids heavy, Kelsey took off her glasses and shoved the keyboard aside, then laid her head on her folded arms. She closed her eyes and imagined herself transformed.
Jack would see her in her new clothes and stagger from the shock. “You? You were the one working in my garden? How could I have been so blind? All this time, I didn’t know there was a goddess right outside my window.”
She would leave Jack broken-hearted and go to Mark, because men like Jack were never as sweet as they acted. Jack’s type had charm to spare, but it rarely came from their hearts. They smiled and joked and made gallant gestures, but beneath it all was the urge to make people like them so they could get ahead. Life was easier and people did things for you when you were charming.
Mark, she hoped, would be gifted with the charm that came from being interested in other people. He would see the goddess in her no matter what she wore, or what a dork she was.
She needed goddess clothes. Why hadn’t she thought to search for that before? her half-dreaming mind asked. She sat up, a new energy reviving her, and put on her glasses. “Clothes for a redhead goddess,” she typed into the search engine.
Several thousand hits came up. She skimmed down the list. Blog, blog, redhead pride site, blog, redheads in art, blog, discussion forum, forum, blog… And then at the bottom of the second page:
“Shoes for a redhead”
She clicked on it.
Celtic harp music plucked from the speakers. A curtain of red hair swayed on the screen, then parted, pulled up and to the sides like theater curtains, revealing an empty chair shaped like a giant leopard print high-heeled shoe. A message scrolled atop the screen and then disappeared:
Welcome to Hiheelia, heavenly seat of Shoestra, Goddess of Shoes.
Kelsey moved her mouse over the screen, looking for something to click.
Do you wish to summon the goddess?
“Yes!” Kelsey said.
Put your finger on the shoe.
Kelsey rolled her eyes. Like that would do anything.
Do you want to summon the goddess or not?
Kelsey tensed. How did it know? She checked the camera mounted to the computer. It was off.
They must assume no one did it on the first prompt.
Last chance.
“I’m not doing it,” Kelsey muttered. “You’re faking.”
Thank you for visiting Hiheelia.
The leopard print shoe started to fade. Panicked, Kelsey quickly stuck her finger on it.
Bells tinkled and flower petals fell from the top of the screen. The lighting softened and gas footlights flared in an arc across the bottom of the screen.
Nude animated nymphs in gold high-heeled shoes cavorted out from behind the curtain on the right, two of them blowing on trumpets and two more unfurling a length of blue silk. They scampered round the shoe and then exited the opposite side.
Kelsey gaped at the screen. Was this a porn site?
Moments ticked by, the last of the flower petals settling to the floor. The footlights flickered, the faint sound of gas jet flames fluttering through the speakers.
Far-off high-heeled footsteps sounded, approaching with each sharp step. Kelsey leaned in close to the screen, as if pressing her face to it would let her see off to the side of the stage.
K-thk, K-thk, K-thk, the unseen feet said, then paused.
Please don’t fog the goddess with your breath.
Embarrassed, Kelsey sat back. She glanced around the room, making sure no one else had seen her faux pas.
The footsteps resumed.
Thank you.
“No problem,” she mumbled.
I shouldn’t think so.
“Lay off her, will ya?” a tart female voice said, and from the right of the stage emerged a blonde bombshell in a tight 1940s grey skirt suit, a saucy black hat angled on her head over her side-parted hair. She strode to the shoe chair on black patent peep-toe heels fully five inches tall. Black seams ran up the backs of her stockings.
“Okay, who’s the funny one who dug this out of the donation pile?” the blonde demanded, pointing at the leopard print shoe.
There was giggling off-stage.
I don’t know, Goddess.
“I’m gonna make you all wear sensible shoes with arch support for this!”
Moans and cries of distress.
The blonde turned to Kelsey, meeting her eyes through the computer screen. “Sorry about that. In case you haven’t put it together by now, I’m Shoestra, the Goddess of Shoes,” she said, and sat down primly on the leopard print shoe. She crossed her Barbie doll legs and clasped her hands over her knee. “And you are?”
“Kelsey,” Kelsey said, and again glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t want Holly or Erica to catch her talking to the computer.
“Kelsey, yes. A redhead in need of shoes, and of a little more than that, too, if I’m not mistaken.”
Kelsey nodded. “Clothes.”
Shoestra waved that suggestion away. “Deeper in your soul than that.”
“Confidence?”
“Even more fundamental than that.”
“A new personality?” Kelsey ventured.
“Keep digging.”
