Rita Hayworth's Shoes (2 page)

He asked Amy, “What's that you say?”

Amy's Sancerre at last arrived, and this too, she downed in one gulp. “I said, he's not coming.”

The din of speculation instantly quieted.

“I always knew that guy was a jackass,” said the gnarly professor, waving a beige-plastic-wrapped finger in her face. “You just can't trust these herpetologists. Reptiles? As if that's really science,” he scoffed, and took a swig of his drink. “Bunch of goddamned devil worshippers, that's what they are,” he offered, putting his arm around Amy's waist, and slipping his hand down to rest on her rear end.

Amy whipped herself away from the professor and began to wail. Jane threw her arms around Amy, who, because she stood a head taller than Jane, snotted and bled into her best friend's hair. Jane was a forgiving friend.

Always a sensitive child, Zoë ran up to her favorite aunt, squirmed her tiny six-year-old body between Jane and Amy, and threw her arms around Amy's waist. “Oh, Auntie Amy! This is simply unconscionable!” she screeched.

Jane, ever-impressed by her young daughter's precociousness, joined her daughter in the hug as she kissed Zoë's downy-soft blonde head.

The angelic and wise Zoë lifted her tear-soaked face and stared meaningfully into her mother's eyes. “So, does this mean we can eat now?”

Several hours later, rumpled and intoxicated, Amy stumbled into the apartment she had lived in since her early twenties and which she had shared with David for the past several years. She dropped her keys on the floor by the foyer table and tried, unsuccessfully, to pop herself out of the ten thousand buttons that comprised the back of her gown. The realization that a bride wasn't supposed to be doing this for herself stung. But just for a moment.

Because even tonight, even after the harshest humiliation imaginable, she was forgiving. In all the years that Amy had been with David, waiting for him to finally realize that she was indeed “the one,” she had somehow managed to twist in her mind the way he had treated her into what she believed was the way he expressed his love. She had accepted all his humiliations like lover's kisses. He was so magnificent. So perfectly formed. So beautiful to behold. And these were what steered her heart.

Through the years, he had eventually, well, “loved her down”—and not just emotionally. But she was just as blind to the physical changes in herself as she was to the psychological ones. Once a striking-looking girl, David's “love” had transformed Amy from fabulous into frump—well, never truly fabulous and not exactly frump…But her life with David had certainly had made a difference.

She'd let her once honey-blonde hair grow out to mousy brown, keeping it that way because David never believed in “tampering with nature”—a philosophy extended to the unruly, unshaped eyebrow hairs that revolted against each other over her large blue eyes. Eye makeup was certainly out of the question, a shame because it would have nicely brought out what could have been her best asset.

She was a mess tonight and she knew it. But she also knew that love, true love, was everything. And what she had with David was real. She felt it was. As she had told Jane, if it meant making compromises, so what? Of course you have to give up something to have something real. Didn't you?

Amy staggered across the room and squeezed herself between the tiny couch and ratty old coffee table in the living room before collapsing into the cushions in a worn, white heap. As she sat there considering the events of the day, the past and the future, she knew in her heart only one thing: That she still loved David. Her beautiful David. And that when he came back to her, she would forgive him.

“Well, babies…things didn't turn out quite as we had expected today,” said Amy, seemingly to no one, but anyone who'd ever been to her apartment knew exactly who she was talking to: Her pets. Or David's pets?
Their
pets. Their
babies
. Now it looked like these were the only babies they were ever going to have together. No. It couldn't be true. She knew it couldn't be over.

She lay out on the couch like a corpse, which is what she felt like and, the truth be told, wished she was. Would God be merciful and take her that night? She wondered. She hoped. And then she thought about the babies. No, she had to live, at least for the babies.

“Don't worry. Mommy's not going to leave you,” she said out loud, as if they had been worried. “Daddy will be back. Soon everything will be okay again.”  

She looked down at the coffee table, covered in layers of David's favorite magazine,
Reptiles
, with a couple of issues of Hannah's top read,
National Geographic
, somehow also in the mix. On the cover of one of these was a headline that beckoned: “Rainforest: Discover Our Treasures.” She shuddered and knocked the magazines off the table. What other reminders did she need that her life was a mess, and that it was all pretty much her fault?

Except under the magazines was a treasure—for her at least. It was her worn-out old copy of Voltaire's
Candide
, a story pretty much now lost to time for everyone but literature freaks like herself, and one that had been lost to her for weeks under the stack of science magazines.

