Free Rita Hayworth's Shoes by Francine LaSala Page A

on.
    â€œGive me your address. I’ll pick you up on Friday at eight?” he said.
    Now Zoë and Ava had joined them and they were all nodding so wildly, she thought their heads might pop off at any moment if they kept it up any longer. (In fact, Zoë did nod her bunny ears right off.) So she turned back to Brendan. “Sure,” she smiled, and reached into her bag, where she rifled around a while for something she couldn’t find because, as usual, it wasn’t there. “You have a pen?”

    ##

    Very full and slightly drunk, Amy took the long way home so she could pass Smitty’s. The shoes were still in the window, majestic on their velvet pedestal, though the eight-track player and the video game had now been replaced by an aquarium with a crack in the frame and an ancient Mr. Coffee, respectively. She didn’t see the shopkeeper watching her from inside as she paused before them.
    Sure enough, the feeling was still there. It burned and gushed and tingled within her when she looked at the shoes. It was a feeling of euphoria. Of magic. Of falling in love, but more special somehow. More pure. She leaned in hoping the price had changed, but it hadn’t. She stood a while longer, admiring, contemplating. And then she walked on, never noticing the other woman’s eyes on her, or the shock of coarse, tangled, reddish-silver hair that had escaped the kerchief the shopkeeper wore.

6. How Amy Got a Surprising New Boss

    As she cleaned out his office after the weekend, Amy wondered what had happened to all the so-called loved ones who had attended Heimlich’s wake and funeral. Not a single soul had volunteered to come in and sort through his personal effects. Perhaps it was all part of an elaborate penance devised for her, she reasoned, as she trudged through mountains of files and books, a lifetime of literature lessons.
    Well, if it was a penance, she was glad for it. As she opened each file and read the scrawled, sometimes scathing notes he made about his students, their papers, even the works of some authors she admired and cherished, she felt a small pang of relief that Heimlich wouldn’t be scrawling notes anymore. With each file she tossed, the weight of Heimlich’s death seemed to lighten for her. And when she found her last employment review, in which he referred to her as “overqualified,” “scattered,” and “underachieving,” with one “well-meaning”, a couple of “earnests”, and even a random “cute” thrown in for no good reason, she felt the smallest pang of remorse that she hadn’t played a more active role in his demise.
    She was just topping off another blue recycling bin when Hannah barged in. “This looks like fun,” she said, pushing a stack of books aside to sit on a corner of Heimlich’s desk.
    â€œSomeone has to do it.”
    â€œI guess you’re right.” Hannah said. For a second Amy thought Hannah might have come to help, but Hannah continued to sit and watch as Amy pulled open another drawer and began sifting through its contents.
    Hannah’s hovering presence soon became irritating and Amy looked up at her. “Do you need something?”
    â€œI was just wondering, um, what was the name of the tour company your parents went to the rain forest with?”
    â€œYou mean Jungle Jimmy’s? Why?”
    â€œNo reason. Just making conversation.”
    â€œHuh,” said Amy, and she went back to her task. Hannah didn’t leave.
    â€œSo you wouldn’t happen to know where they were located or anything? You know, like in Brazil, or in—”
    â€œUh, I don’t think so.”
    â€œNo, I don’t suppose you would.” Hannah continued to sit at on the edge of the desk, now swinging her legs back and forth, kicking the side of the desk every few seconds or so. Amy tried to ignore her.  “So…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI found out