The Art of Running in Heels

by Rachel Gibson

  Sean took a drink and watched her over the bottom of his glass. If she removed her hands, her breasts would fall out of her dress. He waited in anticipation, but wasn’t the least bit surprised when exasperation pulled her brows together, and she asked for his help once more.

  “I need you to reach up under the dress and pull my slip down. The darn thing practically stands up on its own. I’d do it myself but . . .” She paused to look down at her hands.

  He smiled and returned his drink to the cup holder. He had a better solution than rolling around beneath her dress and looking up her long legs. He reached behind him and dragged his duffel into his lap. He pulled out his old plaid shirt and tossed it at her. The brown-and-gold fabric hit her shoulder and she grabbed ahold of it. Her plump breasts and deep cleavage strained her dress even more.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” That was his favorite shirt, but the sacrifice was worth it. He returned his duffel, kicked back with his Grey Goose, and watched the show.

  She threaded one arm then the other through the sleeves, then buttoned it. She wiggled some more as she wrestled her way out of the dress. She turned this way and that, pulled and pushed and shimmied, and her head disappeared in the pouf.

  “Are you okay, Lex?”

  “Yeah.” Then she stepped from the pool of white, all long legs and smooth thighs. The shirt hit her several inches above her knees, and she tossed her hair to one side as she stooped to pick up the dress. The dome light shone in her hair, touched the side of her face, and caught in her sparkly shoes next to her pink toes. She tucked and folded and rolled the pouf as she had the veil. Instead of handing it to him, this time she knelt on the passenger seat and stuffed it behind. She bent across the back and pushed. Then she pushed some more, and for several brief seconds, soft brown flannel rode up the backs of her legs, and Sean caught sight of white panties, rounded bottom, and smooth thighs. He supposed he should offer his help, but he didn’t want his hand anywhere near her perfect butt.

  “That was a workout.” She sounded even more winded and kind of breathy as she turned around and sat. She modestly pulled the end of the shirt to cover her thighs, as if he hadn’t already gotten an eyeful. “I’m pooped.” She grabbed her drink and took a sip. “How much longer, Jimmy?”

  “A little over two hours.”

  She swallowed and wrinkled her nose. “Are you flying back tonight?”

  “No. Tomorrow morning.”

  “I ran out of the Fairmont without my purse. All I have is my Visa.” She leaned her head back against the seat, her eyes wide, as if the full consequences of her actions suddenly hit her like a two-by-four to the forehead. “I don’t have cash or my phone or clothes or makeup.”

  Makeup wouldn’t be fourth on his list.

  “There’s probably an ATM at the Harbor Inn,” Jimmy said.

  “Do they offer massage?” She shrugged her shoulders and moved her head from side to side. “I could use a massage.”

  Sean laughed. “’Fraid not, princess. People go to Sandspit this time of year to fish for salmon,” Sean added. “There’s nothing fancy in town. No turn-down service anywhere on the island.”

  “Bummer. I do love a mint left on my pillow.” She pulled her hair to one side and looked at Sean. “Are you going there to catch salmon?”

  “I don’t fish for chinook these days.”

  “That’s a good one, Sean,” Jimmy said through a laugh. Sean waited for the pilot to say more, to finally give Lexie a clue. Instead he pushed aside the small Bluetooth microphone and communicated with the ground below.

  “What takes you to Sandspit?” Lexie asked.

  “My mother lives in Sandspit.” It was inevitable that she would learn who he was. He wasn’t purposely keeping her in the dark—ok, maybe just a little—but he’d sleep easier tonight knowing he wasn’t going to get a call from John in the morning. If that made him a coward, he could live with it. “My mother is ill.” In fact, she was dying. Again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  This time she said she had pancreatitis. “She’ll pull through.” For as long as he could remember, his mother had been sick. If she hadn’t been sick with one ailment or another, she’d made him sick. His childhood had been filled with unnecessary doctor and hospital visits, and she’d shoved unnecessary medicine down him until the age of ten when his uncle Abe had intervened and they’d gone to live with him in Edmonton.

