Submitted by Snowman

Nicole Anderson and the Shoe Repair

Nicole Anderson looked over the top of her morning newspaper at the man on the other side of the wide concourse aisle. He looked away quickly and shuffled some papers in his open briefcase. The terminal was mostly empty this early in the morning. Nicole thought that the man was nice looking in an understated way, but if he was one of those guys, he was certainly a shy one. She had only learned of them recently, and was amazed at how many of them there actually were. Still, she was not sure if he was actually one of them or not. James J. Fitzpatrick, they always called him in the newspaper, but she new his friends called him Jack. Considering that he was a stranger in an airport, she knew quite a bit about him. She knew that he was single, that he was 43, and that he was a law professor at University of Michigan. She also knew he was a likely candidate for the currently vacant seat on the Federal District Court. She had read at least one of his books, and they had even spoken briefly a party once, and so she knew he disliked parties. What she didn’t know yet is whether he was one of them.

She ducked behind her newspaper again, and released her heel from the gleaming black patent leather pump. Her sheer white stockings brushed together as one leg crossed over the other, the shoe dangling slightly as she bounced her foot in the air. These were her favorite shoes, she thought, letting them slide off another fraction of an inch. She had worn them nearly everywhere, and had been wearing these shoes, correction: one of these shoes, in court on the day she first learned about these men. She looked over at Jack Fitzpatrick again, but could draw no further conclusion about him.

She let the shoe slide further and appreciated the balance of the finely crafted leather as it hung nearly vertical on the ends of her toes. She flexed her foot ever so slightly, until the pump was hanging on the end of one toe, rotating to the left and back to the right again. Her pedicure was absolutely perfect she thought, looking down at the flashes of crimson peeking from the edge of the shoe. It occurred to her that this detail was not visible from across the wide aisle of the concourse. After a moments deliberation, she reached down and removed the shoe with her hand, quickly pulling it in behind the newspaper. With the empty shoe in her lap, she hid behind the newspaper and let several long minutes go by, flexing her toes and rolling her ankle in lazy circles. She pointed her foot downward and bounced her leg slowly. If Jack was one of them, she thought she would have his undivided attention by now.

Fighting the urge to look over, she focused her attention on the shoe in her lap. These were the some of the finest shoes she had ever owned. When she bought them, she had never purchased shoes from a web site before. On the Stuart Weitzman site, she had read that this model was called “Carol”, but she had always thought they should have a more exotic name. The 3-inch heel was high enough to be attractive, but still able to navigate airports and city streets. In her black pumps and a dark gray flannel skirt and jacket, she knew that she looked professional, but stylish enough for evening.

Nicole looked down at her exposed foot. Her arch was high and graceful, winding toward a narrow, perfectly rounded heel. Her toes were long and thin, nicely curved, with the second toe a millimeter longer than the first. Flexing her toes toward the ceiling, she thought that her feet were O.K., maybe even pretty, but could see nothing fascinating or sexy about them. What were they looking at, she wondered? It was all very strange. She watched her stocking shimmer as she pointed her toes downward, slowly curling and uncurling them. It was all very strange indeed. Still, she had to admit she was enjoying the sensation of commanding the attention of this stranger from across the room. Slowly, she rolled the top edge of the paper down ever so slightly, and glanced across at Jack. He did not look away this time, in fact, he hadn’t even noticed her looking at him. His gaze was riveted to her exposed stockinged foot. He was definitely one of them, she thought.

Nicole looked straight at Jack, put her shoe on, and raked her fingernails up the back of her calf, temporarily breaking the spell. Instinctively, Jack had looked up and she took the opportunity to offer him a friendly smile. Jack smiled back but quickly looked away, seeming somewhat flustered. This could take awhile, she thought, glad that the connecting flight was still over an hour away. She returned to the newspaper, and let her shoe slide nearly off, swinging the heel back and forth, side to side. She let the shoe fall to the terrazzo floor with a loud clack, then began aimlessly pushing it in circles, never quite getting it back onto her foot. She picked up the shoe with the tips of her toes and began to dangle it again, swinging it in a wide arc. Turning the page, she noticing an advertisement for a sporting goods store hawking fishing tackle. She glanced down at her swinging shoe, and imagined Jack with her heel stuck in the corner of his mouth like a hook. She was glad for the newspaper between them, knowing she was grinning like a mad woman, fighting not to laugh out loud at the cartoon in her head.

Fifty feet from where Jack was sitting, J.J.’s Shoeshine Stand was opening up for the day. A small sign on the side of the stand said one-hour repairs. Nicole stood and walked to the water fountain, then looked out the window. She threw the newspaper in the trash can approached the shoeshine stand. The operator was a friendly older man, and was anxious to have a customer so early. In a low voice she said, “Work with me here,” and gave the man a smile, a wink, and twenty dollars. Nicole took off her left shoe and in a louder voice she asked the man, “Do you think you can fix the heel of my shoe?” “I certainly can try!” the man said enthusiastically. “Take your time,” she said, again in a low whisper.

