Christian Louboutin and the Commuter Train to Philly

The red bottom. The shiny red bottom. Karen can’t stop admiring her shoes, turning her foot this way and that, crossing and uncrossing her legs to see them glint in the glaring light of the train car. Sure they were way too expensive. But she had to. Especially after her boss, Caleb, in the Neiman Marcus shoe department, laughed when she asked him when they would go on sale. “Louboutins?” he snickered. “Honey if they went on sale they wouldn’t be Louboutins.” That nasal last syllable killed her. And Caleb wasn’t even his real name, just his Neiman Marcus shoe salesman name. But she saved and bought them with her employee discount. She wanted to mash Caleb’s foot with that exquisite heel – put a hole in his stupid Gucci loafers.

Karen is on her way to see Lana in Philly. She thinks Lana has exquisite taste, mostly because nothing Lana wears matches. And Lana lives in Philly. Karen wants to live in Philly in a gloriously overpainted apartment with oddly sequined throw pillows and cranky plumbing. Karen lives with her parents in Kirkwood, saving money to move. Which she just blew on shoes. But now she has leopard print spike heels with red soles that match absolutely nothing she is wearing. So she had to buy a half size larger. It’s all they had when she finally had the money but she didn’t dare wait. She’ll buy an insole later. For now, she’s riding the speed line into center city Philadelphia to have drinks with Lana and revel in her beautifully outrageous shoes. 

The train gets more crowded as it makes its way from the suburbs of southern Jersey, over the bridge and into the stop at 8^th and Market. A bicycle guy stands by the door, his bike partially obstructing the exit. A crush of people gets up to leave the train. The car lurches, pushing the waiting throng into her. When the door finally opens, Karen’s heel catches the bike wheel. As she exits the train, her shoe, her amazing, wickedly expensive shoe, slides off her foot as the crowd pushes her off the train. She stands there for a moment, bewildered. She has her ancient blue coat, her one and only pink pencil skirt, her imitation silk white blouse, her control top pantyhose. And one shoe. The train leaves the station.

Karen hobbles around in a circle for a second, looking for a quick resolution. Her shoeless foot touches something wet and she shudders. A ladder creeps up her stocking from her heel. She pulls out her phone and dials Lana but Lana never talks on the phone. She tries to compose a text. “I lost my shoe on the speed line!” The text looks silly. Karen feels tragic.

She runs crookedly up the stairs and tries to hail a cab. It’s rush hour and four million people are on the corner. The opportunity passes. She will not reach the next station in time. She tries walking, hoping to make it to the last stop at 16^th and Locust where the train cools its heels for 10 to 15 minutes before making the return trip. The 4-inch spike is killing her – even walking on tiptoe her nearly bare foot can’t even her gait. She stumbles like a drunk, blending perfectly into the mob on Market Street.

Her phone buzzes. Lana texted “WTF grrl? I’m waiting for you at the bar.” Karen stops short, causing a domino effect of hurrying people smacking into each other behind her. So annoying. “Grrl.” Yeesh. So, should she hobble over to the bar and drown her sorrows? Chase the shoe? She looks down at her singly shod foot. She grabs the remaining Louboutin off and sprints, her stockings sending runs up her legs like reckless caterpillars. The shoe is too big to fit into her tiny cross body purse so she stuffs the heel into her bra and runs, dodging pedestrians, the shoe like a leopard skinned alien bursting out of her chest. She looks up and mouths a silent “shit.” She’s only at tenth and the train is probably sitting at 16^th now. She looks at her watch. She maybe has eight or nine minutes to cover the ground, barefoot, shredded stockings flapping around her ankles.

Dylan! He tends bar at Fado right above the 16th station and he owes her since his bitch-faced pug bit her on her ass during, well, never mind. He always answers his phone like the dork he is. And he does, noisy yelling and clacking glasses in the background. She tries shouting her dilemma at him several times, the homeless guy on the corner laughing and snorting. “Go look for my shoe before the train leaves. Middle car. Now!” Dylan screams that he’s still at work and can’t leave. “I still have bite marks on my butt. Go!” The homeless guy gives her a thumbs up. She reaches up her skirt, shimmies out of her pantyhose and throws them at him. He beams.

