Rita Hayworth's Shoes (10 page)

“Honestly, I haven't thought about that paper in years. Three nines. I haven't thought about a lot of things in years.”

“Bullshit!” Zoë exclaimed, and Amy picked up her cards.

“You want to know what I think?” said Zoë, now tapping away at her tooth with her tongue.

“What?”

“I think you've totally got a thing for old baldie! Two twos.”

“Bullshit,” she motioned to Zoë to pick up the cards and Zoë glared at her as she added them to her hand. “That doesn't even make sense,” Amy said.

“Oh, no? Because you bring him up all the time,” she said, flicking the back of her teeth with her tongue again.

“I
work
with him,” she snapped. “One ace.”

“You
worked
with Heimlich, too,” said Zoë. “Two fives.”

Amy looked at Zoë, now with one card left, and looked at her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but Zoë beat her to it. “And I basically only knew about him from your wedding and his funeral.”

“Two sevens,” said Amy, throwing down cards as Zoë beamed.

“Bullshit, Auntie Amy,” she grinned smugly. “One seven!” she shouted, and threw down her cards. “And I win!”

“Fine,” Amy said, throwing down her cards. “Why don't we just drop it, okay?”

Zoë shrugged her shoulders and continued clicking her tongue against her teeth. Amy finally lost her patience with it. “Why do you keep flicking your tongue like that?”

“I think I have a loose tooth.”

Amy warmed. “Wow, honey! Your first one!”

“Yep. Crazy, huh?”

“Oh, Zoë. You're growing up!”

Zoë looked up at Amy over her eyebrows. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“Why? What's wrong with being grown-up?

“Grown-up people are nuts.”

“I don't see—”

“No, you don't. None of you do. You've got this perfectly nice guy all crazy about you and somehow you're still hung up on that dipshit.”

“Zoë, nice little girls don't—”

“Look, I'm not that nice. Don't tell my mother,” Zoë teased. “Seriously, she's another one. Ollie's so nice and she wasn't going to go out with him.”

“The moustache?”

“You
know
how she feels about men with facial hair. Anyway, she gave it a shot, but she wasn't going to—and just because of that. Crazy.”

Amy mentally weighed a moustache against having no hair at all, and Zoë continued.

“The point of the matter is I think that when you grow up, you go crazy and you stop being able to see the obvious. That's just my opinion,” she said, now tapping her tooth more aggressively than ever before.

“Then why do you keep trying to wriggle that tooth out?”

“Because it's annoying me.”

“Really because it's only just started to come loose.”

“Let's not talk about it anymore.”

##

Jane got home at eleven-thirty, a little tipsy and more than a little giddy. Amy greeted her at the door. “Looks like it went well.”

“You have no idea,” she gushed. “I had no idea I would go for a man in uniform.”

“He's a detective. He doesn't wear a uniform.”

“He could if I wanted him to,” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I didn't need that visual.”

“Oh lighten up,” she said. “What about you? When are you going to give poor Deck a shot.”

“Seriously?”

Why not?”

“I didn't tell you before. But I think he wanted to kiss me today.”

“Kiss you?” Jane gushed. “What happened?”

“Well we were dancing around…”

“At work?” Jane said, smugly.

“Kind of,” Amy replied, feeling slightly embarrassed but also warmed by the thought of it. “Anyway, there was a moment when I landed on his knee that seemed…”

“You landed on his knee?”

“Just forget it. Anyway, the point is, he's really nice. A little quirky, too.,” she said with a warm smile. “Except he really likes Chicago.”

“Chicago's a nice city.”

“The group.”

“Oh,” she said. “And why again is that one for the no column?”

“He's a little goofy,” Amy said, almost wistfully.

Just then Zoë poked her head out of her bedroom. “I told you she liked old baldie!”

“I thought you'd be sleeping, monster,” Jane said, and she motioned Zoë over. Zoë ran to her mother, who took her in her arms and lifted her off the ground. “How's the dangler?” she asked.

Zoë clung to Jane like an orangutan. “Still dangling,” she said.

“Don't rush it. It will come out when it's ready,” Jane assured, giving Zoë a couple of Eskimo kisses.

Amy smiled at the tenderness between mother and daughter, and felt a pang of longing for her own mother as she watched them together. “So are you still coming to that party with me?”

“Of course. Will
he
be there?'

“Sure.”

“Good. I look forward to getting to know him better.”

“Whatever, but he really isn't my type.”