Nicole walked to a payphone and called her answering machine. She stood balanced on one shoe, leaning on the wall for balance, her silky toes an inch off the terrazzo floor. She saw Jack start to stand, but sit down again. She turned away from him and scribbled down numbers, knowing she was about to reel him in. She watched his reflection in the window as he approached the line of pay phones and discretely selected a phone that was two phones away. Nicole pretended not to notice him, stepping in and out of her remaining shoe, dropping it loudly on the floor several times. She waved her bare foot in the air as she watched him watching her. She knew that he could hear her when she told her answering machine that her shoe was being fixed, but that it may not be done in time to catch the flight.

“I hope I don’t have to go to L.A. in my stocking feet,” she said to the phone, sounding unconcerned. “The man says that I’ll have to let the epoxy set for several hours, so I’ll being doing the Cinderella thing until this afternoon at least. O.K then, I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, as the answering told her she had no more new messages in a mechanical voice. Nicole hung up the phone and walked in the direction of the seats where Jack had left his briefcase, selecting one that was four seats from his. She looked out the window as a nervous looking Jack returned from the pay phone.

When Jack was ten feet from her, she looked directly at him, knowing he could not avoid contact from so close. “Hello, Jack,” she said casually. “I’m Nicole Anderson, we met at a charity fund raiser last year.” Jack hesitated, but sat down next to her.

“I recognize you from the newspaper stories, especially with your one shoe” he said sheepishly. “When that Judge took your shoe in court, it was in every paper, and even made local TV.” They both laughed. It had started as an embarrassing incident, but she had won the case and gotten some great press for herself and her firm.

“This is the exact shoe I was wearing in court that day. The one being repaired is the one the Judge entered into evidence. I was sort of embarrassed at the time, but I think I won some sympathy from the Jury.”

“I thought the Judge was way out of line,” he said. Nicole noticed that they had both been looking at her feet as they talked. She had been looking at her shoe, remembering that day in court, but she was certain that he was staring at her naked foot. She kicked off her remaining shoe and stretched her legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Are you going to L.A. for the conference?” she asked, knowing that he was. He nodded and looked at his watch. “I am too,” she said. “If there aren’t too many people on this flight, we could sit together.”

“That would be great!” he said, sounding a little too enthusiastic, he thought.

Nicole looked toward the shoeshine stand but the man had not returned yet. “I hope my shoe is ready by the time they call boarding, or I’ll be going to the conference barefoot.” Jack smiled broadly and looked out the window, but resisted saying anything stupid.

“I think I’m going to get something to eat,” she said, putting her one shoe on, and standing. “I saw a café a few gates down. Care to join me?” Jack stood up and wished he could think of something interesting to say as they headed down the concourse together.

Sitting in the café, Jack told her that he was giving a speech at the conference, and they talked about mutual friends that would be there. Nicole dropped her shoe and put both feet up on the chair across from them. She watched the weather channel on TV as they talked, and he watched her feet whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. After 45 minutes of pleasant conversation, they headed back toward the gate. The flight attendants were starting to call the flight, and while Jack excused himself and went to the washroom, Nicole stopped by the shoeshine stand and retrieved her shoe.

Jerome Johnson, had worked this shoeshine stand for eight years, since he retired from the gas company. He liked meeting new people and talking about sports, weather, airlines, or any subject. He often got a tip of $5 or more on personality alone, because he knew people liked him. He had never gotten a $20 tip until this morning, when an attractive woman had given him her shoe and asked him to fix a heel that was not really broken. She had picked up the shoe an hour later, given him another $20, and instead of putting it on, taken off her other shoe, and put them both in her carryon bag. He had watched her board the plane in her stocking feet. The flight was to LAX he noticed, and thought that she must be one of those movie people. That probably explained it.

Jack walked past the seat number on his ticket and sat across the aisle from Nicole. She smiled as she briefly looked up from the file she was reading. The flight was only half full and there was no one else in sitting in the row. Looking over, without being too obvious he saw that she was still without her shoe, in fact, she didn’t appear to have either shoe. As the flight left the runway, Jack was completely mesmerized by the woman across the aisle. He had fantasized about her when he first read the news story about a Judge taking her shoe in court. He had replayed the videotape of her exquisite toes on the Eleven O’clock News a thousand times. When he first saw her in the airport two hours ago, he had hoped for any chance to see even the slightest dangle of a shoe. The last two hours had been beyond his wildest dreams.

Jack had always felt intimidated and awkward around attractive women, but with Nicole, he had felt somewhat at ease in talking to her. She seemed to enjoy talking with him, but it was the conversation of casual acquaintances, and they had mostly talked about business and law. Looking up from her feet, he saw she was sleeping. She was so beautiful, but seemingly unaware of it, so articulate but casually conversational. Striding through the concourse with her gleaming high heel and elegant stockinged foot, she had radiated a relaxed confidence that made her even more compelling. He had to know more about this lovely woman, and he promised himself that he would ask her for a date before the plane landed. Faltering, he reminded himself that he hadn’t been on a real date in nearly a year. Leaning back in his seat, he thought of holding her hand, and imagined kissing her face, stroking her hair. Returning his attention downward he thought a long time about caressing her legs and feet. She was so very exotic, yet somehow approachable, and he still had more than three hours to summon the courage to ask.