Marty couldn't believe his eyes! She actually did it! It was only for a split second but she did it! He had just finished rewiring a faulty plug on one of the many Christmas Trees and he was still lying on his belly underneath it when a woman wearing a full length mink coat walked up. She paused at the handrail overlooking the center court of North Hills Mall, standing less than ten feet away from the tree he was under. She looked around nervously, put both hands on the railing to steady herself, and then tapped the stiletto of her charcoal gray leather pump on the floor several times, dislodging her stockinged heel a fraction of an inch from the top of her shoe. She glanced over her shoulder again and then quickly looked away, waiting for several shoppers to walk past.
And then she did it! She withdrew her foot completely and held it out several inches above her empty pump, flexing her toes as she examined her pale gray stocking. The empty pump wobbled and tipped over, lying empty on its side on the marble floor. Suddenly, her head snapped around as a group of young men got off the escalator talking loudly. Her silken toes hastily retrieved the errant shoe and turned it upright after several agitated attempts. She plunged her foot into the shoe just as the young men rounded the corner and continued passed her. It all happened very fast, but it had happened, and he had gotten a good look at her stocking clad toes from no more than ten feet away. He held his breath and lay perfectly still behind the brightly wrapped gift boxes, hoping for another glimpse.
He had seen her many times before, and he had heard that she was some big shot at one of the anchor department stores. She was probably ten years older than he was, but she had great legs and always wore a suit with classic pumps. Marty was a full time student during the daytime, and worked as an evening maintenance man at the mall. The job paid fairly well, and he was lucky enough to work around a lot of attractive women part of the time. He would occasionally see them slip out of a shoe behind a sales counter, or pull their feet halfway out of their shoes while eating lunch, and after closing time, he would often see some of the women discard their shoes altogether and pad around in their stocking feet, running the vacuum, or straightening the clothes racks. If you paid close enough attention, beautiful women took their shoes off all the time in the mall, in a variety of circumstances.
But not this one. He had been captivated by her for years because she always wore the classic style pumps that were his favorite, and in every imaginable variation and color. In all that time, he had never seen a single dip or a dangle, or even so much as a heel pop from her. He knew the type: Ice Queen. Impeccably attired, well-mannered, high society, ultra-polite, Ivy League educated. Probably went to one of those prep schools where they have tea parties and walk with a book on top of their head to learn how to act poised. He could almost see her in the front row taking notes as some old maid explained the terrible things that could happen if you ever dared to slip your shoe off in public. A terrible transgression against polite society, far worse than using the wrong fork, to be sure. He often wondered if the reason she worked at a department store was so that she could sneak in and buy her shoes in the middle of the night when no one else could see her. With the lights off, just to be safe. And then today, after years of anticipation, she had just walked up and stepped out of her shoe right in front of his face. Merry Christmas and thank you Santa!
Marty watched her through the low pine branches. Maybe he should make some noise, cough, or rattle the tree or something, just to let her know he was under here. It was a very awkward situation, and it would get much worse if she happened to look in his direction. She seemed very nervous, in fact, if he didn't already know she worked here in the mall, he would have pegged her for a shoplifter. She glanced around furtively, scanning the area in all directions as she lifted her heel almost imperceptibly in her shoe. Then she pulled a handkerchief from her purse and lifted her heel until a razor thin gap appeared between her stockinged heel and the rim of the shoe. Pausing again, she stood frozen like a statue for the longest time as several shoppers straggled by, then slowly lifted her foot behind her and to one side, gently removing the shoe with her hand.
Marty held his breath as she slowly lowered her stockinged foot to within inches of the floor, hovering over the surface. She leaned against the handrail for balance and caressed the shoe with the handkerchief, wiping the inside and polishing the outside, handling the shoe as if it were a precious piece of art. It was as if all of the nervous tension had gone out of her. Marty watched in awed ecstasy as her stocking clad toes brushed lightly over the smooth polished surface of the floor. Her stockings were very unusual, dove gray, and opaque, except for the toe and the sole, which were much darker gray, and completely sheer. Her lovely toes were clearly visible through the sheer fabric of the stockings.
"Catherine! Oh Ms. LaCroix!" a woman on the escalator called out, waving in their direction.
