The Tragic Shoes – Part II of III
“Wakey, wakey.” Serafina’s fluttering eyelids remained sealed shut. She snorted and kicked her feet.
I don’t know about you, but I always find my captives so adorable whey they are bundled up tight in thick ropes and fighting against the tortured dreams of their drug-induced narcolepsy. With their mouths gagged and their hands bound tightly behind their back—they’re so cute.
“Uaagh,” she moaned lightly.
Tickling her toes wasn’t doing the trick. Maybe I overdid it with the chloral hydrate? I should’ve studied my absorption rates better—ugh, but so much math to digest.
“Mmmm.” She was dozing off into another heavy slumber.
Exasperated, I doused her with a pitcher of cold water.
“Aaaah!” she screamed and awoke from her dream as if drowning at sea. “Hp!” The words weren’t forming yet. “Hep!” Getting closer. “Heeeelp!” Much better!
“Spare yourself. We’re in a basement of an abandoned farmhouse far away from the edges of town. Kinda cozy, doncha’ think?”
“I’m cold and wet,” she whined.
“Yeah, warm sand usually doesn’t bring people to.”
Her lovely brown toes, painted so poetically with bright emerald nail polish, were wiggling within the confines of her nylon stockings. “How did the bottoms of my jeans get shredded?”
“You put up a terrible fight as I was taking your spectacular Spanish leather boots off. The boots are completely unblemished, but I am afraid your tight-fitting jeans are totaled.” I pulled up a chair right next to her and sat down.
“Why does my face hurt so much? Am I bruised?”
“I kinda dropped you down the staircase. Buttery fingers, but you’re sort of a slippery eel. No harm, no foul, right?”
Her bruised face turned red with rage. “You horrible witch! What do you want?”
“Really, Serafina.” I was deeply offended. “What makes you think I want something?”
“I won’t crack. I’ve been through worse than anything you can dish out.”
“It was the ropes, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve got a high threshold for pain and I’ll never betray my girls.” Serafina curled her toes and bit down on her lip as if to accentuate her point. “Torture me all you want. You won’t get an inch of our turf.”
“It’s the whole basement in a remote farmhouse thing, isn’t it? You know, so many people misinterpret my intentions whenever I do that.”
“And the Senoritas are well-connected, too.” Serafina was stern and just a tad hostile, in my opinion, given her present circumstances. “I have friends in other girl gangs. Lots of them. And boyfriends you don’t wanna mess with. Ex-cons, thugs, murderers…people who can mess you up!”
“Break both my ankles?”
“Worse than that.”
“Do tell. I feel inspired.”
Serafina clammed up. A tiny bead of sweat was running down the side of her pretty brown face. We’d been friends for a number of years. Robbed liquor stores together. Car-jacked Beemers for parts. Intimidated, haughty, law-abiding citizens. But when the times got tough, we separated into our own gangs. Every once in a while we would cross paths in the act of committing crimes. But it wasn’t until the downfall of the Khmer Rouge Girls that we found our territories butt-up against each other. That was when things got really ugly.
I scooted my chair in close beside her and rested my head on her shoulder. “You know, it doesn’t have to be like this, honey.”
She was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“So adversarial. Always threatening, provoking…fighting. Remember when the Clowns with Frowns on Skates were all-powerful and they beat both our gangs to a pulp?”
“Yes,” she said wistfully. “I remember.”
“The trauma ward was so crowded, they made us share a room together in Intensive Care. They’d given up trying to figure out who was in what gang. You were laid up with two broken legs and a broken neck. My whole upper body was encased in plaster. We shared some romantic nights together in recovery, didn’t we?”
“That was nice.”
“I’ll never forget it.” I got up from my chair and headed to the other room. “I thought rather than torturing you horribly,” I shouted from the far side of the basement, “…as good as I am at that, I’d make this a really special evening.”
I returned to the room and placed an elegant silver cake dome and tray on the Ottoman sitting in front of her.
“What is it?” She shook, terrified with fright.
“This, darling, is dessert.”
She looked at the covered dessert tray wide-eyed, half-expecting something to leap out and attack her. She looked back at me, wide-eyed.
“Will it hurt me?” she asked as she sniffed around the cake dome.
“No, of course not.” I tapped my booted foot impatiently. “Well, since you are being so timid, not to mention completely bound up, I guess I’m just going to have to do this myself.” I lifted the dome off of the cake tray. “Voila!”