  “What time are we leaving in the morning, Jimmy?” Lexie asked.

  “I want to be in the air by nine.”

  “I don’t know if I can face everything that early.” She moaned. “I’ll need a pot of coffee.”

  “If you want to hide out, I’m flying back to pick up Sean in a few days.” Jimmy glanced back at her. “You might consider laying low until things settle down.”

  “No. I have to get back.” She yawned. “By the time we land tomorrow, I’m sure everything will have blown over.”

  Chapter 4

  •love hides in strange places

  “Where in the world is the Gettin’ Hitched bride?”

  Lexie sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed at the Harbor Inn. She stared in horror at the Today show and co-anchor Savannah Guthrie. “Lexie Kowalsky left a stunned Peter Dalton at the altar last night,” she added, “leaving a sour taste in the mouths of millions of fans.”

  “Millions?” Lexie uttered.

  “Cynics speculate it’s part of the storyline, that it was planned from the beginning, but Pete says he’s truly heartbroken.”

  Savannah Guthrie? It was a big enough story that the co-anchor was reporting on it? In the first hour? So much for things blowing over.

  “No one seems to know what has become of the Seattle native who competed with twenty women to become this season’s Gettin’ Hitched bride.” Savannah continued as NBC cut away to footage of a bewildered-looking Pete standing at the altar, surrounded by white roses and lilies. “The producers of the reality show insist this came as a complete surprise. Telepictures, a division of Warner Bros. Television, released a statement that reads in part, ‘We at Telepictures want to assure fans of Gettin’ Hitched that this was in no way part of the show. Lexie Kowalsky had given us no clue that she wasn’t one-hundred-percent happy with the show and committed to Pete.’” Footage of a director holding the note Lexie had written in the housekeeping room cut to footage of her dad’s black Land Rover. “The would-be bride’s parents, Seattle Chinooks coach John Kowalsky and his wife, Georgeanne, had no comment.”

  Most major networks had camped outside the Fairmont, waiting to get videotape of the hitchin’ bride and groom. Instead, they got footage of a KIRO 7 reporter jumping out of the way seconds before getting hit by an SUV speeding away from the Fairmont. The cameraman did manage to get shots through the windshield of her father’s scowl and her mother’s hand over her face.

  The reporter turned his microphone to people on the street. Several claimed to have seen her racing away from the scene in a MINI Cooper. Others said a Harley. The footage then cut to photographers camped out in front of her apartment in Belltown and the gates to her parents’ house on Mercer Island.

  “Stay tuned to our fourth hour,” Savannah said as the camera came back to her. “Kathie Lee and Hoda will take calls from the thousands of fans who believe they’ve spotted Lexie Kowalsky, the woman that viewers are now calling the ‘Not Gettin’ Hitched bride.’”

  “Thousands?” Lexie said weakly and got a little light-headed. “Kathie Lee and Hoda, too?” She kind of hoped that she’d pass out and put herself out of her misery. If only for a few moments. Not that it would matter. When she came to, nothing would have changed. She’d still be the runaway Not Gettin’ Hitched bride.

  There was a loud knock on the door, and she jumped like a parolee on the run. Her light head spun a little more and she almost fell on her face when she stood. Her feet moved across the beige carpet and she looked through the peephole. Jimmy stood on the other side, a
nd she quickly let him in before leaning her back against the door. It had been Jimmy who’d seen the news and alerted her to the rapidly growing fiasco. She couldn’t go home or even to her parents’ house. She felt like a Whack-A-Mole, afraid to pop her head outside, and both she and Jimmy had agreed that she had two choices:

  Stay out of sight.

  Try and blend with the locals.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked over his shoulder. This morning he wore some kind of gnarled-up sweater and worn corduroys. If her life wasn’t such a mess, she might have suggested, in the kindest way possible, that he burn those clothes in order to save himself and those around him the horror. But her life was a mess, and she said, “No! People are going to call Hoda and Kathie Lee if they spot me.” She swallowed hard. “Like that book, Where’s Waldo?”

  He shook his head and turned a plastic sack upside down. “Hunted down Pokémon-style.”