The spell was immediately broken as she turned her back toward Marty and the tree, suddenly appearing agitated and flustered. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the shoe hard, hiding it behind her back in the fold of her fur coat. She took several shuffling steps backward, cutting the distance between her and Marty in half. Balancing unsteadily as she raised her foot behind her, she curled her toes and tried desperately to find the shoe with her stockinged foot. She arched her back, holding the empty shoe behind her by the heel, but her foot became tangled in the hem of the fur coat. After several attempts, she reluctantly set her bare toes on the floor again and took several more steps backward, until the back of her coat was actually touching the tree. She held the shoe out behind her back hesitantly, and finally dropped it on the floor, making a loud characteristic �clack�, that unmistakable signal that a pump has escaped it�s owner. Immediately, she began to fish around wildly with her stockinged foot as the other woman approached. The shoe had landed on its side, with the opening facing Marty. The label said Prada in gold lettering eighteen inches from his face. Her foot made contact with the shoe several times, but she was unable to turn it right side up. A last desperate attempt was nearly disastrous sending the shoe sliding to the edge of the floor slab through the gap under the railing, where it hung precariously. Her stockinged foot was still flailing around in a desperate search for the shoe only inches away from his face, but facing the other way, she had little hope of locating it now. Even if she happened to make contact with it, the slightest tap would send it tumbling down into the food court, but she was searching at least two feet away from where it lay empty. As the other woman approached, the silken toes swept across the floor in wild panic, blindly searching for the missing shoe. Suddenly, her stocking clad sole flew at his face and clipped the bill of his cap, knocking it off of his head. He recoiled, backing away several inches for fear of getting caught lurking under the tree.
�Hello Mrs. Millington,� she said, as the woman approached.
�Hi Catherine, I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to thank you for your generous donation to the youth center this year. I already talked to your Uncle Wallace, but I wanted to thank you personally,� said Mrs. Millington.
�Glad we could help you in your fine work Mrs. Millington,� Catherine said sweetly. She was facing away from Marty with her stockinged foot tucked behind her leg now. He examined the sole of her stockinged foot as she curled her toes reflexively less than a foot from his face. From this distance he could see that her stockings were sheer on the bottom and at the toe because they were wet. She probably got a soaker walking through the parking lot. As she spoke to Mrs. Millington, he saw her begin to inch her exposed foot in his direction, turning her body ever so slightly and extending her leg ever so slowly, and all while making polite conversation with Mrs. Millington. He was tempted to grab the empty shoe and place it in the path of her searching toes, but it was too risky. The old woman might see his hand dart from under the tree. Her toes continued to move slowly toward him, flexing up and down and reaching. Her feet were gorgeous, lean and long with perfect toes that were closely aligned. The first two toes were nearly equal in length, and the next was only slightly shorter, making a graceful shallow arc of her clear polished nails. The tip of her toe flexed slightly upward upon making contact with the foil covered gift box, and made a faint brushing sound as she slowly felt her way along the perimeter of the shining metallic surface, her silken toes inching ever closer to him. Marty held his breath, excited to the point of bursting, but terrified of being discovered. Her stockinged foot was inches from his face now, filling his entire field of vision. The smell of perfume and damp leather overpowered the pine scent of the tree as her stockinged foot danced playfully under his nose while she worked the arch of her foot up and down against the corner of the foil box. Suddenly, her foot thrust forward and her toes actually bumped against his lips, sending a shock through him that was almost electric. He lost control and jerked his head back, grinding his belt into the floor in an uncontrollable spasm, knocking several plastic ornaments from the tree. Catherine pulled her stockinged foot back momentarily, suspending her toes in midair, still only inches from his nose.
Mrs. Millington paused in mid-sentence, but Catherine quickly filled the void in the conversation. �Oh, I must have accidentally bumped up against the tree,� she said, quickly changing the subject again. Her toes returned to the foil wrapped box again and she worked her stockinged foot over the corner of the box as Marty struggled to shake of the dreamlike state he had fallen into.
Marty watched as her toe hooked around the edge of the box and slid it across the floor ever so slowly. Her naked foot pushed against the foil, moving the box another millimeter each time she flexed her toes up and down, Over the course of thirty seconds, she had inched the box forward to the point that her stockinged foot was completely obscured by it, hidden from Mrs. Millington's sight, but not from his. Catherine rubbed her toes against the box lightly as she resumed her conversation with the other woman. He doubted whether the older woman had any clue at all what had just happened. Catherine's empty shoe was still perched on the edge of the floor in plain view, but Mrs. Millington didn't seem to notice it.