“So what
is
your type?” Zoë asked.

“I don't know. Less big? I mean Deck's got be six-foot-five or something.”

“So you're looking for
less
of a man,” Jane shot back. “Like the girly men you've always dated.”

“They aren't girly.”

“Please,” Jane scoffed. “All David needed was lipstick and a dress and he'd be a woman.” Zoë giggled. “And I apologize to women everywhere for saying that.”

“I don't see–”

“No, you don't. You need a man, a real man. Someone who really cares about you. Someone who would do
anything
for you,” she mused. “Someone who could be a real hero. A prince. I think Deck could be that guy…”

“Look, Deck's a nice guy and everything. But there has to be
some
physical attraction for it to go somewhere. Doesn't there?”

Zoë shook her head. “Now you sound like Charlotte in
Sex and the City
—but see how that turned out!”

Both women turned their heads to look at Zoë; Her mother was not amused, which the sharp little one picked up on instantly.

“I mean, not that I ever watched that show. But seriously, you'd have to be living under a rock if you don't get the reference,” she said, now a little defensive. “But I don't watch it. I have never seen that show or know who any of those women are and I've never seen any of them naked.” The women now raised their eyebrows at her.

“At least, I don't watch it anymore. But that's not the point, really, is it? The point is Charlotte fell for Harry who was bald, when her horrible, handsome husband with all that hair was bad to her. It's just like with you, Amy. Don't you see it?”

Amy shook her head. “Harry was missing hair on his head. This guy doesn't have a hair on his body. Like a frog.”

“Come on, Amy. You never kissed a frog?”

“You're thinking of the wrong story.”

The Stratton University annual gala was held every year at the Garden City Hotel on Long Island, New York. Why is was held there had always been a mystery, as it wasn't particularly easy for anyone who worked at Stratton to get to, and it seemed an uncharacteristically opulent venue for a school which was generally casual. One rumor holds that the party was held here because Dr. Phil Nickerson, the one-time president of Stratton, once an all-men's college, had a thing for the then-president of Adelphi, Dr. Lindsay Frost, who headed the then-all-women's college. He believed hosting the event at the hotel, which was located mere blocks from the women's school, would win both the attentions and affections of Dr. Frost. But he never quite succeeded at winning either of them.

Years later, the event was still being held at the Garden City Hotel, because Stratton prided itself on being strong on tradition and altering the location would have violated that. Or something like that. In any case, anyone paying the tuition bill at Stratton, and thus footing the cost of the event, would probably not bat an eye if this particular tradition was chucked.  

This year, the party was being held in the main ballroom, where a grand buffet offered everything from carved meats to an assortment of pastas and salads to an Asian station complete with sushi. Two bars at either end kept the guests feeling festive. A band played at the front of the room as various members of the Stratton University faculty and staff, and their guests, bounced and bobbed and bopped on the dance floor. But not Amy. She, instead, found herself in the throes of a heated debate over the intent of allegorical themes in various medieval writings, torturing everyone at the table. Jane, especially.

“No, that's where you're mistaken,” said Amy.

“Really? I think Sir Gawain could have pulled it off,” said Dr. Bateman, a kindly woman in her fifties. “You never know. If given a chance—”

“That's just ridiculous!” Amy panted, scandalized, turning to Jane for affirmation.

“You don't say,” said Jane, monotone, staring down into her drink.

“It's interesting, isn't it, that one piece of literature has room for so many interpretations,” said Dr. Bateman.

“So interesting, I could kill myself now,” Jane downed her drink. “Truly.”

“Well, you're wrong,” Amy said. “As long as you know you're interpreting it wrong.”

Before Dr. Bateman could retort, Jane begged, “Where's Hannah? Does anyone know where Hannah is?”

“She mentioned something about packing,” Amy said. “I don't think she's going to make it tonight.”

“Packing? Where's she going?”

“I don't know. Something about Aboriginals in Amazonia.”

“There aren't any Aboriginals in Amazonia,” Dr. Bateman said.

“Maybe it was something else. I don't know. I really didn't get into it with her.”

“Oh,” Jane said. She picked up another glass and proceeded to gulp down its contents, not caring who it belonged to.

“How can you say only your way is the right way, Amy? You're one of the smartest here, no doubt. And I'm really looking forward to hearing your defense. More than for most—”

“You're doing your defense?” Jane interrupted and Amy nodded dismissively.

