I used to work at an ice rink, and later at a roller rink. You don't get to see much barefoot action, which is O.K. by me, but you do get to see a lot of nylons, tights and socks. That's the good part. The bad part is that you get paid very little. When I wasn't working at the ice rink, I used to paint apartments to make ends meet. You paint them between renters so you can work in the middle of the night. The manager just gives you the keys and you lock them in the unit when you are done. The pay was good, but the chances of seeing any shoeplay were not so good.
I was telling Darlene, a girl I worked with at the rink, that I was tired from painting all night and she mentioned that she would like to try painting. She had brought some old clothes but had on some tennis shoes that were fairly new. I showed her how to put some masking tape on the tops of her shoes so the spray from the roller didn't ruin them. I put down an extra heavy drop cloth near the front door because sometimes, you spill a drop or two pouring paint from the 5 gallon pail into the gallon bucket you use for brush work. When Darlene was pouring some more paint into her can, she spilled a few ounces that made a puddle about eight inches around. Then, while looking for a rag, she stepped on the edge of the paint puddle. This is not an unusual event in painting, and was really no big deal, you just take out that drop cloth and put down another one.
I sensed an opportunity. I told her to go to the truck and find more rags, and then just as she was opening the door, I told her to take off her shoe with the paint on it before going out into the carpeted hallway. She took off her shoe without a thought. She had on navy blue knee socks that were not sheer, but showed the shape of her foot clearly enough. Her feet were small, size six or seven, and a little wide, but very nice. I had briefly seen her socked feet several times before at the rink, but the current situation was really exciting. I thought about following her out so I could see her walk in her sock outdoors, but I didn't. I noticed that she had set the empty shoe down right next to the bucket where the roller was balanced on the edge. I thought, what if the roller dripped some paint inside of her shoe? She left the shoe there and she left the roller there, so it wouldn't be my fault.
I dipped my brush into my bucket and held the loaded brush over her shoe, dripping about two spoonfuls of paint into it. My heart was racing, what if I got caught? I retreated to the bedroom and continued to paint, not wanting to be there when she discovered the problem. I waited and waited, but she didn't return. After ten minutes or so, I went to the truck to see what was keeping her. She was standing there as I walked out the front door of the building.
"Where have you been?" she asked me, her breathing clouding the frosty night air. "I got locked out and I didn't have a key. I didn't even know what apartment number we're in."
I started to laugh.
"I've been standing out here with one shoe and my foot is freezing. I didn't want to ring the wrong doorbell." It was nearly midnight. I noticed she was not embarrassed about walking around with one shoe, but then again, nobody was around to see her.
We went back in and I hurried back to the bedroom. After a few minutes she came in looking sheepish.
"I left my shoe next to the paint bucket and it's full of paint," she said, and handed me the shoe.
"It's latex," I told her, handing back the shoe. "Water-based. Wipe it out with a rag as much as you can and bring it into the bathroom,"
When she returned with the shoe, she had wiped up the paint enough that she would have never noticed it was there, being as it was on the inside of the shoe, but I had a much better plan for her. I rinsed the shoe a few times under the tap in the bathtub, and then filled it with an inch of water and set it down in the bathtub.
"It should be fine," I told her, and without saying another word, went into the bedroom and started to paint again, reflecting on the most excellent situation that was unfolding this evening. Darlene went back to rolling in the other room. After a while, I went to check her progress, and to enjoy the one shoe situation. When I went into the front room, she was painting with no shoes and socks. Personally, I would prefer nylons to bare feet, but still, her feet were very nice looking, no polish though.
I took my socks off in case I stepped in any more paint," she said, looking completely unconcerned. I wondered if she would be so casual about the situation if there were more people around, or if we were in a more public place.
"Once your shoe is dry, we can take a break and go out for some food," I told her, knowing from previous capers that the shoe would not be dry anytime soon. Se said O.K. and went back to painting. I finished painting the bedroom in record time and went out to work in the same room with Darlene. As I cut in the base boards with a brush, I was on hands and knees for a long time and arranged to have my face within four or five feet of her exquisite bare toes on several occasions. Very nice indeed.
After some time passed, she went into the bathroom and reported that her shoe was still soaked, and would not dry until tomorrow at least.
"We can go to White Castle," I suggested. They're open 24 hours and they have a drive through so you won't need you shoe.
"O.K.," she said, "let me get my shoe."
I thought this would be one of those things like when a woman carries her shoe, even though the heel is broken, just to have both shoes with her. I thought maybe she was not so cavalier about being in public with one shoe. I was so wrong.
She went to the kitchen and got both sock and the one dry shoe, and put them on, I think maybe because it was late at night and only about forty degrees, but she didn't say anything more about it. She just walked out into the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the cool night air, one tennis shoe, and one navy blue knee sock. On the way to the White Castle, se put both feet up on the dashboard, and I could hardly keep from driving off the road. I turned on the interior light to get a better look, pretending to have lost my cigarette lighter.
When we got to the White Castle, I started toward the drive through lane.
"We can go in, if you want," she said, stopping my heart momentarily. "I don't think anyone will say anything about my shoes. Not much of a dress code at White Castle."
She opened the door of the truck and got out, walking into the restaurant big as life. We ordered at the counter, and ate and talked for most of an hour, the whole time with her one shoe and one blue sock. After a while, she even sat sideways in the booth extending her legs across the seat, socked foot waving in the aisle as she smoked a couple of cigarettes. People came and went, but no one seemed to notice or remark on her stockinged foot.
Eventually, when I couldn't figure out how to stall anymore, we left and went back to the job. I was dying to see her stranded with one shoe a little longer. My heart pounded as we walked up the sidewalk to the outer door.
"I can't find the key," I lied, as I emptied my pants pockets. I had put the key in the ashtray of the truck when she wasn't looking. Just for good measure, I dropped a few things on the sidewalk, giving me an excuse to bend down and pick them up from around her exposed toes.
"What do we do?" she asked, seeming not the least bit concerned about her irretrievable shoe.
"I guess we come back tomorrow when the manager is here," I said, and headed back to the truck.
When we got into the truck, she immediately put her stockinged foot on the dashboard again, and I enjoyed the show as we drove, putting miles between us and her lost shoe.
I ruined a brush and roller letting them get hard overnight, but it was worth it. We went back and finished painting the apartment the next night, and she had on different shoes. It seemed like business as usual, but when we got there, she peeled off her shoes and socks so as not to get any paint on them.
On balance, I have to say that she was a terrible painter, and not worth the fifty bucks I paid her. However, that didn't stop me from painting many more apartments with Darlene and her pretty bare feet.
Snowman