Sliding on his belly, Marty backed away from the tree slowly, pausing to dip some water from the tree stand and make several large water spots his shirt and pants for camouflage. Mrs. Millington finally took her leave and Marty emerged from behind the tree just as Catherine located her missing shoe. Having replaced it on her foot, she produced a cell phone and dialed furiously. �Did Wallace authorize a donation to that youth center again?� she demanded. Displeased with the answer, she snapped the phone shut and dropped it into her purse. She had just raised her foot and slipped her other shoe off with her hand when she saw Marty making his way from behind the tree, pretending to check some of the light bulbs. She looked at him just as he glanced down at her naked foot, and instantly dropped the shoe to the floor, angrily thrusting her toes into it, and glaring at him. �What the hell are you looking at?� she demanded, and then stormed off in the opposite direction.
�A work of art, and certainly one of natures mysteries,� he said to no one as he bent to pick up her discarded handkerchief, and pressed it to his lips.
SANTA�S HELPER
"Here she comes," said Mr. West, "and she doesn't look at all happy."
"I've been working here since she was just a little girl, and let me tell you, she never looks happy," Harry said, laughing with Mr. West in spite of the obvious trouble that was heading his way. Catherine LaCroix was the Vice President and Operations Manager of W.C. Moore's, and while it was true that she seldom looked very happy, it was apparent from her demeanor that she was particularly hostile at the moment. Ms. LaCroix looked like a storm cloud approaching. She wore a dark gray skirt and jacket over a charcoal gray blouse, and her steely gray pumps clicked loudly as she stormed toward them across the terrazzo. With her fair skin and raven black shoulder length hair, there was not a trace of color on her. Mr. West quickly excused himself before her arrival, finding an urgent need to check the restocking operation in the Homewares Department.
"Merry Christmas, Catherine," Harry said, in a futile attempt to disarm her.
"Harry, do you know where I just came from?" she demanded. She didn't bother to wait for an answer. "I just came from the Cinema, not because I wanted to see a film, but because it was the closest parking space I could find. And then I walked all the way here through the snow and slush nearly ruining my brand new shoes, the better part of a mile I would guess, and do you know what that last thing I passed before I reached the main entrance?"
Harry knew that no response was necessary. Catherine LaCroix was a woman prone to much talking and very little listening. He looked at her expensive shoes as he waited silently through the long moment that her sense of drama required.
"A junker," she said derisively,� a rusty old piece of junk that was parked in MY space. Maybe there is someone else named C. LaCroix, or maybe you thought I had traded my Jaguar for a 1970's vintage station wagon, or maybe," she paused again, "maybe you are not doing your job!"
Harry looked at the floor to avoid her withering stare, knowing it was better just to let the storm pass. He noticed that her shoes didn't exactly look ruined, in fact, they looked brand new out of the box. Expensive too, he thought. The left one looked like it could use a little buffing, but they were hardly ruined. Besides, it was widely believed that she never wore the same shoes twice. Catherine probably had a shoe collection to rival Imelda Marcos, all of them high heels.
Harry thought that high heels were the only things in the world that Catherine really loved. She always wore heels, always. She was probably 5'10" without them, but she was never without them. Harry had known her since she started working for her uncle at 15 or 16, and he had never seen her wearing anything other than a suit and high heels. Harry watched her heel clicking on the floor as she finished reading him the riot act. Her pale gray stockings had several tiny spots where it appeared she had been splashed by a passing car. He wasn't particularly concerned with her harangue. He had worked for her uncle for 35 years, the last fifteen as head of security. His position was pretty secure by his calculation. Finally, Catherine fell silent, glaring at him expectantly as her heel continued to click impatiently on the floor.
"The car belongs to Mrs. Johnson, from bookkeeping," Harry said. "She's taking the donated toys to the shelter, and your uncle told her to park there. We didn't think you would be in today, you know, Christmas Eve and all."
"I will speak to my uncle, then," she said tersely, and handed him her car keys. "And as soon as that car is gone, you will return my car to its proper place. And take off that ridiculous hat!"
She forgot to say Merry Christmas, he thought, pulling the Santa hat from his head and chuckling under his breath as he watched her retreat.
It was a long walk to the administrative offices, and Catherine had lost most of her steam by the time she reached her uncles office. She decided it would be unwise to complain about Mrs. Johnson parking in her space, especially if it involved any type of Christmas plans. Wallace Moore was a very stern and imposing man. He had worked in the stockroom of the downtown store as a boy and worked his way up to management, eventually buying the store. Forty years later, he had built a chain of department stores that was the largest family owned retailer in the Midwest. And Wallace Moore was very serious about Christmas. He would quote facts and figures about the large percentage of annual sales attributable to the Holiday Season, but everyone close to him new that those figures didn't explain the level of effort he put into running the Christmas festivities.
