She stretched her legs under her brand new desk, crossing her right ankle over her left, rubbing them together, as Mr. Johnson rambled on about his insurance co-pay. She popped her heel out of the right shoe, sliding her stockinged heel back and forth over the top of her ankle, letting the shoe slip a half-inch or so. He's just about finished, she thought, anxious for the call to end, and her lunch break to begin. Londa leaned back again, looking up at the ceiling, and seeing half of the tiles were still missing from the grid. Her department had moved into their new location on the first floor two weeks ago, but there were still quite a few workmen finishing various construction tasks.
She slipped her heel out of the other shoe and listened as the old man vented his frustration. She uncrossed her legs and felt the heavy texture of the new carpeting as her stockinged heels touched the floor, near halfway out of her shoes. It was only two minutes until lunch and she was beginning to loose patience with the old man on the phone. She took a deep breath and stretched, extending her legs in front of her, dangling both shoes now, dragging them in an arc across the floor as she swiveled back and forth in her fresh new chair. She spun her chair all the way around to look out the front window at the cool fall afternoon. Mr. Johnson prattled on as she watched people pass on the sidewalk. A wild looking man staggered up to the window and peered in, his head just above floor level, a yard and a half past her swinging shoes. It suddenly occurred to Londa that she was wearing a skirt, and she quickly whirled back around to her desk, loosing one shoe in the process. She glanced back toward the window to see the man was still there, staring at her empty shoe in the middle of the floor.
She felt very nervous, and did her best to ignore him. She turned her attention back to Mr. Johnson on the phone, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the abandoned shoe. A few moments later, the man was gone. She held the phone away from her ear and reached for the shoe with her hand, but she couldn't quite reach it without setting the phone receiver down. Her supervisor walked in and she nearly tipped her chair over trying to regain her composure. Her remaining shoe slipped off of her other foot, making an odd sound as it landed on a metal vent on the floor under the desk. When her supervisor had gone, she looked to see that her empty shoe was still in front of the window. She swept her stockinged foot across the floor under the desk, but failed to locate the other shoe. As her stockinged toes brushed over the metal grate, and she was surprised that it was warm to the touch. A heating vent right under the desk where I can use it, she thought, dreading the approaching winter season. She covered ever inch of the floor under the desk with her stockinged feet, without any sign of the lost shoe. Finally, Mr. Johnson had run out of complaints and was sounding apologetic.
"I know Mr. Johnson, but we're here to help anytime. Feel free to call me with any questions you might have. Thank you for calling and have a nice afternoon." She hung up the phone. Sometimes people didn't really have a question about insurance, they just want to talk to somebody.
Londa quickly padded to the window to retrieve her shoe, then looked under the desk to find it's mate before anyone came in to find her in her stockinged feet. She gasped when she saw that there was a gap between the partition wall and the floor where a missing piece of trim was supposed to be, and her white medium-heeled pump had slid halfway under it, resting precariously close to the edge of the floor slab. She could see people walking up and down the wide stairway to the main lobby through the gap. Her heart skipped a beat. She had swept her feet around under the desk without making contact with the shoe, but if she had accidentally kicked it, it would have landed on the stairs that were the main entrance to the building. To get there, she would have to walk through the entire office, and out into the main lobby of the building. She shuddered, imagining herself walking to the crowded atrium lobby in her stockinged feet in search of her lost shoe. She got down on her knees and carefully retrieved it with her hand, not wanting to take any chances.
"Girl, you're gonna loose those shoes!" she heard her momma scold her in her mind. Momma was always saying that, but she never really lost her shoes for more than a second or two, except that one time in choir, but that was Kevin Glover's fault. But there was that one time in school...and then that time on the Ferris Wheel at the State Fair... she shook off the memory, replacing the shoe on her foot and resolving herself to keep it there for at least the rest of the day. It was past the start of lunchtime, and she hurried, knowing she was going to be late for her lunch date.
