The Secret Life of Shoes
Sep. 11th, 2003 11:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionAs usual, a trek into Ray's mind is a terrifying and random expedition....
The Secret Life of Shoes
They were like herds of footwear, littering the African plain in their vast numbers: small shy ones, colorful spotted ones, ones with ugly hides, enormous ones intimidating smaller, weaker shoes. The lone hunter set out— um, —alone on his desperate hunt. Shit, but I hate shopping for shoes….
“Can I help you, sir?”
Ray looked up from the display of shoes to a vision in silk blazer and pressed slacks, topped off with a perfect face. Seeing Fraser all dolled up in the duds that Huey had supplied as the appropriate wardrobe for a salesman in an expensive imported men’s shoe store made Ray’s mouth go dry, and all thoughts wing off into the stratosphere.
“You were looking at the alligator shoes?” Fraser prompted. Shoes… right.
“Yeah, I need something in a dress shoe,” he said. That was the pre-arranged signal. “Not the alligators, though. An alligator bit my sister once.”
Amusement flickered across Fraser’s eyes. “Our hides only come from registered alligator ranches,” he said. “No wild crocodilians are endangered by our merchandise… but if you would prefer a less exotic leather, we have a wide selection of dress shoes over this way.”
Ray followed Fraser, trying to assume a lamblike demeanor. They had to wait now until Huey rang his beeper with the signal, at which point he and Fraser would charge into the receiving dock from within the store, while Huey and company brought the black and whites into the alleyway, boxing in the shipment of Italian shoes with cocaine in their hollowed-out heels.
“We have quite the selection here,” Fraser said, pointing to a row of nearly identical dress shoes, all arranged artistically on little platforms and stuff.
They really all did look alike to Ray, all brown and black, boring and corporate like they wanted to be anonymous. Protective camouflage, he thought. It used to be that Stella would pick shoes out for him. “I dunno,” he said. “What ones would you suggest?”
Fraser smiled. “Let’s try one of the top end ones, then,” he said, handing a shiny black leather shoe off one end to Ray, who turned it over in his hands while Fraser went on about how the leather was tanned, and how the cow had been named Daisy, had been massaged every day until she keeled over painlessly from natural causes with her weeping baby cows gathered around her… or something like that. Ray patiently waited for Fraser’s mouth to run down, while he allowed himself to be maneuvered into one of the cushy chairs. With shoes that ran $500 a pop, they should be very cushy indeed.
“I have to measure you now,” Fraser said, gracefully kneeling in front of him. “Would you remove your shoes?”
“Huh?” Ray said. “No need. I take an eleven. Have always taken an eleven.”
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “Lasts can vary considerably,” he said earnestly. “And your feet can change an entire size within a day. Also, physical changes can occur in the feet, such that—”
“Okay, okay,” Ray cut him off. Looking down at Fraser looking up at him was making him a little too hot for comfort. “Measure away.”
He toed his boots off and looked up to see that Fraser had pulled one of those metal measuring thingies from out of the middle of nowhere.
“If I may?” Fraser said. He gently slid the measurer in front of Ray’s chair, and captured Ray’s right foot around the heel. “If you’ll put your foot here,” he murmured. Fraser’s hands were warm, and the metal plate was very cold, even through the sock. It wasn’t strictly necessary, Ray was sure, to keep grasping his foot – it was as though Fraser held something precious that he didn’t want to give up.
“If you’ll just let me—”
Fraser moved the measuring nubs around so that they touched Ray’s big toe, and the side of his big toe joint, and the pinkie-toe joint on the other. “Ah,” Fraser added.
“Ah, what?” Ray said.
“Ten and a half,” Fraser said. “You have very long toes, and an ‘B’ width.”
“That’s crazy, I always take an eleven,” said Ray, feeling as though his masculinity were being doubted.
“That may be,” Fraser said. “Probably it’s easier to shove you into an eleven, but for a proper fit you need precision.” He smiled that totally winning smile that always made Ray melt. “I’ll bring an eleven, and a ten and a half out, and you can compare.” He lifted Ray’s foot off the plate – his hands lingering again, their warmth soaking into Ray’s flesh as though they were branding him, and stowed the measurer under a nearby chair.
