Look at Me!

‘Don’t hide your light under a bushel, right?’

‘Right.’ Wow! Shirley could justify her brazenness with quotations from the Bible. With that justification, Constance tried swinging her hips a little. It took a moment to get the rhythm right but, once she got it going, it almost felt natural. Almost.

‘Here we are,’ Shirley announced. She led the way in.

The boutique was called Spikes. Constance swallowed hard. The shoes on display were … impossible. But beautiful, in a dozen different perverse ways. There were sculptures in leather, scraps of fabric on soaring heels, straps that made Constance feel restricted just from looking at them, puffs of pink fluff and slivers of snakeskin. People actually wore these?

A tall thin man in lavender pants and a matching shirt waltzed up to Shirley and arced to kiss her cheek without making body-contact. ‘Shirley-girly, my pet! How nice to see you again.’

He turned his head to give Constance’s feet a pitying glance that made her want to hide them. To Shirley, he continued, ‘For work or for play, today, my lovely?’

‘For play.’

He giggled. ‘Well, shoes are foreplay, in my opinion. What fun! New man?’

‘No. That’s why.’

‘Good strategy. Four inches again?’

‘And a half.’

‘Well, that’s progress at least. I’ll get you up to six inches one of these days, you mark my words.’

‘I’m sure that you will, but I don’t want to tower over all the men.’

‘There are many men that love to be towered over, Shirl. I’m tall but it hasn’t hindered me.’

‘They’re not my type, Percy.’

‘Different strokes.’

‘For sure,’ Shirley said. ‘Shoes for clubbing, please, Percy. I’ve got two new outfits, one in liquid gold, the other in a silver mesh.’

The strange man disappeared into the stacks.

Constance whispered, ‘What did you mean, “liquid gold”?’

‘It’s a fabric, very thin, very clingy, that looks like metal has been melted and poured all over you. It shows off your nips, and you can even see your bellybutton through it.’

‘Oh!’ Constance thought about that for a while, and about what it’d look like on Shirley, and on herself. Was she ready for something like that? Maybe not – not yet, anyway. Still, the thought of being seen in something so revealing made her feel a glow, down there. And if Jeff ever saw her in anything like that, he’d go crazy with desire, for sure.

Shirley put a finger on Constance’s knee. ‘Heels are very powerful. A woman can be old and fat and ugly but if her heels are high enough, men will still look at her that way.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘I kid you not.’

The shoes that Percy brought for Shirley to try had heels as thin and cruel as nails. The soles were like paper. The uppers were interlocking teardrops, one gold, one silver, and with gold and silver cord ankle straps.

‘Are those strong enough to walk in?’ Constance asked.

Percy’s eyebrow lifted. ‘If you’re looking for “sturdy”, you should try army boots,’ he sneered.

Shirley tapped Constance’s wrist. ‘Apart from a little dancing, I won’t be on my feet much in these. That’s the whole point.’

Constance thought for a moment, then blushed.

Percy squatted at Shirley’s feet. He lifted her left foot almost reverently, slipped her shoe off and eased a sandal on. One hand supported her arch; the other adjusted the ankle strap. Each movement was a subtle caress. When he’d repeated his actions with her other foot, he lifted them both to plant a pair of gentle kisses on the taut bows of her insteps.

Constance looked away and then back. It felt as if she was spying on lovers in an intimate moment. But she’d thought he was one of those ‘gays’. It was very confusing.

Shirley told Percy, ‘These are perfect. Your taste is exquisite, as usual. Now see what you can find for my friend, will you?’

Constance gasped, ‘What?’

‘You’re transforming yourself, aren’t you? A butterfly emerging from her chrysalis? Let’s move the process along, shall we?’

‘I didn’t say anything about …’

‘You didn’t have to. One day you’re a frump, the next day you look kind of pretty, and you aren’t wearing a bra. Draw a line from one to the other, and what do we have?’

Constance folded a protective arm across her chest. ‘What?’

‘Eventually, a very cute little sexpot, that’s what.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘I do.’ Shirley turned to Percy. ‘Conservative, for this time, dearest. Black, I think, and three inches?’

‘Does she have her learner’s permit?’

‘Percy!’

‘Sorry.’ He scuttled back into the stacks. He returned with a shoebox. ‘Plain black pumps. What could be more conservative?’

Shirley told him, ‘Help the girl try them on, then.’

‘Love to, but …’ His disdainful look at Constance’s scuffed loafers spoke volumes.

She kicked them off.

‘Thanks, Shirley’s friend. It’s not that those dreadful things are actually contagious, but …’

‘You wouldn’t want to soil your hands on them,’ Constance finished for him.

He squatted. From down there, he might be able to look up her skirt. Constance clamped her knees together but he didn’t so much as glance upwards. His eyes were on her feet.

‘What cute little piggies,’ he said. ‘Poor things.’ He looked up into Constance’s eyes. ‘They deserve better of you, you know,’ he accused.