Open Features: Platform Shoes
Mary Clemons tells an evocative story involving platform shoes, a ’72 Ford Thunderbird, a bear claw pastry – and a secret task.
Dance class had ended. Sitting in the old musty gym locker room, Lisa slid out of her leotards and dance shoes, and slipped into her bell-bottom jeans. As she held one shoe in her hand, she examined the smooth light-colored wood of the three-inch platform heel and the soft nutmeg leather straps. Their height was perfect for the length of her jeans. The pant hems barely swooshed the ground.
Stepping outside she breathed deeply enjoying the spicy scent of fall. The crisp air caused her exercised skin to tingle and she pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders.
She had an hour to kill before her botany class and she knew where she was going to spend it. Joe would be waiting with a fresh cup of brew and a bear claw pastry. She gave a quick wave to a fellow student and threw her bags in the back seat of her car. Smiling she slid behind the steering wheel of the ’72 Ford Thunderbird. The old car shimmered snow-like under the newly applied wax.
The eight cylinders hummed as the tires responded to the steering wheel’s slightest move. The crunch of the still damp graveled drive smoothed into the whine of the pavement as she eased onto the highway.
Three turns later, she found a parking place on the other side of Jim’s apartment complex. They had to be careful. Her fiancé would not understand about her going alone to Jim’s apartment, and her so-called friends would love a chance to tell him where she had been.
She cut between the apartment buildings. The dew-ladened grass dampened her feet and spotted the light colored leather.
At Jim’s door, Lisa wiggled his key from her back pocket and let herself inside. The welcome smell of coffee captivated her nostrils. She removed her damp shoes and left them just inside the door. Then, she headed toward the kitchen. There on the dinning room table was an electric typewriter and a jumble of papers and books. She smiled, knowing that Jim was prepared, and entered the kitchen.
Jim, his light brown hair brushing his shoulders, turned as she entered and on his mustached lips a smile formed. In his one hand were two plates. He was reaching for the boxed pastries on the counter with the other.
“You’re right on time, as usual.”
“I see you remembered the bear claws.” She returned his smile.
“It’s a small price to pay for having my theme paper typed for me.”