“Sure, sure,” Ray said, feeling a little hypnotized. He was knew he was tempted to touch Fraser when he could, but being touched back was unfortunately rare… and it was probably good that it was. He watched Fraser thread his way through the chairs and displays, into the back rooms where presumably all the shoes lived their little shoe-y lives, like Charley the Tuna hoping to get put on somebody’s feet. David Attenborough probably had a whole documentary series about it, like The Secret Life of Shoes with amazing shots of shoes cavorting in the wild, hunting down herds of gazelles with their tongues hanging out….
“—Can I help you, sir?”
That brought Ray right back to the present. It was another one of the salesmen, a slim blond that Fraser had already cleared of being in the smuggling ring. “Um, no,” he said. “Fra – the guy – has gone to get me some shoes.” There were no shoes sitting on the floor – Fraser was too neat for that – so he had only his word that he wasn’t some bum off the street who was resting his feet.
“Ben’s helping you then?” He had an effeminate manner, which Fraser hadn’t mentioned – not that it was important to the case.
“’Ben’?” Ray said, before he thought better of it.
The salesman brightened up. “He’s quite a catch, isn’t he? If I wasn’t taken already I’d be all over him.”
“Yeah, well,” Ray said. He didn’t want to blow Frase’s cover here, he reminded himself.
“He seemed very into you,” the salesman said.
If only. Ray hoped he didn’t look too wistful. “I think he wanted to sell me some shoes,” he said.
Ray was saved from further questioning when Fraser emerged from the back room with a tower of shoe boxes in his arms. “Carson!” Fraser said. “This is Ray, he’s here to buy some dress shoes.”
Ray reflected that he was all too willing to hear possessiveness in Fraser’s voice. “So what did you get me, Ben?” he said. If the name was good enough for Carson, it was Ray’s by default. There must be like six shoeboxes that Fraser was putting down in front of him.
“I fetched the Bruno Maglis that we were looking at,” said Fraser, “but I took the liberty of bringing two pairs apiece from Cole Haan and Gardolino, which are styled nearly the same, but at a significantly lesser price.”
“Oh, Ben,” Carson-the-other-shoe-guy said. “You’re never going to make your bonus this way.”
Fraser looked up from unboxing several sleek-looking shoes in front of Ray. “Better I sell the customer a shoe he can afford than no very expensive shoes at all.”
“Which ones are the hideously expensive ones?” Ray said. “I might as well start with the Cadillacs and work my way down to the Chevettes.”
“Surely the mid-priced Saturns will suit your needs admirably,” said Fraser.
Ray grinned.
“Well, I can see you’re being served,” said the other shoe guy and wafted away. Ray watched him go without any regret at all.
Fraser gave Ray an inquisitive look.
“I think he was kind of matchmaking,” Ray said, slightly embarrassed. “I guess he got the ri — wrong idea.” Ray blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that. “You know what I mean,” he said. He felt like kicking himself in the head.
“Do I?” said Fraser. “Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all, Ray.”
Oh, let’s not go there. “Shoes, Fraser.” Better to go back to the more impersonal name.
“Of course,” Fraser said. “We can start with the Bruno Maglis in ten and a half.” Instead of dumping the shoes on the floor so that Ray could slip them, Fraser gently caught Ray’s right ankle and lifted his foot up with his left hand, while the other brought the selected shoe up so that he slipped it on for his customer. Fraser’s hands were nicely warm, and Ray had to remind himself quickly to shut his mouth.
“So… how does that feel?” Fraser said. His face was as blank as when he stood guard outside the Consulate, but there was something knowing in his eyes. His hand was still loosely holding Ray’s ankle, warm and inviting, like it might want to touch other pieces of him.
Ray stared into Fraser’s eyes, unable to think of an answer that wouldn’t incriminate him… when his beeper went off. “’Scuse me,” he said, fumbling in his pocket as Fraser released him. The text message was from Huey, and just said “GO.” “That’s our cue, Fraser, let’s go,” Ray said, jumping to his feet.