Catherine had not inherited any of her uncle�s love of holiday merriment, in fact, if not for the increased sales, she would have little interest in Christmas at all. She was always mindful of this difference between them. One of the first mistakes she had made when she became marketing director was to import thousands of stuffed bears for a holiday promotion. The idea was to distribute free �Wally Bears� with Holiday purchases. Uncle Wallace had been furious that the Bears were low quality and poorly made, and when she had tried to argue that they were giving them away for free, he became furious.
�Do you think a disappointed child cares how much or how little his parents paid for a defective toy?� he had roared in fury, causing her to flee from the office in tears. He had donated the entire lot to charity, 50,000 stuffed bears, but even then, he had the staff make a small bag of yo-yo's and other toys attached to each and every bear. He had prohibited every employee from referring to the low budget toys as �Wally Bear�, later joking privately that they should be called �Thread Bear� instead, since the fur was likely to wear off before another Christmas came. In the end, all of the donated bears and other toys cost the company over one hundred thousand dollars as a charitable donation, and Uncle Wallace refused to even take the tax deduction for it. Catherine could still feel the sharp sting of her uncle's disappointment twenty years later as she recalled the event.
"Cathy my girl!" he said, catapulting out of his office. Even at 70 years of age, he was the most energetic man she had ever met. He was grinning like a mad man, bounding down the hallway as she struggled to keep up with his pace. "I didn't expect to see you here today," he said, looking very pleased.
"Well, I just thought I would come by and help out," she said. She didn't mention that the kids were with their father this year and the silence of the big empty house had driven her out of it.
"Well as a matter of fact,� Wallace said, �I do need some help. I sent my assistant out for some things and she hasn't returned yet. I hear the roads are bad. Follow me.� His tone conveyed that this was not a request.
He led her through maze of storage space to the maintenance shop. "Here you are," he said, handing her a zippered garment bag, and grabbing a larger one for himself.
Her initial fears were realized as she unzipped the bag. "Oh no, Uncle Wallace, no! I couldn�t possibly...," her voice trailed off as she quickly rezipped the bag.
�Come on now Cathy, you said you were here to help out,� Uncle Wallace said, unzipping the garment bag again.
�Uncle Wallace, there is just no way I am going to wear this costume in public!� she said adamantly.
�You�ve worn it before�� he started, as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants.
�I WAS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD! I'm the Vice President of this Company!� she said, much more fiercely than she had intended to. Uncle Wallace looked wounded by her biting tone, and suddenly, he looked like what he was, a frail old man standing there in his long underwear.
�And I'm the President,� he said softly, unpacking a red and white suit that was probably older then she was.
�I'm sorry Uncle Wallace,� she said, �It's just that with the kids out in California with their father this year, I just wish the Holidays were already over.�
He looked at her dejectedly. �I'm sorry too, Cathy, when you get to be my age, you sometimes forget just how much time has passed.� His eyes dropped to the floor as he stepped into his giant Santa Claus pants, pulling the suspenders over his bony shoulders.
Catherine snatched the costume in the garment bag, and walked out of the room to find a place to change clothes, unwilling to disappoint her uncle. She remembered this costume like it was yesterday. 1974. She had begged Uncle Wallace to let her help with the Santa display, and at her suggestion, he had Morty, one of the tailors, make this costume out of red velvet with white fur trim for her. The reason she wanted the costume was simple. All through the fall that year, she had desperately wanted a pair of high heeled red suede boots that were in the window of Uncle Wallace's store, but her Mother would not allow her to wear high heels. With the costume that Morty had made, she easily persuaded Uncle Wallace that the red boots would be the perfect accessory. Morty had sewn some white fur piping along the tops of the boots, which she promptly removed once her Christmas duties were completed. Her Mother had been furious when she brought home the boots, but relented because they were a gift from Uncle Wallace. Those boots were the start of her love affair with high heels, and the �elves� in the Santa display had worn some variation of the same costume for every year since then.
She located a small storage room full of cardboard boxes and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The floor was a bit dusty, so she dropped the flattened top of a coat box on the floor to stand on, stepping out of her shoes onto the slick glossy surface with her stockinged feet. She unbuttoned her skirt, but stopped to check the door, making certain it was locked before sliding the skirt down over her silken thighs and stepping out of it. Standing in her pantyhose, she held the skirt in one hand and looked around for a place to set it where it would not get dusty. Finding every surface covered in a layer of fine dust, she unfolded another coat box and folded the skirt inside. She removed her jacket and laid it over the skirt and began to unbutton her blouse, but she stopped again, suddenly feeling a need to check the door lock again. Satisfied that the door was in fact locked, she tried to set aside the uneasiness she was feeling and took off her blouse, folding it neatly and laying it in the box with her other clothes.