Darnell was already waiting for her at the Madison Street Bridge, but the drawbridge started to go up before they could cross. They both leaned on the rail and watched the sailboats head up the river to be put away until spring. She had only met Darnell a week ago, but this was already their fourth lunch date. She felt comfortable with him, and they were planning a real date for this weekend. As they made small talk and watched the bridge begin to come down, she felt the refreshingly cool and smooth surface rub against her stockinged arch. She looked down and was startled to see her shoe halfway off of her foot again, dangling forty feet above the water, as she absent-mindedly rubbed her bare sole on the bottom rung of the metal handrail. "Girl, you're gonna loose those shoes," she heard momma again, as she cautiously extracted her shoe from the precarious situation, without alerting Darnell.
As they crossed the bridge, she envisioned herself making her way through the hundreds of pedestrians in her stockinged feet. She pulled her scarf tight around her neck, suddenly feeling the chill of the coming winter in the air.
At the restaurant, there was a 15 minute wait for a table, but Darnell saw some people he knew, and they squeezed into a small table with them in the tightly packed bar. Londa was wedged into the corner, but the place was nice enough, and she enjoyed meeting Darnell's friends. It was fairly noisy and she hoped that she was the only one to hear the tell tale "clop" of a shoe hitting the floor. "How the hell did that happen?" she wondered, feeling a sudden draft on her exposed arch. She searched the faces at the other tables to see if anyone had noticed. The bartender looked at her and smiled, but maybe he was just being friendly. Londa tried to reach the area where she thought her shoe might have landed, but she couldn't even reach the floor because the bar stool was too tall. She slid off the stool trying not to be too obvious about it, and leaning on the table for balance, she probed the area under the table with her stockinged toes, resting them on the base of the table.
She felt movement under her toes. "Oh my God!" she thought, that was somebody's foot I was standing on. None of Darnell's friends gave any indication she had been playing footsie with them. Darnell was smiling at her, but he was always smiling at her. Cautiously, making absolutely certain that her foot was on the floor, she began the search for her shoe again, feeling around the concrete floor.
"Well, I guess we better be getting back," Darnell said, startling her. She hadn't noticed that he had already paid the check. Everyone was putting on their coats getting ready to leave, as she desperately searched the floor for her lost shoe, finding nothing, except a small puddle of beer.
"I-I-I-I think I, well I think I'll stay for just a minute longer," she stammered, "Maybe have a cup of coffee or something. You guys just go ahead on." Everyone looked puzzled.
"Oh, I get it," said Bo, "You two lovebirds want to be alone." He smiled at Darnell. "Later man," he said, exchanging an approving look with his friend. "Very nice to meet you," he added, gripping her hand. He headed toward the door, accidentally kicking her shoe into the center of the crowded floor.
Londa sprinted across the narrow floor, grabbed the edge of the bar and slid her toes into the empty pump. She looked at her watch, but avoided Darnell's gaze. "Maybe we should get back," she said, "We don't want to be late I guess."
Londa replayed the incident in her head as she sat at her desk after lunch. It was an unconscious habit or something she decided. She hadn't realized she was doing it at all, but she kept coming out of her shoes all the time. A quick glance at the floor revealed that her left shoe was half off at this very moment, swaying back and forth in a lazy rhythm. Her phone rang, and it was time to get back to work.
"Customer Service, this is Londa, how may I help you?" She made a point to make sure her feet were firmly in her shoes, mindful of the gap in the base of the wall. A workman was pulling wires down from the ceiling, and up through the floor near the front window, and she was mindful to keep her shoes on while he was working near her desk, especially when he was working on his hands and knees. The afternoon seemed to pass quickly, and at 4:05, she found that she was looking forward to quitting time.
"Yes ma'am, I can send you that information, and the form is also available on our website at www.mutualcare..." she noticed the streets were starting to fill up already, people heading across Madison Street Bridge to Northwestern Station. The workmen in the next office were cleaning up for the day. She wondered what all this wire was for as she prodded the red cable with her stocking clad toes. She was surprised to see her stockinged feet, ruby red nails showing faintly through the mostly opaque hosiery. She had unconsciously kicked her shoes off yet again. "Girl..."