“You forgot your shoe, Ray!” Fraser said, but Ray was already halfway to the back of the store. Fraser snatched up the other shoe and took it with him. Sooner or later, Ray would need a matching pair.
The Secret Life of Shoes
They were like herds of footwear, littering the African plain in their vast numbers: small shy ones, colorful spotted ones, ones with ugly hides, enormous ones intimidating smaller, weaker shoes. The lone hunter set out— um, —alone on his desperate hunt. Shit, but I hate shopping for shoes….
“Can I help you, sir?”
Ray looked up from the display of shoes to a vision in silk blazer and pressed slacks, topped off with a perfect face. Seeing Fraser all dolled up in the duds that Huey had supplied as the appropriate wardrobe for a salesman in an expensive imported men’s shoe store made Ray’s mouth go dry, and all thoughts wing off into the stratosphere.
“You were looking at the alligator shoes?” Fraser prompted. Shoes… right.
“Yeah, I need something in a dress shoe,” he said. That was the pre-arranged signal. “Not the alligators, though. An alligator bit my sister once.”
Amusement flickered across Fraser’s eyes. “Our hides only come from registered alligator ranches,” he said. “No wild crocodilians are endangered by our merchandise… but if you would prefer a less exotic leather, we have a wide selection of dress shoes over this way.”
Ray followed Fraser, trying to assume a lamblike demeanor. They had to wait now until Huey rang his beeper with the signal, at which point he and Fraser would charge into the receiving dock from within the store, while Huey and company brought the black and whites into the alleyway, boxing in the shipment of Italian shoes with cocaine in their hollowed-out heels.
“We have quite the selection here,” Fraser said, pointing to a row of nearly identical dress shoes, all arranged artistically on little platforms and stuff.
They really all did look alike to Ray, all brown and black, boring and corporate like they wanted to be anonymous. Protective camouflage, he thought. It used to be that Stella would pick shoes out for him. “I dunno,” he said. “What ones would you suggest?”
Fraser smiled. “Let’s try one of the top end ones, then,” he said, handing a shiny black leather shoe off one end to Ray, who turned it over in his hands while Fraser went on about how the leather was tanned, and how the cow had been named Daisy, had been massaged every day until she keeled over painlessly from natural causes with her weeping baby cows gathered around her… or something like that. Ray patiently waited for Fraser’s mouth to run down, while he allowed himself to be maneuvered into one of the cushy chairs. With shoes that ran $500 a pop, they should be very cushy indeed.
“I have to measure you now,” Fraser said, gracefully kneeling in front of him. “Would you remove your shoes?”
“Huh?” Ray said. “No need. I take an eleven. Have always taken an eleven.”
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “Lasts can vary considerably,” he said earnestly. “And your feet can change an entire size within a day. Also, physical changes can occur in the feet, such that—”
“Okay, okay,” Ray cut him off. Looking down at Fraser looking up at him was making him a little too hot for comfort. “Measure away.”
He toed his boots off and looked up to see that Fraser had pulled one of those metal measuring thingies from out of the middle of nowhere.
“If I may?” Fraser said. He gently slid the measurer in front of Ray’s chair, and captured Ray’s right foot around the heel. “If you’ll put your foot here,” he murmured. Fraser’s hands were warm, and the metal plate was very cold, even through the sock. It wasn’t strictly necessary, Ray was sure, to keep grasping his foot – it was as though Fraser held something precious that he didn’t want to give up.
“If you’ll just let me—”
Fraser moved the measuring nubs around so that they touched Ray’s big toe, and the side of his big toe joint, and the pinkie-toe joint on the other. “Ah,” Fraser added.
“Ah, what?” Ray said.
“Ten and a half,” Fraser said. “You have very long toes, and an ‘B’ width.”
“That’s crazy, I always take an eleven,” said Ray, feeling as though his masculinity were being doubted.
