The shoes emerge from the murky depth of my closet every winter. The rest of the year, I keep them in a box buried under old college sweatshirts. They are perfect shoes. Red and shiny but flat—perfect for running. I tried stilettos when I was younger, but found they were too flashy. There is an art to drawing in the right man.
Too many people nowadays are lazy. They go the easy route—show skin, everything garish and unmistakable like a neon sign around their necks saying "screw me". Not my style. I've always believed that you've got to put the work in.
My boyfriend, Winston, saw me pulling the shoes out the other day. The lid was off and I ran my finger over the smooth blood red surface.
"Those are nice," he said, leaning his shoulder against the wall by the wall. He was halfway dressed for the day in dark jeans as he spoke he began buttoning his work shirt. His bare foot nudged mine, and he smiled. "Shall I take you out? Give you a chance to enjoy them? Tomorrow after work I could get us a reservation."
"Don't bother. I'll have a chance to wear them at work." I shut the shoe box and wondered if I could distract him by calling attention to the fact he wasn't dressed yet. I decided against it... I don't like using trick on him.
He's a good guy. The type of guy that could keep a woman happy her whole life. I don't mind giving him treats—he's earned them. But they have to be real treats. I won't cut corners with him.
Luckily, he had to rush off to work, and the conversation didn't go any further.
Winston almost saw the shoes on one occasion. It was the day I met him, last winter. I was coming back to my car from my favorite spot at the lake. I had the shoes in my bag, having changed into tennis shoes.
"A bit cold for a walk in the woods," he said. The winter wind blew his bard hair over his ears and across his eyes. He was standing right next to the forest path as if waiting for me.
"Colder for a swim," I said, smiling and touching my blonde curls which were turning to icicles.
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around me. Then offered to buy me some coffee to help me warm up. Winston is gorgeous, but that has never been the appeal for me. I've met more than my share of attractive men who are rotten on the inside. But no matter how hard I look, I can't find that side of Winston.
He's the only man I've ever considered retiring the shoes for.
I want to be good for him. Maybe next year.
He's out tonight. Working a double shift to cover for a co-worker whose husband just had an accident. The first time he did that sort of thing, I followed him to see what he was really up to. Spent an awkward night in a cold car, eating salted nuts with my red shoes beside me in a box.
They never came out to play.
Every time I've followed him, or suspected him of lying... he's always up to exactly what he says he is.
But he's not here now. I glance at the wall clock. Time to get moving.
I slip the shoes on. They fit perfectly over my grey wool leggings.
Once they are on, I twist off my wedding ring... not that I've ever been married. But I like the tan line. You'd think something like that would be too subtle, but it isn't. The men I want to notice always do. And the ones I don't want cluttering my view avoid me if they notice.
I picked the habit up from a waitress. Winston doesn't mind though he keeps threatening to buy me a nicer one... a real one. I wonder if I would say yes. Then I'd have to junk my perfect winter shoes.
On my way out the door, I dig into my key bowl. The keys have sunken into the yellow-white stones filling the container. I shake a few free. They clink together.
It's just past Christmas, and many of the neighbors still have their lights up. Winston took mine down. To be fair, he put them up too. I've never been big on Christmas.
Santa bugs me. Always has. Not that I don't like the idea of rewarding good little boys and girls. But I feel that coal isn't really teaching the others much of a lesson (nor do I think the old guy gives out nearly enough of it. Some of those good little ones are really little shits.) Still, my bigger issue is that the whole St. Nick things skips of the majority of humanity—adults. And many of them never learned how to be good.
St Nick doesn't put in the work. He's lazy.
Nor is that the only winter holiday I have these issues with. I mean come on! New Years? As if we could erase the fetid rotting deeds from our souls and come out clean. Worse is that people actually make resolutions, to help purge their consciences, and then are too lazy to keep them.
And don't get me started on Valentine 's Day. Really? A day to celebrate love? Because none of us can be bothered to remember to do something romantic on any other day of the year. It's lazy. That's all it is. So, since I turned sixteen, I've had my own way of celebrating.
My red shoes click on the sidewalk. I hop into my car and start driving.
This isn't the first time I've broken out my shoes this year. So, rather than heading to a bar, which is the perfect first outing, I pull in across from a park. There's a hotdog vendor on the sidewalk, his breath steaming in the cold.
Sounds tasty.
I shrug on my wool coat. The grassy expanse of the park is sparsely populated. A few kids are on the playset with over bundled parents watching them. A few teenagers lounge at the edge of the woods on the grass borders. I take careful note of their location before heading over to the vendor and ordering dinner.
A man is staring at me from a bench, and when I catch his gaze, he winks. I didn't expect to get noticed here. But since my scheduled meeting isn't for another half an hour, I figure I have time to kill. I head over with my hot dog and smile.
"You mind if I sit here?" I ask, brushing a dirty blonde lock behind my ear.
He nods but rather than meeting my eyes, he's looking at my legs. Schmuck. I sit beside him and cross my legs, letting one patent leather shoe dangle from my foot. His hands are gloved so I can't tell if he's wearing a ring or not.
"Cold day for the park," he says.
I'd bet he considered asking me if I was here on a date.
"You here with your kids?" I ask, taking a big bite of the hot dog. I could be dainty but that's too obvious. The problem with men is that most of them, even the generally good ones, will take the bait if you make it obvious enough. Offer to blow a guy in the park and you'll get a line of them. But I don't want the ones who are temptable... I want the ones who will go out of their way to find corruption. The ones whose souls leak tar, polluting the world around them.