“Because I think you have a lot to offer,” Dr. Bateman continued, ignoring the interruption. “But that kind of stubborn thinking is not going to get you anywhere. Nothing is ever simply black or simply white, especially not in literature.”

“But—”

“Indeed, it would help you immensely if you could simply remember that no matter how much importance we may put on them now, most books and epic poems and plays were created with one purpose: To entertain. The enlightening is just a by-product.”

“But Sir Gawain—”

“Read into it a little less and enjoy it a little more. Open your mind, Amy. You'll see,” Dr. Bateman then gave her a warm smile and a supportive little squeeze on the hand.

Amy was about to give Bateman a piece of her open mind when she was interrupted by a familiar baritone voice. “Dr. Bateman,” he said. “It's nice to see you here.”

“Hello, Dr. Thomas,” she smiled, and shook his hand.

“Hi, Amy,” he smiled. “You look, um, wow…”

Amy could feel herself turn as red as her shoes and she quickly looked away.

“I'm glad you came when you did, Dr. Thomas. Perhaps you can enlighten Ms. Miller here on literary interpretation and freedom of ideas?”

He looked back and forth between Amy and Dr. Bateman, and then smirked at Jane. “I thought this was a party.”

“Good point,” said Dr. Bateman. “Nice seeing you, Dr. Thomas. I look forward to receiving your thoughts on the Tolstoy program. Later this week?” she asked.

Deck looked at Amy. “I hope.”

“Okay, guys,” Dr. Bateman said. “Have a good time,” she waved and disappeared back into the party.

“That was a profound discussion between two deep and intellectual people and I, for one, found it to be highly enjoyable,” Amy snapped at him.

“Deep, eh,” he chided.

“Why? What's wrong with that? Aren't you deep?”

The mischievous grin appeared again. “Why would I want to be deep when I can be happy?” he said.

“Great point!” said Jane. “Finally, someone who makes some sense around here,” she downed her drink and turned to Deck. “Hi, I'm Jane.”

“Nice to meet you, Jane. I'm Deck.”

Jane laughed at him. “I
know
you who you are.” Amy glared at her. “Uh, we met at the wake.”

“Right, though not formally,” he smiled at Amy. She looked away.

“Don't you want to be happy? Let off a little steam once in a while?”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“This is because you don't dance enough. Come on. Dance with me,” he asked, and she looked at Jane, pleadingly. “I know you
can
,” he laughed. “Let's go.”

“Uh, well Jane doesn't think she can stay by herself…”

“Who cares what she thinks—I mean no offense, Jane.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“What do you
want
to do?”

She smiled. “I want to dance.”

“Then let's go.”

Deck led her out to the dance floor just in time to catch the tail end of a swing medley, and then the music switched to slow. He pulled her close and she tried to pull away. “I guess we sit now,” she said.

“You are so beautiful, do you know that?”

“I don't think…”

“Oh, Amy, come on. Can't you just go with it?” He pulled her closer and as she swayed in his arms, she had to admit it felt pretty good. He was so strong and sweet and tender, and she felt so safe and happy. He smelled so good to her, so fresh and new. And then something familiar started to stir in her, something raw and tingly and more than a little terrifying. She panicked.

“I have to sit,” she said, and pulled away from him. He followed her back to the table, and as they sat and joined Jane, the music started to get upbeat again.

“This is my favorite song!” Jane shouted and jumped up.

“Mama's night out!” she screamed and downed her drink in one gulp and kissed Deck on the top of his head. “You're with me now,” she commanded.

Deck smiled at Amy. “You don't mind?”

“She had her chance, come on,” she said, and dragged him out of his seat.

“See you later,” he smiled and let Jane lead him away.

Amy sat back and watched, and soon had to laugh at the sight of six-foot-five Deck twirling around five-foot Jane. She almost expected her to step on his feet, in daddy-daughter-dance style. They seemed to get along so well. She couldn't think of a single time she'd seen David and Jane get along this way.

But lest she be too happy and comfortable this night, just beyond Deck and Jane she noticed David entering the party. With Liz. Then she watched as David leaned over and whispered something to her, and Liz looked right at her. And then they started walking in her direction and she had no way to escape that wouldn't look like she was trying to escape as they made their way to her.

“Hello, Amy.”

“David,” she said, gulping her drink. “So nice to see you here. Who's your friend?” she managed a weak smile.

“You remember Liz?”

“So nice to finally meet you,” cooed Liz in a voice far more feminine than Amy would have suspected.