  A weird little choking sound came from her mouth and she raised a hand to her lips. It was worse than Waldo or Whack-A-Mole. “Pokémaniacs.”

  The contents of the bag spilled on her bed. “Well, Pikachu, if it makes you feel better, no one at the Sandspit Mart or the Waffle Hut is talking about anything but the four-hundred-pound halibut someone caught yesterday. I’m going to see if I can get a look at it before I take off.”

  “Waffle Hut? You had breakfast?” Lexie didn’t think she could eat at the moment, but her stomach had growled all night due to the fact that she’d been too nervous to eat yesterday, too.

  “I got you some Tastykakes and ginger ale.”

  Lexie groaned as she moved toward the bed. A bag of cinnamon doughnuts, two cans of Canada Dry, and a prepaid phone lay on the bed, along with shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste, and some clothing.

  “I’ve been thinking. It’s more than possible that someone saw you board the Sea Hopper last night. The lake was busier than most weekdays, with all the tourists in town to catch your wedding. It’s probably only a matter of time before someone realizes that it wasn’t a big marshmallow they saw getting crammed into a flying tree frog.”

  Jimmy had a point but her brain was too scrambled to think beyond the black sweatpants, red “Spirit of Sandspit” T-shirt, and pair of knockoff Uggs.

  “What if someone asks about it?”

  And a fish hat. “Don’t tell the truth.” Not just a regular fish hat, either.

  “You want me to lie.”

  Lexie picked the cap up and turned it from side to side. “No, prevaricate.”

  “Same thing.”

  A red salmon head stuck out the front and its tail out the back. “What the heck, Jimmy? I thought we decided that I need to blend. I can’t blend with a fish on my head.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a cool hat.” This from the guy who wore an old aviation helmet and goggles. He pulled out a wad of Canadian bills and handed it to her. Jimmy was like an undercover spy and had argued against her using a credit card that could be traced within minutes of use. Instead, he’d paid for the hotel in advance and had taken money from his own card. “Gotta go. I’ll be back in two days to get you and Sean.”

  Lexie decided not to argue about his taste in hats. She was grateful for his help, and really, what had she expected from the man who’d always dressed as if he was engaged in a fashion grudge match? “Thank you. I’ll pay you back. Promise. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She hugged her friend, and he wrapped his comforting arms around her. “I owe you big.” She stepped back and looked into his eyes on the same level as hers.

  “I know,” he said through a grin. “But what are old friends for?”

  “Do you want your coat back?” She pointed to the leather jacket hanging in the small closet.

  “No. I’ll get it day after tomorrow.”

  “Thanks again.” The pocket in the leather jacket was ripped out, but she was glad to have it.

  He took a few steps toward the door and laughed as he opened it. “Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m gone.”

  “God no.” She shook her head. “I’m not leaving this room.”

  She locked the door behind him and returned to sit in the middle of the bed. A can of ginger ale rolled against her bare knee and she picked it up. She popped it open, then hit the mute button on the television remote control. She wore the flannel shirt she’d borrowed from Sean the night before. Had it really just been the night before that she’d run out on her wedding, hopped into Jimmy’s plane, and ended up in Sandspit, BC? Had it been less than twelve hours ago when she’d looked up into eyes the color of jade and the five o’clock shadow of a man who looked like he’d jumped off the cover of Men’s Health magazine? Had it been less than twelve hours ago that he’d given her his shirt? So much had happened that it felt more like forty-eight hours had passed.

  Once they’d landed in Sandspit, they’d all piled into a green Subaru. The keys had been in the ignition, and Lexie had wondered if she was now involved in grand theft or if the car had been left at the docks for Sean. She’d figured the latter, but by that point, she’d been exhausted and freezing and hadn’t cared. He’d dropped her and Jimmy off at the Harbor Inn without even saying good-bye. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d left the smell of burnt rubber in the air.

  He didn’t owe her anything. He’d helped her with her dress, given her a drink and his shirt to wear, but . . . it might have been nice if he’d waited until Jimmy checked in before he’d sped away like he was driving a getaway car, leaving her to hide outside in her Louboutins, his flannel shirt, and Jimmy’s bomber jacket.