A wave of apprehension gripped her, and she quickly jerked the red dress from the garment bag, unzipped the back, and hastily stepped into it with her stockinged feet. Catherine was pleased as she pulled it up, slipping her arms into the sleeves and working her shoulders into the short velvet dress. At forty-two, she knew that she was in good shape. She had always worked out once or twice a week, but since the divorce, she had doubled her efforts. She was probably thinner today than when she last wore this costume. She noticed the garment bag had draped across her folded clothes, tracking white dust onto her shirt, so she unfolded a box lid, placed her shoes inside with her clothes, and placed the lid onto the box, easily tying it with a string just as she had done a million times when she worked as a cashier in the store.
She reached behind her back and pulled the zipper, but it got stuck halfway up. She tugged on it but it would not go up or down. Exasperated, she pulled her arms from the sleeves and wriggled the dress over her hips, stepping out of it, again to examine the zipper.
�Catherine?�
Her heart skipped and she pulled the dress in front of her instinctively. He sounded like he was right next to her. The walls must be really thin, she thought. �I'll be right there, Uncle Wallace, just give me a minute or two,� she called through the door.
Marty held onto the steel frame and steadied himself. He had never been so scared in his life, but he had ever been so excited either. After this morning, he could not have imagined anything better than the show he had witnessed under the Christmas Tree. But an hour later, as he returned from checking the rooftop HVAC unit, he found himself standing on the catwalk and when he looked down, there she was again. Only this time, both of her shoes were gone, and most of her other clothes as well. He held his breath, watching from above as she looked around nervously and checked the lock on the door. Marty wondered if she sensed that someone was there. He was very uncomfortable watching her, in fact, if he could have escaped silently, he surely would have. But he knew that if she looked up and saw him there, he would have a world of trouble on his hands. He was stuck there, frozen, terrified that any step or movement might make some sound that would give him away. She stood in the middle of the rectangular area in her gray pantyhose and matching bra, with her stockinged feet resting on a cardboard square. She was tall and lean, with the body of an athlete. She held a red dress in her hands, examining it closely. Either she didn't realize that there was no ceiling in the room, or she didn't know there were walkways up here. Outside the storage area directly below him stood Mr. Wallace Moore, the store owner and largest tenant in the mall, wearing a Santa suit. What if that's his wife or something, Marty thought, his heart in his throat. Or worse yet, his mistress? She looks young, but that guy must be loaded. He stood perfectly still, heart pounding in his chest, mesmerized by the display below, ashamed, but unable to look away. When she started to talk to the old man through the door, Marty used the sound of their voices as cover to retreat, walking as quickly as he could.
Catherine was just about to give up, thinking that she couldn't just stand here in her underwear wrestling with this stupid costume, but suddenly, the zipper gave up the shred of fabric it had been stuck on, and seemed to be working again. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief and bent over, quickly putting one stockinged foot into the dress, and balancing to step in with her other foot when she stopped. She thought she heard something and looked at the locked door for any sign of movement. Satisfied that it remained locked, she stepped into the dress. She happened to glance upward, and was startled, nearly falling over. There was no ceiling! This wasn't a room, it was like an open box, and she thought she had seen someone moving up there! How could she fail to notice there was no ceiling? Was that a security camera? She quickly pulled the dress over her arms, zipped the back, and raced out of the room, red faced and agitated.
�Did you see anyone out here?� she asked Uncle Wallace breathlessly.
Uncle Wallace shook his head and frowned, looking down at her stockinged feet.
�I'm loosing my mind,� she said, not wanting to trouble him, and scampered back to the garment bag. �What the hell are these things?� she said, pulling the boots from the bag. �What the hell are these things?� She held up a pair of booties that looked like bedroom slippers with curled up toes that had bells on them.
�Elf shoes,� said Uncle Wallace. The folks in HR said we can't have those go-go boots anymore, they said the elves might look too sexy or something.
Catherine slid her foot most of the way into one but it was too small. �What do we do now?� she asked. Go home was what she wanted to do, but she knew this was important to him.
Uncle Wallace picked up the felt bootie and set it on the bench. He produced a pocketknife and sliced the stitching that ran up the back. �Clogs, I think that's what they call them. They're really popular with the youngsters now, we can hardly keep them in stock,� he said.