She smiled as she picked it up. She must have read this book about thirty times and she never got tired of it. She'd even let Jane drag her to see the musical on Broadway one year. As much fun as it was, she couldn't help but think the musical comedy buffs weren't quite getting it. Though, if she had to be honest, she had to admit that whenever she read it, no matter how many times she read it, she couldn't help but feel that she really didn't quite get it either. It was like something was missing somehow. Or that maybe what was missing was just something missing in her. She didn't know now. She didn't know anything anymore.

She opened the book. Her whole life, Amy had escaped into books. Other worlds where she didn't have to face the madness of her own. Her constant companions. Characters she understood better than the people she knew. Plots that made sense. Predictability, even when the plots were unpredictable. There would always be resolution, good or bad. And when she was done she could take the book and shelve it and start over again with another book. So not like her own life…In her life, where was the resolution? Where was the closure? So, Amy had made books her life. At least she had wanted to make them her life and she'd completed all the schooling she needed. She'd even written her thesis. But her defense seemed undoable. David and she had agreed about that. David and she had agreed about so many things. Until now…

Amy tried to read the first page, tried to bury herself in its mad absurdity and tried to forget the day, but her eyes still burned so badly from all the crying she had done that she just couldn't focus on the words. So she closed the book and lay out on the couch.

She was tired. Much too tired to lift her wedding-gown weighted self to her bedroom, and she started dozing off right there in the living room. “Yes, babies. Everything will be just fine,” she slurred. “Daddy will be back before you know it.” And with that, she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

##

Three days later, after much prodding, Jane finally got Amy to agree to meet her and Zoë at a diner around the corner from where Amy lived. The Omega Diner, while not original in name, was an original establishment of this Eastern Queens neighborhood. This was apparent mostly in the never-renovated fixtures and finishes, and the ancient desserts that sat behind the greasy glass under the countertop where the cash register sat, probably petrified by this point, museum pieces that they were.

It was only as they waited for Amy to show that it became obvious to Jane what a terrible idea it had been to have also invited Hannah. Yes, Hannah was a friend of Amy's, but she had a tendency to be overbearing and self-righteous, not to mention a bit boring with her obsession over primitive peoples—and she kind of got on Amy's nerves.

Zoë, the ever-wise Zoë, seemed already to know that it had been a bad idea for Hannah to be there, but it wasn't truly cemented for Jane until from their window booth, they all watched Amy spot them from the street and smile. And then freeze. And then make a mad dash for home.

“I'll be right back,” Jane said across the table as Hannah and Zoë watched Amy run the other way.

“I
told
you not to invite Hannah,” said Zoë, not taking her eyes off Amy. “She doesn't like Hannah.”

“Zoë, that's not polite. What did I tell you about
telling
?” she blurted, instantly embarrassed about confirming the child's speculation. “I mean, about
lying
,” Jane now lied with a nervous chuckle. “You know that good little girls don't lie.”

“Do good
big
girls?”

Jane smiled meekly at Hannah. “Sugar,” she explained, pointing to Zoë's nearly full glass of chocolate milk. “You know… It makes them kind of…” she demonstrated just what it made them by twirling a finger in the air around her ear.

“It's not a problem,” Hannah smirked. “I know Amy has her issues. But Zoë likes me. Don't you, Zoë?”

“Whatever,” the child mumbled. Through her straw, she began to blow bubbles in her milk.

After another quick moment of uncomfortable silence, Jane raced out and Hannah and Zoë pressed themselves up against the window to watch. They saw Jane catch up to Amy at the traffic light. They watched the women argue back and forth for several moments. They watched Jane grab Amy by the arm and drag her back to the restaurant.

Zoë shook her head. “Wuss,” she hissed under her breath.

“What's that, sweet one?” Hannah asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Zoë replied. “Look—here they come.”

As they entered the diner, Amy again froze. But a quick elbow shove from Jane set her racing at an unnatural speed toward the table.

“Hannah! Hi!” said Amy through the most authentic smile she could muster. “I'm
so
happy to see you!” she beamed, as Jane and Zoë exchanged worried glances and Amy slid into the booth directly opposite Hannah, who also looked a bit worried herself—even more so when Amy grabbed both Hannah's hands in her own and exclaimed in a much too excited tone: “Tell me—how's everything at work?”

Zoë looked to Jane in horror, begging with her eyes for her mother to make it all stop, nodding wildly as she crossed her neck with one of her tiny fingers in the manner of slashing.

