The “son of a stiletto maker” had left her. She had given him the best fifteen years of her life and now all she had left was his mini-makeup case and slips. Why had she not caught on? Was she that clueless?
Jimmy had been the rock of her life. She had met him at a friend’s dinner party and they immediately fit like whipped cream and cherries. He loved to dance, shop, and enjoyed all those endless spa visits that seemed to never end. How many nights had they had cuddled and watched their favourite Joan Crawford movies? She should have read into his fascination of buying her wigs and makeup years ago.
What was with all the shaving he used to do?
What about the obsessive tweezing?
Was it just for his ballroom dancing classes?
For Christmas he always used to buy her the perfect dress, but it was always two sizes too large. He always insisted on returning it but she never got the same dress back. Long story short; Jimmy was a closet cross dresser, not that there was anything wrong with that. She just wished she had known.
A month ago Jimmy packed all his Max Factor cosmetics into his matching leopard suitcases and left. Simone felt like she had died a hundred times. She was angry, yet she missed him terribly. Everyday she would pass the dance studio he owned and would park the car near one of the windows. She would watch him in his form fitting Lycra trousers showing people how to Argentina tango. Jimmy was so good he could have been on “Dancing with the Stars” and she knew deep in her heart that if she could not have him no one else would.
She plotted her elaborate plan carefully as she knew he definitely would be coming back for his fabulous shoe collection in the basement. In fact it was a no brainer as no one can live without their “Louboutins”. This would be a life and death situation for any shoe collector.
Jimmy did come back the next night and gently kissed her on the cheek like nothing had happened. He even had the nerve to ask her if he could stay for dinner. When Jimmy saw she was not biting on his generous mood he went downstairs and started to pack theChristian Louboutins, the Jimmy Choos, and the Chanels.
She locked the basement door quickly and put a huge chair up against it and turned on the stereo. She had installed giant amplifiers in the basement with a lot of sound proofing and turned on the Gloria Gaynor song, “I will Survive” full blast. The song played continuously for what must have been 90 minutes. At first his screams were of delight and then they quickly turned into horror. After 30 minutes Jimmy’s ears exploded and later his brain followed suit.
According to the police files it had been death by Gloria Gaynor, and Jimmy had exploded into so many little pieces no one would ever find him. He was nothing more now than a speck of dust in a pair of Jimmy Choos. Simone smiled and knew that he would never belong to anyone else now. She went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of “Two Buck Chuck” and poured it into his favourite“Williams & Sonoma” glass.
It was over or was it?
Every night after Jimmy had gone to shoe heaven distant ghostly moans could be heard coming from the basement. The former ballroom dancer would forever be looking for his size 10 red patent stiletto shoes wearing nothing but “Jessica Simpson” on his feet. His permanent address was now like his shoes, which would travel with him forever. Simone, on the other hand, would survive and I know for a fact that she did.
This is a fiction blog that was personally requested by a very dear friend pictured below. This is for you Michelle Gabrielle from NPR’s Halloween Haunts. I am so honoured you asked me to write a story for you.