Suede Heel Noir: Naughty In Stilettos

Suede Heel Noir: Naughty In Stilettos

     One rainy night she comes in a madras summer dress. I pick her up by the roadside where she hitchhikes on a lonely Louisiana highway in the sugar cane fields. “Hey, mister can you give me a lift?”
     “Hop on in. What brought you out in this kind of weather?”
     “Oh, my ex dropped me off by the side of the road.”
     “I could swear I know you from somewhere.”
     She replies, “No, but I sure wish I’d met you before that jerk of a guy I was with before. How come I never met a guy like you who is willing to give a girl, a total stranger, a ride in the rain? That is the mark of a true gentleman.”
     A cloud of birds takes flight overhead, an omen for either good or bad, which I cannot tell.
     “Mr. I must confess I have no place to crash tonight.”
     I notice a pentagram tattoo on her bicep and wonder what strange rituals she might have in store for tonight. We ascend a levee and descend into my front yard. My two-story house welcomes us with the comfort of a woman. We sit by the hearth and she dangles her heels in the firelight.
     “Hey Mr. I got these at the thrift store. My boyfriend was cheap but I wasn’t disappointed. You are the strong silent type but I need music as muddy as the bayou where Clifton cuts his teeth on our catfish cakewalk while we cut the rug among sugar-cane stalks until then the kitchen table will do.”
    I imagine myself to be a private investigator on a rainy evening in my office. This is a town where the shoeshine boy knows my name along with the cobbler. Though I am a stranger to all but a select circle including the newspaper delivery boy people somehow find me when the dark seams of their life fall apart.
     And so she bursts in with hair wild as Spanish moss after a tropic storm. Likewise her dress is soaked like a woman without an umbrella. And I wonder why a reputable lady would get caught in the rain without a parasol. Soon I find out.
     She is desperate for me to find her ex-boyfriend who left her by the side of the road while zooming off in the Ferrari she had cosigned for. So I take in her appearance and something clicks. I see the intelligence sparkling in her eyes. I know I can work with her. I keep a diary of my clients and this one will be: The Case of the Suede Stiletto Gumshoe.
     Her shoestrings are in need of lacing and tying and I also fasten the back of her dress whose pearl buttons complement her eyes and are a sign of her class which makes me wonder why her man would lavish his gal with haute couture and then introduce her to the wonderful world of thumbing a ride, unless she has a biscuit in the oven. She gives me her best lace and stiletto smile with words to bead her necklace of gratitude, “I just didn’t have the strength. You are a gentleman.”
     I say, “Well I don’t know how long I’ll be living at my place. But you’re welcome to be with me for the duration of my living there.”
     She asks, “Where are you headed? Can I go with you?”
     “Only if you tell me what that pentagram is for.”
     “Oh honey, when I got these shoes there was a note inside. It was an invitation to join a Coven with a phone number. At first I thought such a thing sounded crazy and these gals wouldn’t be my type. But I decided to try it.”
     “So what happened there?”
     “Well you know men get in touch with their masculinity by sitting in a circle and beating drums together. We women chant and read spell books to talk to Wiccan spirits. It is more like a club for women than any black magic society.”
     She sits on the bed we will share. “Boopsie boo, it has a nice bounce. We’ll be sleeping on a trampoline,” she lilts.
     I reply, “Tootsie-woo, it has good spring action. We’ll be sleeping on the equivalent of a waterbed.”  
     One night she reveals the true nature of how her relationship with her boyfriend ended. “My ex cheated on me with my best friend. I noticed they both didn’t answer their phones simultaneously. So I caught them at my girlfriend’s favorite coffee shop. I felt doubly betrayed by her and him. But I demur to speak of the in flagrante delicto which spoiled our love forever.”
     “Why are you ashamed to tell me?”
     Rowena says, “Not so much ashamed. But you may not have the knives and forks to properly dine on what I am offering. You may mistake it for the main course when in fact it is only a sweet dessert with a bitter aftertaste. If I feed you a sugar plum you will want the whole pie.”
     We kiss like squirrels storing acorns for the winter.
     Suddenly a party of women enters my bungalow. A woman says, “Hey dude, you need a road trip. We’re headed to Costa Rica with our wheels to take us there. Care to join us?”
     I say, “I am being introduced to the occult mysteries of the universe. I am afraid I’ll have to bow out. Besides, my shyness would pose an obstacle in a group setting.”
     My newfound woman friend replies, “If you don’t mind I’d like to help you get this place looking presentable. It could use a woman’s touch.”
     “Of course, I wouldn’t want to stay without you here. My heart would pine for you the whole time you’re gone.”
     “This is a woman’s way of saying you are my type. Nothing more committal at this point,” she says.
     I say, “They didn’t teach us the female language
in school.”  
     “Just kick off your shoes and kiss me. I’ll do the rest.”
     “I’ll take that kiss and offer you the dance we never got around to.”
     “Hey, I am just getting back to trusting men with you as the reason. So I’ll dance with you.”
     I say, “I think your heart is in it. And that is enough reason to bunk with you as any.”
     “I hope you can put up with my crying spells.
My eyes turn into chandeliers of tears when the music starts,” she says.
     I say, “Your eyes are Mirror Balls reflecting colors across the spectrum of your emotions.”
    She replies, “They reflect the rainbow in your smile.”
     “Well, when you touch me the lazars in my body beam heat into my flesh,” I say.
     “We sure are buttering each other up. Kiss me like you mean it,” she says.
     “Your tongue felt like a stick of butter when you kissed me.”
     She says, “Was I the real thing or margarine?”
     I reply, “You are genuine and authentic.”
     She says, “Isn’t it funny how we went from light devices to dairy products?”
     “But like the Bard said lovers and madmen are not so different or something like that. Did I give you the juju eyes from the get-go?”
     She replies, “You were patient as a hound dog expecting no more than scraps. I know you as more than a face in the crowd.”
     “I thought I recognized you.”
     “When I was passing through Mamou we shared a bottle of wine, maybe three at the raging rooster saloon. So I drank a few glasses while you had three flasks.”
     “So you got me drunk and had your way with me.”
     “No I swear on my Mama’s grave I never touched you in a Biblical way. I took you to a motel and undressed you. You are a fine specimen of manliness but somehow I controlled myself. I only looked like you were an art piece.”
     “But a living art.”
     “Yes, God’s own portrait of a man breathing for me alone.”
     “So the wine was the Lethe for me to forget.”
     “I swore to myself if I ever shared breathing space with you again I wouldn’t let you go. That is when we were mature enough to pluck the tomato from the vine of life. In case you are wondering you were a tomato with lots of green but more red.”
     I say, “Amazing how love can change one’s topic or plans. I thought I’d be sleeping to the chatter of howler monkeys this summer.”
     She replies, “You will have a monkey by autumn. I sure hope he doesn’t howl too much for you.”
     I say, “I never asked why your ex left you in the rain by the roadside. But now I have my answer.”
     “Are you ready to be a father?”
    “I have been saving up for a trip. Now it can go to his college fund when the time comes.”  
     She says, “What about the road trip?”
     I reply, “You are my Costa Rica.”