Jane did not get the message.

“Well since you asked,” Hannah began, nervously at first. “Well, as I was just telling Jane…” and then gaining confidence, “…since you've been out, I've had to deal with Heimlich for you,” and then with annoyance… “…and you
know
what a pain in the ass he is.”

“Okay,” Jane interrupted protectively. “But weren't you going to take over some of Amy's stuff anyway when she left for her–” this last thought lodged in her throat.

“You mean my honeymoon?” Amy asked coolly.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Jane said sheepishly. “I was just trying to help.”

“Oh, no. Don't worry. It's not a problem,” Amy said, still with a deranged look in her eyes. “Believe me, Hannah, if I were you, I'd be annoyed at me, too. But don't worry. I'll be back at work on Monday.”

“Really? That isn't too soon?” Jane asked, worried.

“Wow. I guess that was pretty bitchy,” said Hannah. “Forgive?”

“Don't worry about it,” Amy waved, with a smile so saccharine, you'd probably get cancer if you licked her face.

“So big girls
are
allowed to lie!”

“Zoë!” Jane and Amy chided in unison, and then turned to Hannah. “Sugar,” they both smirked, each twirling a finger in the air around their ears as Jane had earlier.

“Yes. Sorry, Hannah,” said Zoë, pulling out a book and opening it to read. “Apparently, sugar makes me…” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “…crazy.”

“Hmmm,” said Hannah. “Charming child.”

They were all silent for a moment. Then Jane spoke. “So, I was thinking after this we could maybe go to the salon for makeovers,” she said breathlessly, nodding at Hannah for support.

“Why, yes,” she gushed, nodding at Jane. “What a wonderful idea–”

“I don't think I'm really in the mood for all that primping and doting. You know? I really don't think…”

“Auntie Amy, please,” said Zoë, in a most angelic voice. “You just can't walk around like that anymore. Your eyebrows,” she looked away, shaking her head in despair. She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “It's like caterpillars are sitting over your eyes…”

“They're horrifying,” scoffed Hannah, as Jane nodded helpfully.

Amy paused for a second to look at her friends. She seemed to consider their words carefully. And then she brushed them off. “So, do they have anything stronger than coffee here?” Amy blurted, flipping though her menu. She looked up at the others, who looked back at her, except for Zoë, who'd gone back to her book. “I've been having a little trouble sleeping lately. Don't need the caffeine, you know.”

“So order a cocktail.”

“Zoë! Good little girls don't push cocktails on their friends. Right?” Jane asked, unsure, looking to the others for confirmation.

“You know what?” Amy nodded. “I think one would help. Thanks, kiddo.”

“No problem,” said Zoë, not looking up.

Amy waved down the waiter and ordered a vodka and cranberry, while the others ordered lunch.

“You're not going to eat?” asked Jane.

“Not hungry.”

This did not sit well with Jane. “But if you're going to drink in the middle of the day you really should—”

“Not. Hungry.”

“Oh, she'll be fine,” snapped Hannah.

Jane looked to Zoë, who looked up for a second, regarded the women with a blank, bored stare, and went back to her book.

“So, I found out something interesting about Amazonia this week, a lead I'd been sniffing out about some of the tribes that live in the rain forest over there,” said Hannah, and Amy rolled her eyes at Jane. Jane tapped Hannah gently on the arm and shook her head apologetically. “Perhaps another time?” Jane offered.

Hannah was crestfallen. “Sure,” she said, and looked away.

Amy's drink arrived, along with an unsweetened iced tea for Jane and a carrot juice for Hannah. She gulped hers down in seconds and ordered another.

Hannah and Jane exchanged another quick glance as Jane urged Hannah, by raising and lowering her own well-shaped eyebrows, to speak. Hannah shook her head. Then Zoë nodded to Hannah. So, Hannah took a deep breath, looked around, and opened her mouth. “So, when I was in college, I loved this guy named Joe,” she said. “Man, I would have done anything for this guy. In fact, I once sucked him off—”

“Ahem,” said Jane, nodding in Zoë's direction. “Don't you mean that you,” she cleared her throat, “‘lucked his dwarf'?”

“Right,” Hannah said, looking at Zoë. “Sorry,” she mouthed to Jane. “Anyway, the point is, there was nothing I wouldn't do for this guy. But it didn't matter. Three days later, I found him in the library having his, um,
dwarf
lucked by some bimbo from our physics class.”