by J. J. Murray
“How do you know that?” Angela asked.
“She put her feet up on the bench,” Tony said. “She took off her shoes. She rubbed her feet and frowned. Her shoes are old. They are thin on the bottom. I will buy her some new shoes.”
“But you don’t know her size, Tony,” Angela said.
“Nine inches,” Tony said. “Her feet are nine inches.”
“Are you sure?” Angela asked.
“Yes,” Tony said. “I measured them with my eyes.”
“Nine inches, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Give me a moment,” Angela said.
Tony waited, his eyes wandering to the men and women dancing slowly on the hill. They do not dance with each other and I hear no music. I see their music. It is calm music.
“Tony, you still there?” Angela asked.
“Yes,” Tony said.
“I’ve been measuring my feet,” Angela said. “Mine are eight and a half inches, and I wear a size five. If Trina’s are nine inches, you’ll have to buy her at least a six, maybe even a seven.”
“I will buy several sizes,” Tony said. “One will fit.” Tony stood. “I am going to the shoe store now.”
“But Tony,” Angela said, “don’t be surprised if Trina doesn’t accept them.”
“Trina needs new shoes,” Tony said.
“Tony, Trina doesn’t know you,” Angela said. “It would be very strange if a strange man brought me shoes.”
“Oh.”
“You need to talk to her first so you aren’t a stranger to her anymore,” Angela said.
“I will talk to her after I give her the shoes,” Tony said.
“You might want to talk to her before you give her the shoes,” Angela said. “You know, let her know who you are.”
“Okay,” Tony said. “I will do that.”
“But why didn’t you introduce yourself to her when you first saw her?” Angela asked.
“I was scared,” Tony said. “I do not like this feeling.”
“It’s all right, Tony,” Angela said. “You were nervous, that’s all.”
“I need a haircut,” Tony said. “And some clothes. I am wearing dirty clothes.”
“Your clothes are dirty? What happened?”
“I wore them yesterday,” Tony said. “They smell like two taxis and an airplane.”
“What are you going to do next?” Angela asked.
“I will find comfortable shoes for Trina,” Tony said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Angela said. “Call me anytime, okay?”
“I like talking to you,” Tony said. “You make me calm.”
“I like talking to you, too, Tony,” Angela said. “Oh, has Angelo called you today?”
“He called me last night,” Tony said.
“He has been calling you today, too,” Angela said. “I know this because he’s been calling me.”
“I turned off my ringer,” Tony said.
“Well, turn it back on,” Angela said. “Your brother is blowing up my phone. Check your messages.”
“Angelo is angry,” Tony said.
“He’s worried about you,” Angela said.
“I do not have much time,” Tony said. “Angelo will come find me and take me back to Brooklyn.”
“Well, get to work,” Angela said. “Go get her.”
“I will try.”
18
Tony stared at his phone. He saw many missed calls and messages from Angelo. I will not listen to them. They are all saying to come home to Brooklyn. I do not want to go home.
Tony did not turn on his ringer.
He Googled “shoe stores” and saw a map. He decided to try Foot Worship on Sutter Street first since it was closest.
He walked into Foot Worship and saw a display of tall white, black, and red shiny boots with spiky heels to his right and spiked platform shoes with thick clear soles to his left. They reminded him of something Elton John used to wear. They do not look very comfortable, Tony thought. Maybe they have nurses’ shoes in the next section.
The next shoe display to his left featured a sign: THE OUCH DEPARTMENT. A pair of boots nearly three feet tall hung from a hook. They have ten-inch heels. They would hurt Trina’s feet. They would hurt anyone’s feet.
A nearly naked mannequin with an orange wig stared down on him from the second floor. The mannequin wore a fuzzy black and light blue bra, light blue and purple underwear, and purple and light blue crisscrossed hose that stopped above her knees. She would be cold outside today.
A large leopard-skin chair in the shape of a high heel sat in front of an ordinary tan couch directly in front of him, a red plush couch with lip-shaped cushions to his left. Their furniture does not match. I wonder if they know that.
A woman left her chair at a glass counter in the back. “See anything you like?”
