Nadine wore conservative colors like a mask. Thought her neutrality was chic and always said, "classic is forever," so when Lucy reached for the red stilettos at Macy's that afternoon, Nadine was horrified.
"Oh my God, these are amazing!" said Lucy, turning the shoe between her hands, the slender metal heel glinting like an ice pick.
Nadine frowned. "Only children and whores wear red shoes. Wouldn't catch me dead in those."
"I'm getting them," said Lucy.
They left shortly after, Lucy with her new red shoes, Nadine with
a pair of plain black flats. At home Nadine placed her sensible new flats in the hall closet, next to the sensible Brikenstocks, and the sensible Klogs, and the sensible Crocs.
That month Nadine had several opportunities to ventured out with Lucy and her amazing red shoes. Somehow Lucy was never alone, never without a drink, never left standing awkwardly in the corner forced to hug herself with her own skinny arms because no one else would. The last thing Nadine saw at the end of each night was Lucy's slut red shoes clicking down the pavement next to a pair of smart black wingtips.
In the break room on Monday, after another weekend alone, Nadine found a mail order catalogue next to the microwave. She flicked though while she waited for her coffee to heat up. A flash of red caught her eye and she stopped. There on the page were a pair of blood red Steve Madden pumps; predatory shoes full of scandalous desire. She thought of Lucy and her forget-me-not heels. When Nadine left the catalogue was nowhere to be seen.
Words: 272
Image courtesy of: 6lost6angel6-stock
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