Forty Days and Nights: Love Stories. 23. Boots

Here, she said, we have to be quick.
This is not going to work, he said, this is never going to work. Whatever it is you are doing is not going to work.
Yes, it is, she said, hurry. I promise you, I promise you. It will work. Hand me your pants.

The skinny blond one pulled her car over and hopped out. Oh, you guys, the skinny blond said, oh, you guys, are you guys all right?
Thank you, thank you so much for stopping, she said to the blond, I'm fine but my...my brother is hurt. He just went off into the gravel a little but--
Oh my gosh, the blond one said, I know! I've done the same thing and I got so messed up, it was unreal. Hey, let me give you guys a ride back. No, I want to. There's one of those insta-care places, and you can just put your bikes on the rack.
Oh, thank you, thank you so much, she said. He's really messed up, you can see he's really bad, I don't think he can even walk.
You shoved me, he whispered harshly into her ear as she helped him into the car, you nearly killed me and I will get you for it. Do not think I will not pay you back because I will if it is the last thing I do.
Shut it, she whispered back. Let me do this.
She put him in the backseat and herself in the front by the blond and they pulled onto the road. I love, love, love your boots, the blond said, were you riding in those?
Riding? In these? she asked.
Busted, he whispered. If you're so smart how come you bike in boots?
She ignored him. It was easy because he was impotent with agony. Yes, she said, biking. Yes. I was. I love them too, she purred, handmade in Italy for me. I wear them everywhere. Even biking.
They're yummy, the blond said. So, what were you doing?
Lies were told. Lots of long, elaborate lies.
Wait, the blond said, you're the guy who wrote those pieces on sustainable agriculture and co-dependent community living? That The Sun King ran? That's my dad's blog, the blond said excitedly, did you know?
No! Is it? she asked in innocent astonishment.
No! They did? he asked with barely concealed outrage. How the hell did they get there?
Someone must have submitted them, she said evenly, giving him a level stare over the back of the seat, that's how these things usually happen.
Yes, the blond said, nodding, that's always how it happens. I think.
You're totally right, she assured the blond, who grinned with amazing teeth and offered everyone gum.
I do not want my work there, he ground out whispered words through clenched teeth. That man is a lunatic. What the hell do you think you are doing?
That man, she whispered back fiercely, is king of a world food empire. When you marry his daughter, she glanced at the blond who had turned on the radio and was singing, you can save the world. Are you with me? Now shut it and let me work.
No, he said, no. I will not.
But she was purring away in the front seat and he was really hurting from the scrapes all down the left side of his body. Really hurting. He could barely hear her telling inspirational stories about his work reclaiming unused land and in year round container gardening. He needed to strangle her. He had dug up a fourth of the grass in his backyard and grown herbs on his windowsill. His work was theoretical, dammit. I'm swearing, he thought, feeling completely out of control. I have no idea what's going on here. I never swear. No, that's not true. I always swear with her. At her. He slipped into quick and vivid dreams of childhood entanglements that always had him swearing from start to finish. How did he let her get him into things? I'm gonna make something out of you, she always said. Somebody has to. She and the blond were tight as sisters now; he could hear the blond trilling about how impressed her dad was with his work, how her dad was looking for just such a visionary young man to really take off in his company. He looked up, stricken with horror at the thought of finding himself taking off in that company, and caught the blond turned right around to look him over, saw the blond linger on his chest and arms. Drive! he whispered and saw at the same time that she had the wheel so the blond could get her good look. He crossed his arms over his chest, too little too late. Give me your shirt, she had said not too long before she had knocked him off his bike and down an embankment, it will help. He had had no idea what she had meant. I'm going to have to actually make her dead, he thought in amazement. He decided to kill her right then rather than later. He reached for her neck, but he was feeling feverish now, it hurt to lift his arms. She saw him coming a mile away and evaded his grasp, feigning concern, leaning over to ask how he was holding up. She crossed her legs in those boots and smiled.
Almost there, she said.

In the emergency room he told the nurse who was murdering his whole body with antiseptic that he needed to talk to the girl who was waiting for him.
The nurse raised his eyebrows. The blond? the nurse asked, yeah, okay, and then muttered something almost unintelligible about needing to talk to her himself.
No, not her, feel free to talk to her, he said, I need the other one. The dark one in boots.
Oh, the nurse said, her. I'm not sure she's still here. I'll go check.
If she is gone, he thought, if she has left me, I will murder her twice.
But she had not yet gone. Found her, the nurse said, and just in time, she was on her way out.
Hey, she said, arms folded, face blank, told you it would work. I told you. Just play this right and you're king of the world. Your world, anyway. The part of the world you care about. Then you can do the big things you were born for. I'm gone. Got a lunch date, a concert after. She was out the door.
If you marry me, he said, I will take you to Italy next week and have a pair of boots made for you.
She stood, her back to him.
If you marry me I will have you on a plane to Italy as soon as I can walk from long term parking all the way through security.
She turned around. What? she said, you'll what?
If you marry me I will have a pair of boots for every day of the week made for you by the best craftsmen in...wherever the hell you got those boots.
Her face was white and still. Why, she said, why?
Because I love you, he told her, I thought you loved me. I thought you knew. You don't love me, do you? Do you? I thought you did. I thought that was why you worked so hard on me. I thought we'd marry each other when we got ready. I thought that right up until you threw me down the embankment. Now, now I want to know. Don't you love me? I always thought you did, he said sadly.
The embankment was an accident, she told him, I didn't know it was there.
You are most likely lying, he said. So, you don't love me? I love you, he said. Why did you try to kill me?
I love you, she said, I thought that was what you wanted.
To be dead? he asked, you thought what I wanted was to be dead because you love me?
I thought you wanted to be king of something, she said, and I knew you'd never get there alone. I just threw you at an important person. To get you what you want.
The nurse was standing with his back against the wall, an antiseptic pad in his hand and the other hand over his mouth. The nurse was crying and crying. You're what he wants, the nurse whispered to himself, but he was quiet and everyone had forgotten him.
Come here, Boots, he said.
No, she said, first I have to go get rid of a princess.
He held out his hands, so painfully.
No, she said, just a sec, let me go do this.
The nurse pushed him back down. Firmly. It's okay, the nurse said, she's coming right back. Give her a minute, she's having so much fun.


If you really read the fairy tales, you will observe that one idea runs from one end of them to the other--the idea that peace and happiness can only exist on some condition. This idea, which is the core of ethics, is the core of the nursery-tales.
-G. K. Chesterton, All Things Considered, 1908