“I am Tony,” he said.
“I’m Natalya,” she said.
“You are Russian,” Tony said.
Natalya laughed. “My grandmother was. I’m plain ol’ American now.”
“You are very pretty,” Tony said.
“Thank you,” Natalya said.
“I want shoes for a nurse,” Tony said.
“A nurse, huh?” Natalya said. “What kind of fetish does she have?”
“I do not know this word,” Tony said.
“You know, fetish,” Natalya said. “What’s her obsession?”
“I hope it is me,” Tony said.
Natalya smiled. “What kind of kink is she into?”
“Trina is not a chain,” Tony said. “She does not have a kink.”
“I meant . . .” Natalya pointed to the mannequin above her. “How does Trina get her kicks?”
“I do not know,” Tony said. “I do not know if she plays soccer.”
Natalya shook her head. “Does Trina ever dress like the mannequin up there?”
“No,” Tony said. “She wears nurse clothes at Saint Francis Memorial Hospital. They are aqua. I do not know if she wears a fuzzy bra or purple underwear.”
Natalya sighed. “You want real nurse’s shoes.”
“Yes,” Tony said.
“You want something like Danskos, huh?” Natalya asked.
“I do not know,” Tony said. “The shoes I buy for Trina must be comfortable. Her feet hurt.”
“You won’t find many comfortable shoes here,” Natalya said. “This is basically a fetish shoe store.”
“I still do not know this word,” Tony said.
“I can see that,” Natalya said. “This isn’t really the store you need, Tony. You want to go someplace like DSW on Post Street.”
“Thank you, Natalya,” Tony said.
On his way out he stared at the clear platform shoes. Trina would never wear these to work. They have no grip on the soles. She would slide down the hills of San Francisco. Elton John wore shoes like these in Central Park. He had big sunglasses. He plays the piano. They would not fit me.
He located Post Street in his head and arrived at Designer Shoe Warehouse after a brisk fifteen-minute walk. He approached a woman, read her name tag, and waited until she turned to face him.
“Bea, I want the best shoes for a nurse,” Tony said.
“Then you’ll want Danskos,” Bea said.
“I have heard of them,” Tony said. “I will buy Danskos.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t carry them,” Bea said. “We do carry Sanitas, and they are an excellent shoe for nurses.”
“I will get them,” Tony said.
“What’s your size?” Bea asked.
“Eleven and a half,” Tony said.
“We might not have your size,” Bea said.
“They are not for me,” Tony said. “They are for Katrina Woods. She is a nurse at Saint Francis Memorial Hospital. Her feet hurt.”
“What’s her size?” Bea asked.
“Nine inches.” He stretched out his thumb and pinkie as far as they would go. “About this wide.”
Bea wrinkled up her nose. “Um, are you all right?”
“Yes,” Tony said.
“I mean, you’re buying shoes for a woman and you don’t know her shoe size,” Bea said.
“Yes,” Tony said. “I have not met her yet.”
“You lost me,” Bea said.
“I am right here,” Tony said. “And you are right there.”
“I mean . . .” Bea smiled. “I don’t understand why you are buying her shoes.”
“Trina’s feet hurt,” Tony said. “I saw her rub them in the park. She needs new shoes. Bigger than a size five. Angela’s feet are eight and a half inches and she wears a five. Trina has longer feet.”
“And you’ve never met her,” Bea said.
“I have seen her,” Tony said. “I want to give her the shoes today.”
“Do you even know this Trina?” Bea asked.
“Yes,” Tony said. “I know her.”
“Okay, okay,” Bea said. “Nine inches, right?”
Tony widened his thumb and pinkie again. “Yes.”
“I’ll bring out a few pairs,” Bea said. A few minutes later, she returned with three shoeboxes. “One of these should do. They range in size from six to seven.” She opened each box.
“They are black shoes,” Tony said. “Nurses wear white shoes.”
“Nurses wear all sorts of colors now,” Bea said, “and black shoes seem to hide the blood better. So, which pair will you get?”
“I will buy them all.” He handed Bea his credit card. “One will fit.”