Kelsey tried, but her ‘self’ seemed too shallow to hold much more in the way of discoveries.
She shrugged. “I’ve got nothing.”
“That’s right!” Shoestra bounded out of the chair and pointed a crimson-nailed finger at her. Her scolding face looked like a perky young Ginger Rogers. “And do you know why that is?”
Kelsey shook her head.
“It’s because your womanly powers are like this,” she said, and held up a tightly clenched fist. “They’re wrapped up tight in a bud, waiting for the chance to bloom. They want to effloresce; they want to spread their petals like a rose and fill you with their intoxicating scent. The ‘nothing’ inside you is the empty space where the blooming rose of feminine power should be.”
Yes, yes, it made sense! It explained so much! It—
It was a little loopy, wasn’t it? She’d never felt any bud of womanly powers striving to be set free. “Why didn’t my bud ever blossom?”
Shoestra shrugged. “Congenital defect? It happens sometimes. But you’re in luck, because here in Hiheelia we have a cure for your type of problem.” Shoestra smiled, eyes twinkling as if she was about to spread the Good Word to a heathen. “Shoes!”
Kelsey sighed. Shopping! Of course. What else was a shoe website about except commerce? She was embarrassed she’d let herself get sucked in. “Shoes aren’t going to solve my problems,” she said, reaching for the mouse. She’d go back to the normal clothes websites and buy the first thing she saw.
“Wait!”
Kelsey’s finger hovered over the mouse. “What?”
Shoestra came up to the edge of the stage, her animated face luminous with concern. “This isn’t just a shoe store. Think of your visit here as your first step to becoming who you want to be. Close your eyes, Kelsey, and envision who that woman is. Come on, close your eyes.”
“Fine.” Kelsey crossed her arms and closed her eyes.
“Who do you want to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. There’s a redhead goddess inside you, waiting to break free.”
“I don’t know where she is,” Kelsey complained. “I don’t know how to set her free. Help me!”
“Are you sure you want my help?”
“Yes!”
“It’ll cost $189, plus shipping.”
“Okay! Yes! Anything, yes!”
Click here.
“Kelsey, sweetie, have you been here all night?” Holly asked, shaking her awake.
“Hunh?” Kelsey raised her face from her arms, crossed in front of her on the desk. She fumbled for her horn rim glasses and slid them on, wincing as her neck cramped. “What time is it?”
“Seven.” Holly reached over to Kelsey’s wallet, a Visa card sitting on top. “Did you buy something after I went to bed?”
Kelsey yawned. “I don’t think so.” The sum $189 appeared in her mind, unconnected to anything else. “Did I?”
She woke the computer. Her browser was closed, but her open email retrieved a message, announcing its arrival with a cheerful chirrup. It was from Hiheelia.com, and the subject line read: Your order has shipped!
“Oh crap.” Kelsey opened the email and read the cheerful fluff about hoping she was satisfied with her order, but there was no hint of what, exactly, she had ordered.
“What’s Hiheelia? I’ve never heard of it. Oh God, it’s not Hawaiian clothes, is it? Muumuus and board shorts?”
“It’s a really weird shoe store. Let me show you.” Faint memories were coming back, of a curtain of red hair and an animated Ginger Rogers sitting on a giant leopard print shoe.
Kelsey brought up Hiheelia.com and grunted in surprise.
There was no curtain of hair. No big shoe. There was text about Hiheelia and Shoestra, but no naked nymphs or talking goddess. The site came across as a shoe store with an overly creative marketing style.
“Kind of corny,” Holly said, looking over her shoulder. “So what’d you buy?”
“I don’t remember,” Kelsey mumbled.
“Let’s look. You’ll remember when you see it.” Holly grabbed the mouse and clicked the “Go Shopping!” link.
An error message came up.
Holly clicked the back button, but instead of getting the home page they got a message that the site was experiencing technical difficulties, and to please return later. “I hope that doesn’t mean that they have your credit card number and have taken off for the Cayman Islands.”
Kelsey groaned and put her face in her hands. “It’s always going to be a disaster when I shop; it’s like I’m missing the gene for it. I think it may be a congenital defect.” A vision of a rose bud blooming suddenly filled her mind and she dropped her hands, her gaze focusing inwards as she tried to catch from whence the image came.
“What is it?” Holly asked.
Kelsey shook her head. “I don’t know. But I think I’ll wait and see if a package arrives from Hiheelia before I call the credit card company. I think there might something interesting on its way.”