"I know momma," she smiled to herself and put her toes back into her shoe. She rubbed her other stocking clad foot over a smooth metallic surface under the desk. "Customer Service..." she answered another call. What was that under the desk anyway, she wondered? A toolbox? She felt around for her shoe and her arch ran over a sharp corner sticking straight up. Londa leaned to the side and looked under the desk to see that the register grate was removed and sitting on the carpet, and an assortment of wires were coming out of the hole in the floor. She suddenly stiffened, unable to locate her shoe again. She looked at the gap under the wall, but there was no sign of her shoe there. Her heart pounded as she considered her options. The voice on the phone pulled her back to reality.
"Y-Y-Yes ma'am, I'm right here, it's just that I, well I lost something under my desk. How can I help you this afternoon?" 4:11, she thought, just barely afternoon, and looking a lot like evening out the window. She had to get rid of this caller and find her shoe in the lobby, before someone else found it. "Yes ma'am, I can take care of that for you. Is there anything else I can help you with today?" She was crouched down by her desk now, straining to see anyone walking up or down the front stairs. "Yes ma'am, I can look that up for you if you like," she said, sounding professional and polite, but wanting desperately to hang up the phone. Finally, the woman hung up and Londa jumped to her feet.
She took three or four steps toward the front desk but stopped. She walked back to her desk and removed her remaining shoe, padding back toward the front desk again. She stopped again and went back, once again retrieving the shoe from under her desk. The receptionist had already gone for the day, and Londa stood for a long time at the glass doors to the lobby, perched on her remaining shoe, and hoping for a clear spot when no one else was in the main lobby. She opened the door and stepped onto the cold terrazzo floor with her stocking clad toes, but several people came in through the revolving door, forcing her to retreat again. Finally, when the lobby was clear, she strode out onto the main floor landing. She walked unevenly down the six steps to the first landing, but she didn't see any opening in the wall. Finally, she saw that it was above eye level, and partially obscured by a planter. She walked up a few steps and leaned against the handrail, trying to see down into the planter box. No sign of any shoe.
Her supervisor and some guys in suits were coming out of the office door, and Londa instinctively headed the opposite way, and out the revolving door for lack of a better choice. Her stockinged foot stepped out onto the icy sidewalk, and she stood next to the door, where the smokers congregated during the day. She crossed her arms and hugged herself for warmth, balancing on her remaining shoe. Her supervisor came through the revolving door, and looked right at her. She pretended to smoke, her breath hanging in the air in a convincing cloud of vapor. "Night Londa," he said, and continued past her, apparently oblivious to her plight. Five frosty steps brought her back to the revolving door, and into the building again. She passed several groups of people on the steps, some of them staring at her feet, but thankfully, no one mentioned her missing shoe.
Back in her workspace, she kicked off the remaining shoe and crawled under the desk with a flashlight from her purse. She examined the opening in the wall, and the planter beyond, but there was no sign of her missing shoe. The light glanced off something white that was directly below her. Her shoe had fallen into the open plenum when the air vent was removed, but someone had reinstalled it, probably while she was out displaying her toes to the entire neighborhood.
"Miss." Londa was startled and she bumped her head on the underside of the desk. She turned around on her knees to see the military style shoes of the security guard. "Sorry ma'am, but we have to lock up at five."
"O.K." she said, hiding her stockinged feet underneath her, and added, "I'm just looking for a plug to plug my radio in."
The security guard left and Londa looked at her watch. 4:55. She wasn't going to get her shoe back today, she realized. She sat in her chair deciding what to do next. Walking to Northwestern Station in her stockinged feet was unthinkable, but she could get a cab. But then she would have to ride the train in her stockinged feet. Londa was uncomfortable in crowds under the best of circumstances, and padding through a train station and riding the train was more than she thought she could endure. And a cab ride to her home would take an hour and cost a mint. After exhausting all of the options she could think of, she dialed Darnell, and left a message.
"Darnell, it's Londa," she started, sounding uncertain. "Darnell, I need your help, can you meet me at..." where? She couldn't stay here. "...can you meet me at the place where we ate lunch today? Give me a call on my pager, it's really important. Bye," she added tentatively.
Londa walked down the lobby steps, her snow white stocking gleaming against the polished floor, through the revolving door, out onto the city streets. She headed up Madison toward the bridge. The pavement was icy through her stocking and she walked quickly but unevenly. She paused when she reached the bridge leaning against the rail where she had nearly lost her shoe this afternoon. She balanced on her remaining shoe and pressed her toes against her thigh, hiding her stockinged foot from view underneath her knee length coat.