Bea led him to the checkout counter, swiped his card, returned it, and had him sign the receipt. She put the boxes in a large plastic DSW bag. “I hope she likes them.”
“I hope so, too,” Tony said. “Thank you, Bea.”
“You’re welcome,” Bea said. “Whatever ones don’t fit, you can bring back. Save your receipt.”
“Okay.”
Outside the wind whipped his hair into his eyes.
I need a haircut now. I am like the shaggy man at the hospital.
Tony Googled “barbers” and carried his bag of shoe boxes into Mr. Eckhard’s Beauty Salon and Barbershop inside the posh and ornate Fairmont hotel. He stood in front of a brown man who had “Carlos” stitched on his black vest. “I am Tony,” he said. “I need a haircut.”
“And a shave,” Carlos said.
“I do not want a shave,” Tony said. “Women like a beard.”
“Some do,” Carlos said, leading him to a shiny silver barber’s chair.
Tony set down the bag of shoe boxes and climbed into the chair. “Do dark brown women like a beard?”
“I suppose some do,” Carlos said, settling a black cape around him.
“You are dark brown,” Tony said.
The barber next to Carlos laughed. “That’s not dark brown, honey. That’s black.”
“Hush, Carmine,” Carlos said. “Tony, just because I’m dark doesn’t mean that I know what dark brown women like.”
“Carlos likes thick beards,” Carmine said.
Carlos sighed, fluffed Tony’s hair, and ran his soft hands over Tony’s beard. “I’ll just even up the beard, okay?”
“Okay,” Tony said.
Carlos began sectioning and cutting Tony’s hair. “So, Tony, where are you from?”
“Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, New York, USA,” Tony said.
“I knew you weren’t from around here,” Carlos said. “Are you here on vacation or business?”
“I am here to talk to Trina,” Tony said. “She is a nurse. She is dark brown. I bought her some shoes.”
Carlos glanced at the bag. “So I see.”
“I do not know her size,” Tony said. “One will fit.”
Carmine blinked. “Oh, that makes sense.”
“Thank you,” Tony said.
“You can ignore Carmine,” Carlos said.
“I will try,” Tony said.
Carlos laughed. “So you’re giving Trina some shoes.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “Her feet hurt.”
“That’s a good reason to get a woman shoes,” Carlos said. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“No,” Tony said. “She is a woman. She cannot be my girlfriend.”
“Tell me about her,” Carlos said.
“Trina is dark brown,” Tony said. “She walks very fast. She is divorced. Her ex-husband was an asshole.”
Carlos laughed. “Aren’t they all?”
“I do not know,” Tony said.
“How much do you want me to cut off?” Carlos asked.
“I do not know,” Tony said. “Make me handsome.”
“You’re already a handsome man,” Carlos said.
“I do not think so,” Tony said. “My brother Angelo is a handsome man. He is marrying Aika. She is Japanese. Women do not like me.”
“This Trina does, doesn’t she?” Carlos asked.
“I have not spoken to her yet,” Tony said.
“Kind of like a blind date?” Carlos said.
“With shoes,” Carmine said.
“Hush, Carmine,” Carlos said.
“I am not blind,” Tony said. “She is not blind. It cannot be a blind date.”
“You’re funny,” Carlos said.
“Thank you,” Tony said.
“There’s something wrong with him,” Carmine whispered.
“I can hear you, Carmine,” Tony said. “You whisper too loudly.”
“He does everything too loudly,” Carlos said. “There’s nothing wrong with you, is there, Tony?”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” Tony said. “I have Asperger’s.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carmine said, moving closer to Tony. “My little nephew has that. He’s an amazing little artist. He draws and paints all day.”
“I write songs and play the piano,” Tony said.
“My nephew is a very good artist,” Carmine said. “I’ll bet you’re a good pianist.”
“My piano is in Brooklyn,” Tony said. “I miss it.”
“What kinds of songs do you write?” Carlos asked.
“You will not believe me,” Tony said.
“I might,” Carlos said.