He's said something. I didn't catch it, but he's motioning to the stores lining the walk across the way. I wonder if his wife is over there shopping.
"You meeting someone here?" he asks, glancing at the playground. Though I doubt he gives a damn if I have a kid about to show up. Men only care about something like that if they are seeking a genuine connection.
Winston would have cared. A bite of guilt hits me, thinking about him.
"I'm meeting an old friend in about fifteen." I shrug. Then I glance back at the hotdog vendor. "I should've thought to get a coffee."
"Tell you what, you give me your number, and I'll go over there and get you whatever you like." He nods at a real coffee shop across the way.
I giggle. I'm good at giggling. We both pull out our cells and I give him my number. Then he heads over to the coffee place to get me a double dirty chai.
No proof yet that he's awful. But I can find a lot on a guy through his phone number. I fiddle with my phone as I wait. I find his full name. Nathan Redbirch. Married with two kids.
I bet his kids are nasty, and I bet they never get coal. I blame Santa. Maybe if Nathan had gotten something more persuasive than coal as a child he wouldn't be who he is today. I'll make damn sure his kids understand what really happens if you're naughty.
Nathan comes back with my drink, and I sit there chatting with him for another five minutes. I try not to think about Winston but he keeps sneaking in. I never heard him get the call to go into work. But I have no reason to distrust him... nothing except this feeling I've had since he saw the shoes. A feeling like he's watching me.
"I really do have to go meet my friend." I smile and stand.
"I'll call you," Nathan says.
"I look forward to it." He's earned a second meeting with the red shoes. I'd bet this jerk gets his wife flowers every Valentine's day, on her birthday too. I bet he thinks that's good enough.
As I walk across the park, my phone beeps.
'I'm here. Where are you?' the text says. I appreciate that it is grammatically sound and written out. I can't stand people who abbreviate in texts. I put a lot of effort into these meetings, and I expect a little effort in return.
'Meet me by the North path. There's a nice spot back in the woods.'
I hurry across the grass towards the trees. Frost rubs off on my shoes. Kids squeal from the playset on the North side of the park. I bet their teachers give them projects to make on Valentine's Day... corrupting an already disgusting holiday. They put no effort in. None at all.
My phone buzzes. I check it in case it is my naughty boy. It isn't. It's Winston. He's getting off in an hour and wants to know if he should pick up some wine.
I text that I'd like a white and it may be closer to an hour and a half until I'm home. Then I finger the phone, considering turning around. Wouldn't my time and effort be better spent with him? As I'm thinking, the phone buzzes.
'I love you.' He texts back. 'It was around this time last year we met in the park. Do you still go to that lake?'
I scrunch my forehead. Why does there seem to be a ton of judgement in that text?
I forget about him when I see Lee waiting at the entrance to the footpath. This time of year no one takes the paths. It's too cold, especially paths like this that go down to the lake. And by lake I mean big enough not to freeze but too small for boats. And deep. So ridiculously deep.
Perfect for me.
"Hey, you look gorgeous," he says.
"Thanks, Lee." He's not bad himself. Styled blond hair and a body that has to take at least an hour a day of weights to maintain. He puts a lot of effort into his looks, more than is right. I mean, I believe in dedication but one has to choose the right thing to be dedicated too.
Like loyalty and love.
I lead him onto the path, and once we are out of sight, he kisses me. His tongue invades my mouth. I let him take a brief grab at my body before pulling away.
"I have something special for you tonight," I said, smiling. My wool coat has fallen open and lets the freezing air in.
It's a fifteen minute walk down to the lake, and Lee follows me without reservations. The pictures I texted him the night before help with that. Though I wish he'd stop grabbing at me.
I shiver as his hand slides over my butt.
"We could always get a hotel," he says.
"No matter how many times you make that suggestion, I'm going to say no."
"It's fucking freezing."
Swearing. Ugh. I don't keep a swearing jar. But I'll take his tongue. I always take the teeth. If you polish teeth up they look like ivory. I've filled a decorative bowl with them back at my house, where I keep my keys. Some days, especially in the summer, I like to run my fingers through and think of how much better the world is with those teeth in my bowl.
I slip my hand into my pocket as we come to the lake and wrap my fingers around my daddy's pocket knife. His teeth are in my bowl too, but I like the knife better. It's the knife that taught me right from wrong.
I turn to Lee and grin.
"You've been a very naughty boy," I say.
***
I wash the blood off my hands in the lake and stare down at my reflection.
Click.
The sound comes from behind me, and I spin around. Winston stands there in the shadows, frowning.
"What the hell!" I say. Then I notice the cold metal in his hands. A gun. How lazy. Probably better I don't complain about it when it's pointed at me.
He says nothing but tosses a small box on the ground in front of him. A ring box.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Hush, love," he says. "I've really been trying... so much. But you just keep coming here."
"It's not what..."
"It's exactly what I think. I've known who you are from the day we met. I'd hoped you'd let it go. I see now that was stupid of me. Pick the box up."
I don't have to, but I do. I know what's in it. I crack it open to find an engagement ring.
"You have a choice," he says. "The way I see it there are three ways this goes. Either I kill you here today. You put that ring on and—"
I don't let him finish. I know exactly what he means. He knows me well enough, especially if he knows about my lake habits to know I'd never have an affair. So if I marry him, he knows I'll stop. I could try to trick him.
But I don't want to.
I take the shoes off my feet, letting my toes dig into the rocky shore as I turn and throw them out onto the placid surface of the lake. They splash and are gone.
I guess, I'm getting married.
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