“That may be,” Fraser said. “Probably it’s easier to shove you into an eleven, but for a proper fit you need precision.” He smiled that totally winning smile that always made Ray melt. “I’ll bring an eleven, and a ten and a half out, and you can compare.” He lifted Ray’s foot off the plate – his hands lingering again, their warmth soaking into Ray’s flesh as though they were branding him, and stowed the measurer under a nearby chair.
“Sure, sure,” Ray said, feeling a little hypnotized. He was knew he was tempted to touch Fraser when he could, but being touched back was unfortunately rare… and it was probably good that it was. He watched Fraser thread his way through the chairs and displays, into the back rooms where presumably all the shoes lived their little shoe-y lives, like Charley the Tuna hoping to get put on somebody’s feet. David Attenborough probably had a whole documentary series about it, like The Secret Life of Shoes with amazing shots of shoes cavorting in the wild, hunting down herds of gazelles with their tongues hanging out….
“—Can I help you, sir?”
That brought Ray right back to the present. It was another one of the salesmen, a slim blond that Fraser had already cleared of being in the smuggling ring. “Um, no,” he said. “Fra – the guy – has gone to get me some shoes.” There were no shoes sitting on the floor – Fraser was too neat for that – so he had only his word that he wasn’t some bum off the street who was resting his feet.
“Ben’s helping you then?” He had an effeminate manner, which Fraser hadn’t mentioned – not that it was important to the case.
“’Ben’?” Ray said, before he thought better of it.
The salesman brightened up. “He’s quite a catch, isn’t he? If I wasn’t taken already I’d be all over him.”
“Yeah, well,” Ray said. He didn’t want to blow Frase’s cover here, he reminded himself.
“He seemed very into you,” the salesman said.
If only. Ray hoped he didn’t look too wistful. “I think he wanted to sell me some shoes,” he said.
Ray was saved from further questioning when Fraser emerged from the back room with a tower of shoe boxes in his arms. “Carson!” Fraser said. “This is Ray, he’s here to buy some dress shoes.”
Ray reflected that he was all too willing to hear possessiveness in Fraser’s voice. “So what did you get me, Ben?” he said. If the name was good enough for Carson, it was Ray’s by default. There must be like six shoeboxes that Fraser was putting down in front of him.
“I fetched the Bruno Maglis that we were looking at,” said Fraser, “but I took the liberty of bringing two pairs apiece from Cole Haan and Gardolino, which are styled nearly the same, but at a significantly lesser price.”
“Oh, Ben,” Carson-the-other-shoe-guy said. “You’re never going to make your bonus this way.”
Fraser looked up from unboxing several sleek-looking shoes in front of Ray. “Better I sell the customer a shoe he can afford than no very expensive shoes at all.”
“Which ones are the hideously expensive ones?” Ray said. “I might as well start with the Cadillacs and work my way down to the Chevettes.”
“Surely the mid-priced Saturns will suit your needs admirably,” said Fraser.
Ray grinned.
“Well, I can see you’re being served,” said the other shoe guy and wafted away. Ray watched him go without any regret at all.
Fraser gave Ray an inquisitive look.
“I think he was kind of matchmaking,” Ray said, slightly embarrassed. “I guess he got the ri — wrong idea.” Ray blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that. “You know what I mean,” he said. He felt like kicking himself in the head.
“Do I?” said Fraser. “Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all, Ray.”
Oh, let’s not go there. “Shoes, Fraser.” Better to go back to the more impersonal name.
“Of course,” Fraser said. “We can start with the Bruno Maglis in ten and a half.” Instead of dumping the shoes on the floor so that Ray could slip them, Fraser gently caught Ray’s right ankle and lifted his foot up with his left hand, while the other brought the selected shoe up so that he slipped it on for his customer. Fraser’s hands were nicely warm, and Ray had to remind himself quickly to shut his mouth.
“So… how does that feel?” Fraser said. His face was as blank as when he stood guard outside the Consulate, but there was something knowing in his eyes. His hand was still loosely holding Ray’s ankle, warm and inviting, like it might want to touch other pieces of him.
