“que passa amigas?” i ask. “anything new?” and rummage the glossy magazines of the lunch area.
“don’t touch them” one of my coworker advises. “you don’t want to see what’s inside”
ignoring her hushed voice, i pick up the shoe catalogue from Neiman Marcus and peer inside. chunky porn-star platforms, soaring espadrilles and killer stilettoes masquerading as office shoes defiantly stare at me from the other side of the page.
and then, they appear, impossibly high heels, shiny black crocodile leather, silver buckles, and structured calf shape that i can almost feel caressing the muscles of my own. my mouth feels dry and my pulse is racing. an unintentional moan escapes my lips. i am officially in love.
‘i told you not to look in there” the coworker says. “that’s bad for you”.
“who do i have to sleep with, to get these boots?” i croak instead of cracking the joke, trying to pull myself together. the saddest thing is i actually go through the list of posibilities before reminding myself that i am supposed to be joking. morals are one thing but those boots, ah those boots. they promise a million hungry, envious and adoring stares, miles and miles of strutting like a queen, and even some naughty dance steps in front of my bedroom mirror. i am sure my mother would understand.
“well, when you find him, pass him along, heifer!” the other coworker says, not quite sounding like she is joking either. i cover the page protectively. mine! i also think that for that price, i’d probably have to throw in a freebie to the sale assistant as well. nah, they’re either washed out models or gay citizens. most likely, more interested in my imaginary sugar daddy than me.
i get out, very glad that there is no Neiman Marcus in the Bronx, otherwise my mommy and daddy would enjoy the hospitality of Central Park for a month or so. there is only a very busy Payless in the corner of the street. i go in almost automatically, smelling the cheap leather knock-offs and trying to take my mind of my unrequited love. then i see their twin, a perfect pair of high heel black beauties, smiling at me with their crocodile faux leather , and beckoning. they could be mine for $25.99. and they become mine for $25.99.
i come out of the store with my rent money secure for another month, my smile firmly planted on my lips and my honor intact. (well almost, i am a bit disappointed that now have no more reason for sleeping with people)
God bless America.