Chapter Four
“Thank God it’s Friday,” Kelsey grumbled as she backed her truck and goat trailer up the driveway of her house.
It had been a week of bitter disappointment. Bridget gave Kelsey’s email address to Mark, but so far there was no sign he would ask her out. Jack had taken off on another trip, so there was no chance of glimpsing him undressed. Little Bastard broke loose and ate one of Jack’s neighbors’ flower gardens, then attacked another neighbor’s Pomeranian dog. Granted, the dog had been making a nerve-shredding amount of noise over the week and Kelsey had fantasized about violence herself, but now she might be saddled with the little beast’s vet bill.
And worst of all, every day when she came home she was greeted with an empty front porch, no box from Hiheelia to be seen. The fear of identity theft and her credit card being used to buy daiquiris on a beach somewhere was a constant, quiet worry. The site still showed no signs of coming back online.
She took care of the goats and her snail farm, did a bit of maintenance on her composting worm bins, fed the chickens and gathered eggs, picked a few hardy herbs from her garden, and went in the basement door to the house. She stripped by the washing machine and started a load, then took a shower in the basement bathroom. Afterwards she donned the thin robe that waited for her on its nail at the bottom of the stairs.
She heard the doorbell when she was halfway up the stairs and dashed to the top, dumping the eggs and herbs in the kitchen then running across the living room. Through the sheer curtains she could see the shadow of someone moving away, and she yanked open the door. “Wait!”
A college-age boy holding a box turned round, his eyes running over her body. “Sure!”
Kelsey looked down and realized her dripping hair had wet a spot over one nipple, turning the fabric transparent, and her robe was half open. She pulled it closed, crossing an arm over her breast. “Is that package for me?”
“I think so. It was delivered to my mom’s house by mistake. She lives down the street,” he said, pointing.
Kelsey reached for the box.
The boy moved it out of her reach, grinning. “How about as thanks for delivering the box, you let me take you out tonight?”
The demand was too unexpected to process. Her? Him? “I’m at least five years older than you!”
“So? I’d rather be with someone with a little more experience.”
“Experience with what?”
His grin widened.
“Are you going to give me my box or not?” she demanded.
“Are you going to go out with me?” He raised the box all the way above his head.
Kelsey narrowed her eyes. She’d never had patience with this junior high form of mating ritual. “You better give that to me.”
He winked.
She punched him in the gut. The box dropped and she caught it, and was dashing up the porch stairs before he caught his breath.
“Is that a ‘no’?” he wheezed from his crouch.
“Get off my property!” she yelled, and slammed and locked the door behind her.
She leaned against the door, panting and cradling the box against her chest, wondering what had gotten into that boy. Guys never came on to her like that.
She lowered the box in her arms. ‘Hiheelia.com’ was written on the side in bold black print. She flipped it over to find the return address, but it had been damaged during shipping, the skin of the cardboard peeled off where the address should have been.
She took the box into the kitchen and cut open the packing tape with a knife. Underneath the packing straw was a shoebox, an envelope attached on top. She plucked off the envelope and opened it. Inside was a note card with gold and pink edging. In black script was a message:
To Kelsey Safire, the redhead goddess
May she be ever-blooming
“And drought tolerant and disease resistant,” she muttered. Ever-blooming was a gardening term. She set the note aside and took the lid off the shoebox.
She stared at the contents. There was no way she would have ordered those.
She went to the fridge and pulled out a half-drunk bottle of wine and poured herself a glass, then edged back to the table and peered again into the box. They hadn’t changed. In a bed of silver tissue nestled a pair of high-heeled sandals, the straps made of pale green leather cut in the silhouette of a thorny stem. Down the vamp of each shoe was an inch-wide strip of small red silk roses.
She muttered a curse under her breath. $189, gone! Wasted on a pair of shoes she would never wear. It made no sense.
She picked up one of the shoes to check the size. Yup, an eight. Compared to her usual work boots, the sandal was light as a feather. It seemed so… feminine.
Hardly knowing she was doing it, she sat down and tried on the shoes. The long thin straps at the ankle seemed to wrap themselves around her lower leg of their own accord, criss-crossing to beneath her calf.
She held her feet out in front of her. They looked sexy. She carefully stood, and grew three and a half inches in the process, sending the familiar view of the kitchen off-kilter. She felt tall and willowy.
Giggling to herself, she walked across the room. The shoes were a perfect fit. She put a hand on her hip and did a model catwalk stomp through the house, pausing only to pick up her glass of wine before repeating the circuit. On the third lap she flipped on the radio.