She minces her way down the street, certain she will die from an infection or from pure disgust at whatever she is stepping on. “Just bury me in the damn shoes,” she thinks. “Or at least in one of them.” She descends into the station and spots Dylan but no train. He’s talking to an elderly Asian woman.

“Like that,” he says to her, pointing to Karen’s chest. “You saw that shoe?” Karen rushes up to them. 

“Oh yes,” the woman says. “On the seat. Pretty shoe. All alone.” She shrugs and wanders up the stairs. 

“Louboutins,” Dylan exclaims. “Classy.”

“How do you know what they are?”

“I’m not a Neanderthal.”

“So you know how expensive they are. What am I going to do?”

“Show me those bitemarks and I’ll run straight to Lindenwold and rescue your overpriced snooty-assed shoe.”

“Lindenwold!” Karen gasps. “The last station. Of course! I’ll have my dad drive there.” She looks at Dylan, standing there rubbing his hands on his apron. “Go back to work. Never say the word ‘ass’ in front of me again. And give me your socks.” 

Karen pulls out her phone and sees 16 angry messages from Lana. The last one says “Finally gave in to Remi” the fake French bartender at Graffiti. “I’d rather have sex with your f**ing shoes. I hate you.” Bouncing dots. Another message. “Dinner Saturday. You’re buying.” More dots. “Wear the shoes. Unless you lost them. How do you lose Louboutins?”

Karen’s father grunts into the phone. “What’s up Buttercup?”

“Listen carefully, Dad. I need a really big favor. Remember the shoes I bought?”

“Sure do, baby. Rolling my eyes over here. But your mom, she’s sitting here with some high heeled Christmas ornament she found. Paintin’ the bottoms with red nail polish for ya.”

“Ornament? It’s October. Never mind. Dad, I need you to drive over to the Lindenwold station and get on the middle car when it comes in.”

“Lindenwold? Didn’t you park at Kirkwood honey?

“Daddy, please listen. I lost one of my shoes… It fell off. On the train. It’s been about twenty minutes so it should be pulling into Lindenwold in a few minutes. If you leave now you might make it. Middle car. Run, Daddy, please!”

“But Sweetie I’m wearing my TV pants.”

Karen rubs her eyes. The vision of her father standing in the dingy train station in his frayed basketball shorts, black socks and sandals is disturbing. “That’s fine Daddy. Just hurry.” She looks down. Her skirt is filthy at the hem. Dylan’s socks are purple argyle. She sighs. “Not fashionista unmatched. Hobo unmatched.” The lights of an oncoming train gleam in the distance. She scans the seats and gets in the middle car. No shoe.

The tunnel, where her phone doesn’t work, feels endless. She stares at the screen until bars appear and she sees a text from her father. “Bringing Baxter for shoe sniffing.” She shakes her head. If her shoe doesn’t smell like chicken, Baxter is useless. Karen calls her father, but he doesn’t answer. She bangs her head against the window.

A pink-haired teenager hangs on to a pole, glares down at her and gestures to the shoe still protruding from Karen’s chest. “Don’t think that trend will catch on.” She snickers at her little joke. “Nice socks, though.”

Finally Karen’s phone buzzes. “Dad!” she shouts. She only hears static. His hearing aid jams his phone. “Oh for God’s sake,” she yells to the now empty car.

The car rattles into the station. Karen’s father sits on a bench. She rushes to him, shouting, “Did you find…” He points down at Baxter who holds the shoe in his mouth, drooling copiously into the toe. Karen pats him on the head and gently pulls the shoe out of his teeth. They celebrate with a pizza for them and Chick-fil-A for Baxter. 

A week later Baxter chews both shoes into tattered leopard print puddles of shiny red shards. Karen develops a bunion from wearing cheap high heels and reverts to flats. She transfers to the lingerie department at Neiman and goes to Lana and Remi’s wedding with Dylan. Lana gives her knockoff Louboutins to wear to the wedding. They are named Christian LaBoutique and they have sparkles that fall off in clumps. Karen wears sensible flats, places the LaBoutiques on a seat in the middle car, and leaves them on the train.