Serafina squealed and nearly passed out from excitement. After several huffs and puffs to maintain consciousness, she said, “Is that what I think it is?”
“A 1986 Reynaldo Grimaldi scarlet Heartfire formal slip-on? Yes, you got it exactly right. Not only the world’s most elegant shoe, but also its most desired.”
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Serafina was nearly in tears. “If I wasn’t tied up, bruised and bleeding, I would think that I’m in heaven.”
“Better than heaven,” I chided as I used more rope to tie her feet around the Ottoman, so that she had no choice but to look at the world’s most gorgeous shoe. Walking in a pair of Grimaldies is like walking on an endless path of bare, powdered baby bottoms. They’re that comfortable.”
“Oh my God,” she sighed. “This just can’t be. The Heartfire was put out in a limited edition. They’re unbelievably rare, Alexis.”
“That’s right, Serafina. I love a girl who really knows her shoes. Grimaldi only manufactured 100 pairs before he brutally committed suicide by stabbing himself thirty-four times with a sharpened shoe horn.” I whispered, “Some people believe he was actually murdered.” I cleaned an imaginary smudge from the flawless shoe. “You know, his rivals were green with jealousy. Or whatever color jealousy is. The Heartfire is the rarest and most sought after shoe ever created. People would absolutely kill for one of these. Probably, numerous people already died for the shoe you are drooling over right now.”
“Tell me more, Alexis! I must know more.”
“I love a girl who’s obsessed with shoes.” I got down close to the Grimaldi, so that our faces were only inches apart. “The Heartfire is euphemistically referred to as the “shoe that launched a thousand orgasms.” There are only thirteen surviving shoes and I happen to have a pair. This is the left one.”
“I must know…” she pleaded.
I held up my hand. “No, Serafina, I cannot reveal my sources or my methods. I can only tell you that I went to great personal expense to come by this pair of magnificent shoes. A girl has got to keep her secrets.”
Serafina cooed. “I must have them.” She reached out her tongue to lick at the glorious shoe, coming within a centimeter of sliming the lush leather soles. “This is like the ninth circle of heaven. The Heartfire is dangling in front of my face, just out of reach.” She whimpered. “You must let me try it on.”
“Try it on?” I arched one of my razor-thin eyebrows in surprise. “Why of course, I will let you try it on. What kind of savage beast would I be if I didn’t let you try on this most immortal of shoes? But first, let’s take a look at those footsies. We have to make sure you are a Heartfire kind of girl.”
I sat down in front of her splayed legs like a patient shoe store clerk and examined her nylon covered feet with my hands. I squeezed her plump big toes between my thumb and forefinger. “Nice composition and structure.” I proceeded to do a deep tissue message of her arches. Serafina moaned gently and softly before moaning full-throatedly. “Nice bonework. Let’s see how they taste.” I took a long, slow lick of her sole from bottom to top, thoroughly enjoying every millimeter of the journey. When I finished, Serafina giggled and kicked her feet.
“Mmmm. Strong hints of apricot, oaky aroma, smoky afterbite, chocolaty overtones with just a dash of black peppercorn at the end. Do you wear Dr. Scholls?”
In between bursts of tickle-inspired laughter, she shook her head-yes.
“Thought so.” I rubbed my chin and pondered her feet. “I’m afraid that we have a problem here.”
“A problem?” Concern gripped her face the way a virgin grips a whore’s nipple. “What kind of a problem?”
“You’re a size 7.”
“So?”
“The Heartfire is a size 5.”
“Uhhhh,” she gasped. “I must have those shoes. I’ll be the envy of the whole warehouse district.”
I grinned Devilish Grin #24. “Fortunately, there is a cure for your very disturbing problem.”
“There is?” Hope sparkled across her face. “Tell me the cure! I must have the cure!”
“Mmmm. Well, here it is…we modify your feet to the desired shoe size.”
“That sounds wonderful! You can do that?”
“Oh yes. Very easily.”
“What does it involve?”
“Not much at all. I’ve got everything we need here at the farmhouse.” I paused to think through the procedure. “Let’s see. Black felt marker…check. Soft cotton towel…check. Reinforced Ottoman…check. And most importantly…fifty-pound sledgehammer. Checkarooney! What do you say, honey? Do you or don’t you want dessert?”
Serafina’s mouth hung open. “I…I…I….”
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