Catherine slid her stockinged feet into the booties and looked down at them. They really weren't too bad with this costume. The flaps in the back where Uncle Wallace had cut the seam curled up and rolled forward, mimicking the rolled up toes. �Let's go before I change my mind about this,� she said, picking up the box with her clothes in it and leading him out of the room. The booties slipped around loosely on her feet, but if she shuffled a little bit, they seemed fairly secure. She struggled to keep her anxiety at bay. Catherine never, ever, wore open backed shoes.
�I really do appreciate your help today Cathy,� Uncle Wallace said. You know how much this means to the children, and I have to admit, to me too.� He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her, then paused, stepping onto the escalator behind her. �When I think of all the years that we��
�Uncle Wallace!� she blurted out, her eyes going wide, as she tried to get past him, heading back down in the wrong direction. �My shoe!� she cried, as the bootie retreated, sitting empty at the base of the escalator. Uncle Wallace tried to get out of her way, but it was too late. She ran down two or three steps, but it was useless. Catherine looked ashen as she placed her stockinged foot on top of her remaining boot and rode the escalator all the way to the top, quickly padding across to the down escalator while Uncle Wallace waited. She could see that her shoe was still there, but a group of schoolboys was heading in the direction of the escalator. And there was that maintenance man again. Terror gripped her as the escalator inched down at a pace that seemed like a slow motion replay.
Marty saw the empty boot near the up escalator, and looked up to see Catherine riding on the down escalator, holding her exposed foot in front of her and looking around nervously. He picked up the bootie just before a group of kids approached, and stepped over to the other landing, slowing his pace in order to arrive a moment after she stepped onto the floor. He set the bootie down a respectable distance from her, and was rewarded with a fantastic view as her exquisite nylon clad toes took several steps on the marble floor before plunging into the empty boot.
�Thank you,� she said nervously, before turning to the up escalator.
He noticed that she stopped and stepped cautiously this time. �No sense buying a lotto ticket this week,� he said to himself, knowing he had used up a lifetimes worth of good luck today.
CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS ON DISPLAY
Catherine pushed her toes deep into the boot as her pulse returned to normal. She knew that her reaction to losing a shoe was completely out of proportion, and that was very troubling to her. She was a very reasonable and capable person, yet being stranded here without her shoe, even for the short time it took to ride the escalator down, had thrown her into a blind panic which was completely out of character for her. She realized it was just a silly vanity, but she had a near phobia about anyone seeing her feet. Catherine had always hated her feet. As a young girl, she was very tall, reaching her full height of 5'10" by the time she was 14 years old, and wearing a size 9 shoe. The other kids often teased her about her size, and one time, Jimmy Asher stole her shoe for an entire lunch period, stranding her out on the playground in her sock, and telling everyone he was borrowing her shoe for a boat to go fishing in. As soon as her mother would allow it, she had always worn high heels, reasoning that a shoe with a high heel is not as long as a flat shoe. She had an obsession with high-heeled shoes, because she believed they could transform her very worst feature into a focal point of elegance and style.
Catherine and Uncle Wallace were a few minutes late to the party, but he launched himself into the room greeting everyone without missing a beat. Catherine set the package containing her clothes behind Santa's Workshop, and went to help out with the refreshments. Even with everything that had happened today, it was all worth it just to see Uncle Wallace with the kids. He hosted this party every year for the kids from the youth home, and she could tell that he enjoyed it as much as they did.
As much as they were lacking in style, she had to admit that these ridiculous elf shoes were more comfortable for standing, but they were awfully warm. Standing behind a table serving ice cream, she accidentally stepped out of one boot. She quickly jammed her foot into the bootie again, but for an instant, she had been pleasantly surprised by the cool and refreshing feel of the stone beneath her stockinged foot. She glanced around, and saw that no one seemed to have noticed her. Pulling her foot from the boot again, she stood on the smooth polished floor with her stockinged foot, feeling a pang of apprehensions, but delighting in the feel of the stone. After just a few seconds, she slid her foot back into her boot, but several minutes later, she was shocked to see her naked toes stroking the smooth marble surface of the floor. She had unconsciously stepped out of the opposite shoe, drawn to the sensation of the cool polished surface again. She quickly located her boot under the table and put it on. Catherine felt herself blush as she glanced around to determine if anyone had seen her.
