The Spiked Heel

“Forty-two dollars, tops,” Aaron said. “And why? Griff, we’re saving piles of dough on this shoe. It’s a shell pump, so we can cut smaller vamps and quarters, and with those small alligator lizard skins that’s important. It means we can get more shoes from a single skin than if this were a regular pump, and all because of that throat. The heel is slender and long, and if we cut this bitch right, we can get our heel coverings from the skin left over from the low-throat pattern. And look at it, Griff! Now, isn’t it a beautiful shoe? Oh, Jesus, isn’t it a honey?”

“It’s something, Aaron,” Griff said, feeling more than he could express. “It’s really something, believe me.”

“Where’s Marge? I want her to try this on. You’ll see then, Griff.”

“I see now,” Griff said honestly. “Is it her size?”

“Four-B,” Aaron said. “Hell, you know she’s got a model’s foot.” He looked toward the door. “Where the hell is she?”

“Probably in the john.”

“Look, Griff, would you buy this shoe? If you saw this shoe for thirty-seven fifty, alligator lizard, mind you, with those god-damn pure lines, would you buy it? Tell me the God’s honest truth, if you were a woman wouldn’t you sell your husband to buy this shoe?”

“I’d sell my mother,” Griff said, smiling.

Marge came in, putting her purse down on her desk, and then walking over to where the shoe caught the sunlight.

“Do you like it?” Aaron asked, beaming.

“Do I like it? Aaron, it’s beautiful!”

“Thirty-seven fifty retail,” Aaron said.

“No!”

“Yes, yes.”

“Try it on, Marge,” Griff said.

“Oh, could I?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” Aaron answered.

“To hear him talk,” Griff said, “you’d think he designed the damn thing.”

“I love that shoe,” Aaron said. “Oh, I love that bitch.”

Marge sat down and crossed her legs, pulling her skirt up over her knees, smoothing her nylon, and then taking off her shoe. Griff picked up the pump tenderly, cradling it in one hand.

“Milady,” he said, bending down and taking Marge’s foot. Aaron handed him a shoehorn, and Griff slipped the shoe onto Marge’s foot and then backed away.

“Can I stand on it?” she asked.

“I don’t want to scuff the sole,” Aaron said. “Here, just a minute.” He spread his handkerchief on the floor. “All right, go ahead.”

Marge stood, placing the sole of her foot on the handkerchief. Gracefully, she smoothed her skirts back against her right leg, in a shoe model’s pose, taking a short step backwards with the other foot, showing the full curve of her leg, the pump hugging her foot, the low throat scooping down to reveal the beginnings of her toes.

“What a shoe!” Griff said.

“What legs!” Aaron said, clucking appreciatively.

“Oh, now hush,” Marge said. “Oh, isn’t it beautiful! I don’t think we’ve ever had a shoe like this one. I adore it.” Her eyes flared. “Griff, can we get a pair for me at cost?”

“Well…”

They heard the footsteps hurrying down the corridor, and then they heard the voice.

“Griff!”

Griff whirled instantly. Sven Jored, supervisor of the Cutting Room, rushed through the doorway, stared excitedly around the office for a moment, and then ran over to where they were standing. He was a big man with ash-blond hair and blue-eyes, his sleeves rolled up over bulging muscles, his shop apron stained with sweat.

“Griff,” he said urgently.

“What is it, Sven?”

“Downstairs,” Jored said, and then stopped to catch his breath. “Charlie Fields… your friend… the kid…”

“What about him?”

“Griff, the whole floor is in an uproar. I swear to God, I don’t know what got into them, but he likes you, Griff, I thought you could…”

“What the hell is it, Sven? Spit it out!”

“Charlie and Steve… they’re both apprentice cutters, you know that… work side by side… Griff…” He gulped more air into his lungs. “I don’t know how it happened… first time anything like this on my floor… the runner says Steve got sore because Charlie was getting the stuff that paid more per piece, but how was the kid to know, he just got the fabrics and dumped them, didn’t he? But Steve got sore, that’s what they tell me, and he started riding Charlie, and you know Charlie, Griff, he’s got a bad temper, so he told Steve to shut the hell up and mind his own business. Griff, we’ve all been on edge, this crap about no more overtime, that hurts a man, Griff, they’re all trying to get the cream jobs now, the stuff that pays off.”

“What happened, Sven?”