“I wrote ‘She’s Not Here’ when I was sixteen,” Tony said. “It was about my mama. She died. Walter Little sang it. Then Walter Little died. Naomi Stringer will soon sing another song of mine. It is called ‘One Hundred Twenty Pounds of Sexy, Sexy Hate.’”
“Naomi Stringer will never weigh a hundred twenty ever again, honey,” Carmine said.
“She has won three Grammy Awards with my songs,” Tony said. “I keep them in a box in my closet.”
“Are you kidding me?” Carlos asked.
“I do not lie,” Tony said.
Carmine drifted over to Tony. “My little nephew always tells the truth. He’s vile as hell sometimes, but he never, ever lies. So you’re Art E. You’re the Sponge.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “My brother Angelo calls me that in my book. He does not say it out loud to me.”
“And you’re here in San Francisco to meet a girl,” Carlos said.
“Yes,” Tony said.
“That’s quite romantic,” Carmine said.
“Yes,” Tony said. “It is the kind of romance that is new, pure, and innocent.”
Carmine laughed. “And you came to San Francisco for that kind of romance?”
“Yes,” Tony said.
“Don’t be rude, Carmine,” Carlos said. He spun Tony’s chair around. “How do you like it?”
“I look okay,” Tony said. “My hair will not cover my eyes.”
“You look masculine and rugged,” Carlos said. “Trina won’t be able to resist you.” Carlos removed the cape and cracked it in the air.
“Thank you.” He handed Carlos his credit card. “Put the tip on it.”
“How much?” Carlos asked.
Tony stared at the masculine, handsome, rugged man in the mirror. “A thousand dollars.”
“No, really,” Carlos as
ked. “Five? Ten?”
“A thousand dollars,” Tony said. “I like my haircut and face very much.”
Carlos stared into Tony’s eyes. “I can’t take a thousand-dollar tip for a thirty-five-dollar haircut.”
“It is a good haircut,” Tony said. “I like it.”
Carlos sighed. “Okay.”
Tony checked to see if his bag was still there.
“Are you really Art E.?” Carmine asked.
“Yes,” Tony said. “But I am really Tony.”
Carlos rushed back to Tony. “It went through. Carmine, it went through. Um, sign the slip, Tony.”
Tony scribbled a reasonable facsimile of his name and left the chair. “Thank you, Carlos.” He extended his hand.
Carlos shook it. “Thank you so much for the tip, Tony.”
“You are welcome,” Tony said.
“Where are you taking Trina?” Carlos asked.
“I am not taking her anywhere,” Tony said.
“If you’re going on a date, Tony,” Carmine said, “you’ll want to eat out with her at a restaurant, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Tony said. “We will eat at a restaurant.”
“You have to take her to Cielo Azul,” Carlos said.
“Why not Bar Tartine or Aziza?” Carmine asked Carlos.
“Because Cielo Azul is the best restaurant bar none in San Francisco,” Carlos said.
Carmine shook his head. “You have to go to Bar Tartine or Aziza, Tony. Cielo Azul is so pretentious.”
“I will go to Cielo Azul,” Tony said. He let his eyes wander around both barbers. “I like your clothes. I would like to buy clothes like that.”
“This is my uniform, honey,” Carmine said. “You’d never see me wearing these clothes outside of work.”
“I like them,” Tony said.
“They’re made by Banana Republic,” Carlos said. “You can find the store over on Grant.”
Tony saw Grant Avenue in his mind. “Pine Street to Grant. It is not far away. Thank you, Carlos. Thank you, Carmine.” He extended his hand to Carmine.
Carmine shook and held his hand for a few moments. “Are you really Art E.?”
Tony nodded.
“I love your music,” Carmine said.
“Thank you,” Tony said. “I love music.” He picked up his bag.
“Good luck with Trina,” Carlos said.
“I will not need luck,” Tony said, and he left the Fairmont.
When he entered Banana Republic ten minutes later, Tony wandered around until he saw a sign: THE NON-IRON SHIRT. He sat on a bench and let his eyes roam over the clothes. These are clothes of the earth, he thought. Brown and tan and yellow and blue and gray.