What if they had? So I had my shoe off for a minute, it's not against the law. Actually, it had not been anywhere close to a minute, she told herself, and she decided to confront the issue head on. She had certainly seen other women discreetly slipping out of their shoes in public places, even in church for that matter. Catherine slipped off both booties and nudged them under the table with her stockinged feet. She felt a rush of anxiety as she looked down at her naked feet, but she decided that she was not going to give in to her phobia. Catherine padded thirty feet to the end of the table and walked around to the front it. With her naked feet exposed to the world, she began to count out one minute. "One mississippi, two mississippi..." breathe, she reminded herself. At ten mississippi, she doubted she would make it a full minute. The urge to run back to her shoes behind the cover of the table was overwhelming, but she was determined to get past this issue. At forty-two mississippi, there was a crisis when Walter from accounting headed her way. She had to flee, she just had to.
"Hello Catherine, Merry Christmas."
She took one step back, but then she held her ground. "Merry Christmas, Walter, I'm..." Her trembling voice stuck in her throat as she looked down, horrified to see two damp footprints on the onyx black floor where she had been standing a moment ago.
She pointed to the ceiling, distracting him while she found her voice again. Finally she said, in a halting voice, "They did a great job with the decorations this year." The last traces of the footprints evaporated as Walter talked about the cost of increased energy consumption during the holidays. After a polite interval, she excused herself and nearly bolted back to her shoes, thrusting her feet into them as her heart raced.
One of her worst fears had been confronted. She had been trapped in a conversation with a coworker while barefoot, and in public. And she had left her shoes behind for five minutes instead of the one minute she had planned, although her shoes had been only a few feet away.
But what if they hadn't been? She swallowed hard. Uncle Wallace had already finished passing out presents to all of the children, and the crowd was beginning to thin. What if her shoes had not been a few feet away? Catherine slipped her shoes off and again felt the smooth floor under her stockinged feet. She picked up her purse, walked to the end of the table, and paused to take a deep breath. She decided on her destination. Carson's, the farthest possible point in the mall from where she stood.
Catherine walked quickly, padding across the atrium. Her heart pounded in her chest as she headed for the escalator. Her anxiety was overpowering, yet somehow exhilarating, making her feel more alive than she had felt in a long time. It reminded her of her sorority days. When she was a pledge, during hazing they made her go outside in wearing just her night shirt, and after some pleading and negotiation, her socks. It was midnight, and her test was to walk, not run, to the corner and back. It had been terrifying, but exciting, all at the same time, and although she would never ever volunteer for anything like that again, a part of her longed for the uncontrolled exhilaration that came with the loss of control in that situation. This was less terrifying but more intense.
As she stepped onto the escalator, the texture of the metal fins of the steps felt electric under her stockinged feet. She stepped out onto the second floor and boldly strode toward Carson's. Several people watched her as she walked, but she preferred to think they were looking at her elf costume, instead of at her stockinged feet. Catherine nearly turned back several times, ut finally, she reached the far end of the mall and touched the wall of the Carson's store. She looked down at her stockinged feet, darkened on the soles by her bazaar expedition. Her shoes were gone, at least quarter of a mile away, and she felt kind of naked, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. Still, she felt the urge to run back instead of walking, but she forced herself to sit on a bench by the window and relax for a moment.
She had covered almost the entire mall in her stockinged feet, and nothing terrible had happened. No small children had run away from her gargantuan feet, screaming for their mothers. Actually, she had noticed several men staring appreciatively at her legs, no less interested than when she had on her usual three-inch heels. She knew from her own sales figures that her store sold plenty of women�s shoes in size nine each day. She looked down at her stockinged feet again. Her toes where long and narrow, but that described her whole body as well. She certainly spent considerable effort keeping them well cared for. Except for being a little larger than she was happy with, her feet were pretty nice.
A very attractive woman walked towards her from Carson�s carrying a large load of overfilled shopping bags. She was well dressed, and about the same age as Catherine. She wore a sweater and leggings with flat shallow loafers. For a split second, Catherine searched the floor for her shoes before she remembered she had left them far behind. She braced herself for some unpleasant remark from the woman, and prepared to get up and leave. The woman sat down hard on the bench next to Catherine and slouched against the back.
�You look so comfortable, I decided I couldn�t make it another step,� the woman said, as she extended her legs and kicked off both of her shoes.
Catherine could not help looking at her nude feet, with their red polished nails wrapped in tan nylon. �Holidays can be hectic,� she offered, not really knowing what to say. She watched as the woman rubbed her feet together and rotated each ankle while extending her legs in the air. Her feet were very nice, with high arches and nice looking toes, and not too big either. Catherine pulled her own feet under the bench self-consciously. They engaged in polite small talk as they watched people go by for several minutes. The woman said her name was Maria, and that she was glad to be finished with her shopping. Catherine forgot about being self-conscious and extended her own legs without thinking. She felt the anxiety return again, and looked down, expecting to see her giant feet casting a long shadow over the more attractive pair she had been observing.