  She took a drink of ginger ale and made a face. Ginger ale always reminded her of being sick as a kid. Not only had she looked like a tacky hooker, she’d felt like a prison escapee hiding in the bushes, but she couldn’t exactly walk into the hotel lobby and request a room.

  Instead, she’d waited around one side of the building while Jimmy had rented two rooms. The doors to each faced the parking lot. She didn’t think anyone had seen her enter number seven; at least she hoped not. Especially now that Hoda and Kathie Lee were getting into the hunt for her.

  Next to the fish hat lay a pay-as-you-go phone that already had the minutes loaded for her. She stared at it with anxiety and dread, but she couldn’t put off the inevitable and picked it up. Her heart pounded as she dialed, and with every ring it grew louder in her head.

  “Hello.”

  The corners of her lips trembled and her voice broke. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Lexie? Where are you?”

  “Sandspit, British Columbia.”

  “Where?”

  She almost smiled. “It’s a tiny town in the Hecate Strait.”

  There was a pause on the line before he said, “That’s damn near Alaska. How in the hell did you get all the way up there?”

  “Jimmy Pagnotta and the Sea Hopper.”

  “The flying tree frog?”

  “Yeah.” Tears fell from her eyes. “I couldn’t marry Pete.”

  “Well, you picked a hell of a way to get out of it.” The tone of his voice got deeper with anger. “I imagine Marie helped you with this ridiculous stunt.”

  “Yes, but it’s not her fault.”

  “It would have been a hell of a lot easier if you’d told me or your mother that you couldn’t marry that pansy ass instead of leaving your whole family to twist in the wind.” She could hear his anger building, and she knew the inevitable was about happen. “There are reporters camped outside the gates and two idiots jumped out from behind cars in the parking lot at the Key Arena! Your mother and I waited up all night to hear from you! We didn’t know if you were in Seattle or Mexico or actually made it to Sweden this time.”

  “Sorry,” she said just above a whisper, and waited.

  “You ran away instead of nutting up and dealing with the colossal fuckup you created!”

  “I don’t have nuts, Dad.”

  “Jesus Christ, Alexis!” he managed just before the inevitable hit and his words tu
rned into a long stream of mostly incomprehensible swearing. She could practically hear the steam blowing out of his ears.

  She hated to make her parents angry. They had such perfect lives. She tried to make hers perfect, too, but she always seemed to fail. Especially when she acted without a thorough plan. “I’m sorry.” Tears stung her eyes and a sob came from deep in her chest next to her heart. “Everything got so-o big so fa-ast. I fe-elt trapped.”

  “Don’t cry,” he said, which made her cry even harder. “You didn’t kill anybody.” He paused, then added, “Right?” as if that was a possibility.

  “No-o.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I should ha-ave nutted u-up.”

  “Honey, you don’t have nuts.” Her dad’s blowups were inevitable when he was pushed too far. Her latest “colossal fuckup” was definitely in the pushed-him-too-far category. Way too far, but her dad’s blowups always blew over quickly.

  “Ho-ow’s Mom?”

  “Worried. Scared. Mad, but it isn’t like she’s never run away from a wedding.” She heard a silent little laugh in his voice and relaxed a bit. “She hated that dress.”

  “Me too.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  She let out a hiccupped breath. “Day after tomorrow. Hop-pefully no one will see me flying back in. And the gates to your neighborhood and the front of my apartment will be reporter fr-ree.”

  “Your mother will be waiting for you here, but I’ll be in Pittsburgh.”

  She breathed deep and let it out slowly. “I’m sure you’ll whoop some Penguin ass,” she managed without a break in her voice.

  “I’m not so sure. I’m down a defenseman and my newest hotshot sniper won’t be on the roster. He said he has a family emergency, but he probably took time off to deep condition his flow.”

  Lexie laughed for the first time in days. She knew how her dad felt about players concerned with their hair. She also knew that her dad hated showoffs. Apparently, Mr. Hotshot was both and had earned a double dose of disdain.