"Hey Londa,"
She turned to see Tony, from accounting. He lived near her, and she saw him around town every once in a while. "Hey Tony, how's it going?" she asked, pulling her stockinged foot up higher, and well out of sight. "Did you drive down today?" she asked hopefully.
"No, I took the train." They talked for a minute or two, and Tony went on his way. She imagined herself riding on the train in her stockinged feet, and meeting Tony, or somebody else she knew. Her pager went off and she saw Darnell's number on the screen, and hoped that meant he was coming. She let her toes touch the concrete again and made her way across the bridge, another block and a half to the Tavern. She entered, expecting the bustling restaurant from lunch, but the place was mostly deserted, except for three regular customers at the bar. The bartender was sweeping up.
"Howdy," he said with an exaggerated friendliness. He looked at her white stockinged toes and added, "I remember you from lunch. What can I get you?"
"Coffee, please and a Martell, a double Martell," she said. The coffee was warm, and the Martell was warmer, and she ordered a reload of both.
Darnell made it downtown as quickly as traffic would allow. Londa didn't say what the problem was, but she sure didn't sound right on the answering machine. Actually, she had seemed kind of strange after lunch today. When Londa lost her shoe under the table at lunch, he had deliberately kicked it beyond her reach. Maybe she had caught him doing it. Or maybe he had acted weird when she put her foot on his. Or maybe she had caught him craning his neck trying to see her stockinged foot when she was chasing her shoe across the floor. He really liked Londa and he hoped he hadn't blown it today.
It was after 6:00 when he walked into the tavern. Londa was sitting at the same table where they had eaten lunch. He was just about to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. She was just so beautiful, leaning back against the wall watching the TV over the bar. She wore a camel overcoat over a cream colored suit with a bright red blouse. The contrast of the pastel shades against her coffee skin was stunning. Her lips were brilliant red, exactly matching her blouse.
Resting on the table were three empty glasses, a coffee cup, a purse, and a white pump, with a two-inch heel, immaculately polished. Londa rested her shapely legs on the stool in front of her, crossed at the ankles, stockinged feet displayed for the room. Her legs and feet had an athletic grace, high arches with long slender toes. Crimson red polish glistened from her toes, and was only partially obscured by her snow white stockings. Snow white, except that one stocking was mostly gray on the bottom, and slightly worn. The sight of her stocking clad legs mesmerized him as he approached her.
Londa was startled when Darnell suddenly appeared. She pulled her feet under her and tried to act as if nothing was wrong. He kissed her cheek and sat across the table from her. Her eyes followed his to the empty shoe sitting on the table.
"What's wrong Londa?" he said, in a soothing voice. She retrieved her shoe from the center of the table, cursing her lapse in manners, and hoping that she had not embarrassed herself, or him.
"I, well I, well my shoe, well there was this problem with my shoe," she said, seeming very upset. Darnell came around to her side of table and sat in the seat next to her. "Well my shoe..." she began again, holding it up in front of her, as if it explained something.
Darnell took the shoe from her trembling hands. "It's a very nice shoe," he said, setting it on the table again and gripping her hands tightly.
"But I lost the other one," she blurted out, "and then I had to go outside in my stockinged feet."
"These are very, very nice feet," he said, pulling her legs up into his lap.
"And the same thing happened almost happened at lunch, and I thought you might be embarrassed, when I lost my shoe and then..."
Darnell cradled her ankle in his elbow, and rubbed his face on the top of her foot, then kissed each of her toes, lightly biting the last one. "Why would I be embarrassed?" he said, gripping her hand.
The bartender nodded in her direction, smiling as he wiped the bar with a towel.
Darnell caressed her feet and they stayed for a while, just talking and drinking coffee.
"We have to get you home," he said, finally.
"So you don't have a problem taking me home like this. In just my stockinged feet?" she asked, wiggling her toes playfully.
"No, but there is another problem," he said, suddenly serious.
She gave him a puzzled look as he dangled his keys from his fingertips.
"Motorcycle."
Snowman
