*I*
All that glamorous music and expensive furniture under that crystal light of the central hotel of the Darling Bay used to entrap all those people in heels and suits. They have such lovely smiles - and such honest eyes - but let me tell you what those are brilliant for:
Lies.
The ordinary ones and the ones everyone knows.
This is the world of pretensions, of sacrifices, of untruthful words. We become each other’s bargaining pieces for every value our flesh could offer. It was a battlefield for the most ambitious, those with the most unrelenting fire within them, and my Lindy was one of them.
I find most social occasions to be acceptable but not preferred. I followed a sequence. After arrival, one begins to greet one’s correspondent, make some light talks – “Yes, of course, this is what our department is working on … you look fabulous … congratulations on your daughter’s marriage …” and float away from them with equal amiability.
I went past Lindy, nodding her head at some person’s words, her impeccable figure and smile seem completely unaffected by the intense conditioning inside, while even a turtlenecked, long-sleeved wool dress couldn’t stop the chill creeping up my spine. I signalled to her my exit to the restroom.
**II**
“And that’s what Ollie and Jenne are deciding this June. About time you know,” said Maira, one of the secretaries clipping her lashes. The rest of them chuckled, exclaimed, congratulated, bewildered. I slip into them without even a stir.
“Speaking of admirers, Ciana has completely washed clean of him. I mean, she’s got to; that guy was shallow, shady, and don’t even get me started on that utterly incomprehensible ego of his! Our ancestors evolved and left him behind,” Donna wrinkles her nose. She now harnesses an intense disdain of him, she’s one of the younger ones that was hired with and worked along with Jenne.
And the water boiled - “Of course! Jenne hated him as much as she loved that junior girl of hers … the audacity of the man to think Ciana would hide for him … he blamed the little junior! That would have destroyed any ounce of respect for beings like him.” – their voices clamoured and vibrated through the fragrant airs of the women’s room.
“And Lindy! Does she even have a heart? How could she just watch and not even tell Jenne?” Donna continued, deferring toward Faye, an old colleague of Lindy.
Everyone knows the rivalry between them, they matched each other’s step in this powerful waltz, faster and ever more perfect with building stakes.
“If it was me, I would have taken down my heels and let it kiss that rude face of his,” scoffed Faye, her voice slow, with a low, venomous rasp.
“That’s why she deserves a promotion. Best not to mingle with us ordinary folks anymore, ha!” The women snickered, leaning onto each other like vines twisting on branches.
The night was long, and one dreamt of love and laughter long ago; the angle of their mouth quirking up, the hymn of their voices in blurred memories, mild eyes of the same soulful deep of Joyce’s Eveline looking back …. Or was it?
***III***
“Fuck!” Lindy swore, as she took another unsteady step up with one hand leaning on my arm, “I swear you can’t look fucking presentable without walking on those toothpicks. Think about it, those heels would destroy Achilles even if he has a goddess mother.”
Her voices mingled with the beating of heels against the walkway, the sweaty breaths and the rough jingle of metal keys stabbed into our lock.
On entering, she kicked away her heels as I put away my flats.
“Just leave it,” she says, dragging me with her to the sofa and together we sink onto the cushions in the dark, our limbs entwined around each other.
Lindy begins with the light tone reserved for conversations between us.
“You know what it’s going to do to me? Those heels? The pressure’s going to build up on my knees, I feel like Cinderella’s stepsisters, like I am breaking my bones to fit into those things, and my ankle! It never lets me forget how I broke it.”
Her voice fell a little, like secret-tellers. I rested my head on her shoulder, and she brought my finger to her lips, kissing them tenderly.
“And now? Those heels are killing me, Jess,” Lindy said softly, like a lost child speaking to herself, and she repeated, surprising herself with her certainty, “It’s killing me.”
She looked at me under the broken moon, the waters and the winds of Darling Bay whispers into our room, remembering the rhythmic clicking of heels, elegant, and austere like the hitting of bells by temple monks.
We are no Achilles.
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