A Shiny Prospect
by Miss Verity
I'll never
forget the shiny shoes at the edge of the
dancefloor as I shimmied and swayed to the music.
The man's deadpan features were immune to the
beat, his body still.
A few brandy and Babychams had loosened my
inhibitions. I moved in closer, my kitten heels
nearing his dress shoes. I gestured for him to
dance with me.
When the pop faded into Lady in Red, he rose and
put his hands around my waist. The tunes played
on and on and he held me until midnight, his
attention elsewhere.
We exchanged phone numbers and he whispered his
name, Dave. I asked him why his shoes were so
shiny.
“I like them like that,” he said.
Dave and his shiny shoes took me to dinner; they
escorted me to the theatre and strolled beside me
at the park. My boots muddied and Dave's shiny
shoes shined.
Autumn chilled to winter and one afternoon over
coffee he put down his cup and made an
announcement.
“I've decided not to marry you. I've found
someone else. She wears patent Mary Janes.”
I laughed and looked down at the damp stains on
my boots. “I never thought we were a match.”
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