“Amy's in the English department. She's working toward her PhD”

“Ah yes,” said Liz. “But not quite there, are you, dear?”

“Actually, I'm going to make my appointment this week for my defense and—”

“Well, that's okay,” Liz interrupted. “From what I understand, Deck Thomas likes them hot and stupid,” she said, looking Amy up and down. “Kind of like…”

“Amy's not a natural blonde,” David said, and Amy wondered if this wasn't a misguided attempt to defend her.

Liz ignored it. “So when you say you're
working
with Dr. Thomas, does that mean…”

“It means I work for him,” Amy said.

“Because you know he has a reputation for,” she taunted, “How do I say this? Getting just a bit too close to his assistants.”

“He married
 
Marny,” Amy replied coolly.

“You
do
know she disappeared, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Amy. “She left him. Just ran off for no reason.”

Liz laughed. “Really?” she said. “Is that what he told you?” she laughed and conspiratorially looped David's arm in hers. Though David seemed more embarrassed than anything else.

Amy glared at Liz and couldn't decide what it was about this woman she hated the most. As the tension in her mounted, and the urge to punch Liz square in her smug fat face rose high in her, Deck magically appeared with Jane.

“Liz French. What a delight to see you again,” Deck said.

Liz looked him over. “You're looking…well…” And she looked away. “Not exactly well, are you, Deck?”

“And you, too. Looking well,” he said, a little too cheerfully. And then leaning in and under his breath, for Amy's benefit, “For a sea monster.” Except she didn't hear it.

“This is David,” said both Amy and Liz at once, Liz boastfully, and Amy in more of a pained whisper.

Deck glanced at both women and then at David, who was looking at Amy. Amy was looking at the ground. He took a swig of his beer. “So you're the reptile man?”

David extended a hand to Deck without looking away from Amy. “David Hayes,” he said. And that was all he had to say.

Liz pulled him closer to her. “Apparently he's replaced Heimlich,” Liz said. “Strange turn of events, considering their past,” she continued to say, now in a loud whisper, still seeking a conspirator and still finding none.

Deck looked at Amy, who was still looking at the ground. David still looked at Amy, and Liz was sneering at David. And as all this was happening around Amy, it seemed the sound of distant drums echoed in her ears as the tension mounted so high, she could feel it in every inch of her. So she was decidedly done when Deck innocently joked, “Well, hopefully Amy won't also poison me.” He laughed nervously, looking to Amy for a reaction. But the events of the night had become too much. Seeing David like that. Seeing him actually
with
Liz. It was just too much. Amy burst into tears and ran off.

“Amy, wait,” called Deck. “I was just kidding.” He turned to follow her and Jane jumped in front of him.

“Don't worry,” she said. She stood on her tippy-toes and leaned on his chest to balance as she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “It isn't you,” she said warmly and glared at David. Then she took off after Amy.

##

Amy arrived at work early the next morning, determined to get Deck's Tolstoy notes organized before he came in. She was so embarrassed and overwhelmed at the events of the night before, she felt that throwing herself into the task would help distract her as she tried to figure out just what the hell was going on inside her head and in her heart.

“You okay?” the familiar, comforting baritone asked. She looked up at Deck, who was standing over her desk with a cardboard tray holding two coffees. He pulled one out and placed it on her desk. “Two sugars, right?”

“I'm sorry I ran out like that. God, what a spaz.”

“I don't know about that,” he said. “I've never had to face Marny and Lee like that in the flesh. Who knows? I might have done the same in your position.”

“I don't know about that. You seem like you could take it.”

“You think that? Really?” he said. “Amy, I have no hair.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“So how about that ice cream now? What do you say?”

“It's ten o'clock in the morning.”

“I don't think the ice cream cares.”

“But we have work to do…”

Deck looked down at the mess of papers strewn all over her desk. “I don't think you care.”

“I care!”

“Let's leave your passion for your job and your performance for another day, shall we?” He offered his arm. “Let's go.”

When they entered the cafeteria at the Student Union, Deck was surprised to learn that they were still serving only breakfast until eleven, and as much as he begged them to start up the soft serve machine, the servers wouldn't budge. “There's a vending machine just outside,” said a kindly woman who had been nearly worn down to oblige him, until her surly coworker scowled at her. “I think it has ice cream sandwiches, if that helps?”

“Sandwich,” he nodded as he said to Amy, “So not only do I get to buy you ice cream, but lunch. Who's a better date than me?”