The Spiked Heel

“…can build a window around a shoe like that. Mr. Griffin, I don’t know how much you know about the retail end. But window dressing is a very important part of our business. I wouldn’t trade one good window dresser for half a dozen equally good salesmen; now, what do you think of that?”

“I see what you mean,” Griff said. He looked over to where the redheaded model had just left Manelli and Cara. He had not expected to see Cara at the showings, but he supposed Manelli added a little more self-importance to his comptroller title by lugging along his secretary. He was not disappointed to find her there. He was, in fact, somewhat happy about it. He had not mustered the courage to ask her out a second time, and this chance meeting at a social gathering was just what he needed to help him over the hurdle. And she looked rather nice, he admitted, much better than she had that night he’d taken her out. She was wearing a low-cut green thing, and he realized abruptly that she owned a very good figure, and he was somewhat startled by the realization. She was also wearing a Julien Kahn sling number, with a rhinestone buckle. Well, hell, there wasn’t a woman in sight who wasn’t wearing a pair of Kahn shoes.

“…dress the window just right, the good numbers in a prominent spot. Sometimes, we can use a fantastic number, something we know won’t sell too hot, but something that will attract customers to the window. Like that seal-strip job you folks put out last year, that was a good eye-catcher, even if it didn’t sell so hot, do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Griff said. “Say…” He feigned surprise. “Oh, excuse me, I just saw someone I haven’t seen in ages. I wonder if you’d mind…”

“Not at all, Mr. Griffin, not at all. You fellows turn out a good Scotch and soda, you know? Say, there’s a name for a shoe, huh? Think I’ll get a refill. Go ahead, don’t let…”

The model was a tall blonde with a monumental pair of breasts. Aaron had come into the room to get the extra package of cigarettes in his coat pocket, expecting the room to be empty, surprised when he found the model there. She turned when he came in, and then she said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. He looked at her quizzically. “Is it all right to come in?”

“Sure,” she said. She was wearing a black cocktail dress, and her breasts damn near spilled out the front of it.

“I just want a package of cigarettes,” he said.

“And I just want to fix my bra,” she answered.

“Huh?”

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you a big bust is an asset,” the blonde said thickly. “It ain’t, my friend, it damn well ain’t.”

“Well,” Aaron smiled. “Tell you the truth, I never had the problem myself.”

“You’re lucky,” she said. He could see now that she was quite looped. She wobbled unsteadily, her hands behind her back as she struggled with the strap of her brassiere. He went to the bed and tried to locate his coat.

“Could you help me?” she asked.

He turned. “What?”

“Could you give me a hand here? I’d ask one of the girls, but I’m afraid I’ll pop out if I take another step.”

“Well, well sure,” Aaron said.

“I just want you to pull the strap up higher on my back, tha’s all,” the blonde said.

“Sure,” Aaron replied, walking over to her.

The blonde turned. The zipper at the back of her dress was opened in a wide V.

“Did you make these shoes?” she asked.

“He glanced down at the black suede cocktail pump. “Yes,” he said.

“They pinch my feet,” the blonde said. “Pull up the strap, will you?” She paused. “Mister, I feel like Atlas with a double burden.”

McQuade held out the martini glass, smiling. Marge took it and then shook her head. “This is my third,” she said.

“Martinis are good for you,” McQuade said. “They make your legs strong.”

“My legs are strong enough,” she said. There was a high flush on her face, a flush of mixed excitement and triumph. She had never known she could be so happy. The buyers had actually applauded when she’d flattened her skirt against her legs to show the shell pump. She knew they were applauding the shoe, but she couldn’t help feeling they were also applauding her legs just a little bit. Oh, it had been a marvelous feeling, truly marvelous. And now this party, it was all so wonderful, like really being a part of things, like really being a part of the company, and not just another cog stuck away someplace.

And she was not as frightened any more. A little bit, yes, but she was sure now that McQuade was nothing to be afraid of, well, almost sure, anyway, and besides there were a lot of people here, and how could anything happen with all these people around?

“Drink up,” McQuade said.

She sipped at the drink. It was very smooth, and she enjoyed the sting of it against her tongue, a smooth sting, like a kiss from a cobra. My God! Where did that come from, I must be getting a little high.

“So how did you like it?” McQuade asked. He was sitting on the arm of her chair now, his own arm resting across the back.

“The modeling?” Marge leaned her head back. “It was wonderful.”

“And are you happy?”

“I’m very happy.”