Catherine was surprised to see that her feet were about the same size as Maria�s. She extended her leg without being too obvious, inching her foot closer to Maria�s foot. Maria bent over to pull something from her bag and their feet touched, and in that instant, Catherine could see that they were probably the same shoe size. Maria showed her some of the gifts she had bought, and after a while, decided it was time to be heading home. The said goodbye, and to Catherine�s delight, Maria picked up her shoes and dropped them into her shopping bag, padding off in the direction she had come from.
Catherine walked back to the center court at a leisurely pace, stopping to look at some of the window displays along the way. She noticed some of the men looking at her legs, but that was nothing new to her. Riding down the escalator, she felt somewhat less than completely confident, but she was glad she had overcome her apprehension. The few people that were still left at the party were congregated near the exits, and seemed to be leaving en mass. She was ready to retrieve her things and go home for the night.
Harry was standing at the base of the escalator as she stepped off. He looked at her stockinged feet, but showed no particular interest. �I reparked your Jag myself. Here are your car keys,� he said, handing them back to her. She noticed several police officers milling about.
�What�s going on Harry?� she asked.
�If you could please step this way Catherine,� he said, we have to get out of the building now. A suspicious package has been reported. He herded her toward the exit as he spoke.
Her face showed her alarm. �But I have to get my�my things,� she said nervously, stopping as he grabbed her elbow. She sensed a cold satisfaction in his attitude.
�We have to leave through the closest exit, Catherine, it�s the emergency plan that your yourself approved. As the head of security, I am duty bound to see that you get out of here safely.� He said, sounding officious.
�But my shoes!� she cried, �they�re right under the table over there.�
�I�m sure they will be there when the police sound the all clear,� he said, sounding quite reasonable.
Catherine knew that he was being spiteful because she had behaved poorly this afternoon, and truthfully, she had it coming, so she just let it go. The sidewalk was wet and slushy when she stepped outside, and she tried to locate a dry spot to stand on. She looked at her wet footprints on the sidewalk and huddled her arms across her chest, hoping they wouldn�t be locked out of the building for long.
�Would you like to wear my coat?�
Catherine looked over at the maintenance man she had run into several times today. Before, she could answer, he handed the oversized jacket to her and she pulled it around her shoulders. �Thank you very much, you�re very kind��
�Marty,� he said.
�Catherine,� she replied, shaking his hand. She caught him glancing nervously at her feet, but he was too polite or shy to say anything. �I left my shoes under the table, and security wouldn�t let me get them,� she said, both of them looking down at her stockinged feet.
�I think it might be a while�, Marty said. �I heard it was some kind of a bomb threat, and they have to be really cautious these days. You know, I could go get my car, and you could stay warm while you�re waiting. It�s parked right there by the loading dock.�
He seemed like a nice enough guy. �You don�t have to go get it,� she said, �I�ll walk with you.�
Marty walked beside her as she stepped out from under the entrance canopy and trudged across the snowy walkway. He opened the car door, wanting to be a gentleman of course, but also putting himself in the perfect position to see her brush the snow from her gorgeous stockinged feet as she got into the car. As they sat in the car with the heat on high, he tried not to be obvious, but he managed to glance at her feet a few more times without being rude. This was a day that he would remember for the rest of his life.
After waiting for a while, Catherine decided to go home. It was past closing time for the mall, and it would be closed tomorrow for Christmas anyway. She had to be here way before the doors opened on the following day because of the heavy volume of gift returns. Marty drove her to where her car was parked and she thanked him for his kindness, and wished him a very Merry Christmas. He thanked her as well, but she wasn�t sure exactly why. She padded across the slushy aisle and climbed into her car, glad to be headed home. The texture of the pedals under her feet made her wonder whether she had ever driven barefoot in her life. She headed out onto the interstate and switched on the radio.
Tonight�s top story, police evacuated North Hills Mall this evening when a suspicious package was found unattended. The Police bomb squad retrieved the package and it was detonated off site as a precautionary measure. A spokesman for the North Hills Police Department issued a statement saying the package apparently contained garments, and a pair of women�s high-heeled shoes. This evenings weather should be fair, with overnight lows in the high twenties, wind southwest at 3 to 5 miles an hour, barometer�..
Snowman
