The Shoes Come First: A Jennifer Cloud Novel

by Janet Leigh

  ~

  Jake and I had seen each other on and off during college. On one of his rare visits home for a weekend, we would hang out just like old times, except there would be some kissing, and after I showed him what I learned in the barn with the Scottish creep, our relationship was way more exciting. This was an added bonus. Jake was very good at the extracurricular activities.

  I still wondered about Mr. Sexy, occasionally. I never told anyone about the outhouse or the time travel, and I continued to wear the necklace as a daily reminder of what not to do. Sometimes at night I would wander out back and imagine myself sitting in the outhouse, going for another ride so I could tell him a thing or two. But I was scared. What if I didn’t return? I needed answers, but I had no idea whom to ask.

  Jake had graduated from college with a degree in criminal justice and returned to Dallas to work at the office of internal affairs. He traveled between Dallas and Washington, DC, but mainly he worked in Dallas. I’m not sure exactly what he did, but I knew he worked long hours and hoped to get a job with the CIA.

  After taking our relationship to the next level in college, I decided we wouldn’t work out as a steady couple. I knew there were girls he was seeing at school, and I didn’t want to have the pressure of jealousy. Jake insisted we could work long distance, but I knew deep down he couldn’t make the commitment and it would tear our friendship apart. In the end we decided to see each other when he came home and keep it a “casual” dating relationship. Since he’d moved back home, we had been seeing more of each other as his work allowed.

  Jake lived in a loft apartment off Main Street in Downtown Dallas. Once an industrial district, now it was the cool place to live. At night you could raise the windows and hear the bands in Deep Ellum playing the divergent sounds of local musicians. I called to tell him of my plight, and he agreed to meet me at our favorite little Mexican food place.

  I decided I would wear my favorite red sweater and black leather miniskirt with my red Escada pumps. I added some devil-red lipstick and felt a little bit better. I pulled my hair back in a low ponytail, dumped the contents of my purse into my red Prada bag, and headed out the door. When I was working at Steve Stone Shoes, I’d purchased a used Mustang convertible from Mrs. Peterson. Her husband had been having a midlife crisis, but after it was over, he was ready to go back to his pickup truck. The car was white with gray leather bucket seats, a custom Bose sound system, and chrome wheels. It occasionally smelled like Old Spice, but I felt very sexy driving it around town. The construction workers would whistle as I drove by; however, they also whistled at Ms. Martin down the street, and she drove a Cadillac—go figure.

  I drove out of our neighborhood and hopped on the Lyndon Banes Johnson Freeway, which connected to Interstate 30 to take me downtown. Driving into Dallas always made me feel energized. The setting sun illuminated the skyline of tall buildings. I could see the ball at the top of Reunion Tower with its dancing lights that begged you to come have an expensive dinner in its rotating restaurant. As I turned east onto Main Street, the Deep Ellum arts and entertainment district came into view.

  Deep Ellum was the renovated warehouse district about three blocks from downtown. Some creative genius had taken the decrepit, run-down industrial warehouse area of Dallas and turned it into a dwelling place for the eclectic. People who lived here marched to the beat of their own drum. Most were musicians and entertainers and artists, and occasionally, mixed in with all the graffiti, you’d find a yuppie. I am not sure I would classify Jake as a yuppie, but he was somewhere in between. He dressed like one, but had the heart of a guy who would rather be playing lead guitar for Van Halen.

  Luckily I found a parking place in the lot next to the Blind Lemon club and took the short walk to Monica’s. Jake and I had discovered the small Tex-Mex restaurant shortly after he moved back to Dallas. It was charming and funky at the same time. I ambled in past the brick walls that were painted with swirls of various red colors and displayed bright, attention-grabbing art pieces done by local artists. There was a live band playing jazz in the corner. The tables were all set with red-and caramel-colored linen tablecloths, and the smell of homemade tortillas filled my nostrils, making them flare out and making my mouth water. Jake was already there, sitting at a corner table drinking a Corona. I slid in the booth and kissed him hello. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes. I thought of how wonderful he was to come out and meet me when he was obviously exhausted.

  “Do you want a beer?” he asked and signaled the waiter.

  “That would be great. I have had quite a day.”

  “Me too,” he said, but a sly smile crept at the corners of his mouth.

  The waitress brought my Corona, and I squeezed the lime slice that rested on the mouth of the bottle down into the golden liquid. I pushed the lime through the neck so it floated in the beer. I took a long pull on the bottle. The beer tasted good, and I could feel the tension ease in my neck. Jake was watching me intently. I knew he hated when I drank straight from the bottle. He thought a girl should drink a cocktail, and, heaven forbid, if she had a beer, she should at least ask for a glass to pour it in. This was one of the many pet peeves we argued about. Jake wanted his girlfriends dainty and with manners that would make Martha Stewart proud. I had the style, but my manners were all Chelsea Handler. I could put on a good show, but I decided I wanted a man who didn’t roll his eyes if I burped or drank from a bottle. Hence the fact that we were friends with benefits.

  “So, tell me what’s up,” I said.

  “No, I would rather hear about your day first; mine is sort of confidential. I’d have to kill you if I told you.”

  “Wow, they are really giving you some serious cases. Should I fear for your life?” I said it jokingly, but his eyes didn’t laugh with me.

  “I do have some good news, but first tell me what happened to make you dig out your favorite red sweater,” Jake said, placing his hand in mine.

  It was a little early in the season for a sweater in Texas, but when tragedy struck, the red sweater was my comfort blankie. I told Jake about my terrible day, and he listened intently. He was always good at letting me get it out of my system and not providing any opinions that would make me pissy.

  “What am I going to do?” I whined. “My life is a black cauldron swirling with the bowels of disappointment and despair.”

  “It can’t be that bad. You have a new job, and you have shoes that will last you at least two seasons,” Jake said, tweaking my cheek.

  This was true; I could probably make do before they went out of style. Plus, after I spoke with Eli on the phone, he was going to pay me. Not as much as I was making at the shoe store but a fair wage. Maybe working in a chiropractic office wouldn’t be so bad. I was going to help sick people get well with my spunky spirit and appreciation of life. After a few Coronas, I was feeling a little better.

  “So, what’s your news?” I asked, turning my attention away from my miserable life.

  “You are looking at the newest member of the CIA,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Jake, that’s wonderful.” I gave him a big hug. “I know you have been working your butt off.”

  “Amen,” he said as we tapped our beer bottles together in a toast.

  We ate and listened to the band. Jake explained how impressed one of the directors had been with his work. He couldn’t go into all the details because they were top secret, but I could tell he was excited to get a position in the CIA at such a young age.