Ray stared into Fraser’s eyes, unable to think of an answer that wouldn’t incriminate him… when his beeper went off. “’Scuse me,” he said, fumbling in his pocket as Fraser released him. The text message was from Huey, and just said “GO.” “That’s our cue, Fraser, let’s go,” Ray said, jumping to his feet.
“You forgot your shoe, Ray!” Fraser said, but Ray was already halfway to the back of the store. Fraser snatched up the other shoe and took it with him. Sooner or later, Ray would need a matching pair.
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 03:25 am (UTC)ROTFLMAO! Oh, this is classic; I'm dying laughing! Great story - wonderful Ray, hot sly Fraser, and herds of shoes, too ... but it cries for a sequel ....
::begs shamelessly::
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 03:31 am (UTC)And I love the fact that you fit Carson from Queer Eye into the story. The man definitely has a thing for shoes.
busted!
Date: 2003-09-12 11:19 am (UTC)So glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 10:53 am (UTC)eee!
Date: 2003-09-12 11:27 am (UTC)::thinking hard::
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 11:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 03:27 am (UTC)...do they pay for Ray's new shoe later? =)
thanks!
Date: 2003-09-12 11:16 am (UTC)Yes, I do think out these things way too elaborately, why do you ask? :-)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 03:32 am (UTC)--"Well, fellas, today's straight guy is a Chicago cop who really needs to un-scruff himself to get the girl of his dreams. His name's Ray."
--"'Ray?' Hmm. Rhymes with "gay."
--"Oh, Carson, you are baaaad!"
--"Jeez,look at his hair, Kyan!"
--"Ouch. Doesn't he know Dippity-Do is a 'don't?'"
--"Wait -- wait. Hold on guys..."
--"What's wrong, Jai?"
--"Umm, what kind of girly name is 'Benton?'"
--"Who's 'Benton?'"
--"The, um, girl of his dreams."
--"Huh, I think not!"
--"Oh, no. Oh noooo! It can't be."
--"I'm afraid so. It seems Ray's setting back the image of gays at least a decade."
--"All right, then! It's 'Queer Eye for the Queer Guy, then, queers!"
--"Right! And, Thom? Step on it!"
totally busted!
Date: 2003-09-12 11:34 am (UTC)I'd so pay good money to see Queer Eye for the Queer Guy with Ray as the subject. (Hmmm... better yet, Frannie sets up Ray to be the object of their intervention, and the Fab 5 immediately discern the real situation as there's this Mountie that keeps hanging around... and decide to facilitate moving the relationship to the next level.)
::quickly beats plot bunny to death with a Bruno Magli::
Re: totally busted!
Date: 2003-09-12 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 05:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 03:48 am (UTC)so glad!
Date: 2003-09-12 11:40 am (UTC)All that sole-ful business ;)
Date: 2003-09-12 03:56 am (UTC)This was great - very cleverly worded! ^_^
Re: All that sole-ful business ;)
Date: 2003-09-12 12:22 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked the story!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 05:20 am (UTC)I also think that your intro line - As usual, a trek into Ray's mind is a terrifying and random expedition.... - should be the subtitle. *g*
no subject
Date: 2003-09-13 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 09:59 am (UTC)Wonderful. :)
-mercy
so glad!
Date: 2003-09-13 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 10:26 am (UTC):-)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 11:15 am (UTC)Sorry, I just came back from my happy place. The, um, story ... yeah, the story, right. Very nice. And I must agree that the thought of Fraser in that particular position is quite ... captivating. There's just something so intimate about it ...
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 01:23 pm (UTC)Oh and your plot RABBIT should not be beaten to death with a shoe! It should be allowed to roam free.... after you finish the body switching story. *snicker*
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 01:32 pm (UTC)Oh, this is a delight! And I not only want a sequel, I'd like a whole novel of these guys!
(And I apologize for the massive over-use of exclamation points!)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 10:34 pm (UTC)Wild shoes . . . wild Rays . . . touchy-feely Frasers . . .
::prostrates myself:: Puleeeeze, more?
no subject
Date: 2003-09-13 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-19 09:19 am (UTC)Yeah, this is what made the story for me.