Nudity For Fun and Profit Chapter Eight: Round Heels

“Say that part one more time. I just want to make sure I have it right.”

“Which part?”

Heloise curls her legs up under her on the couch and leans her forehead on her arm. “You say you made how much in ten minutes?”

I sigh and take a sip of tea. It’s cold. I put my mug back down on the coffee table, wrinkling my nose at it. “Forty-two bucks. But that’s not the point.”

“Oh, it isn’t? That’s funny, you know why?”

I tap my finger against my arm rest, waiting for Heloise to finish, because I know she will.

“Alicia, damn. I never made forty-two bucks in ten minutes when I was bartending. Ten minutes!” she repeats.

“I wasn’t bartending.”

“Ugh!” she yells in exasperation.

“What?” I glare at Heloise. She looks away. “No. What?”

She plays with her fingernails.

“Heloise, I know you’re not seriously suggesting that I should take a job as a stripper.”

“You’re right,” she says. “Your life is far too exciting already. Too much more stimulation and you might have an aneurysm or something.”

I throw one of the cushions at her. She ducks.

“Sounds like something that would be up your alley rather than mine. I could give you the address if you want,” I tell her dryly.

Heloise leaps out of her seat and runs into her bedroom. I shrug, steal her place on the couch, and pick up the remote.

All these channels. Cable is ridiculous. We have every movie channel on the face of the earth and there’s still nothing on. Why am I paying through the nose each month? I’ve already seen Jerry Maguire more times than I know how to count. “Show me the MONEYYYYYY!” howls Tom Cruise. I mouth the line along with him, rolling my eyes, before changing the channel.

I settle on Twister. It seems fitting somehow. I’m not really watching it anyway. Instead I’m killing time so that I won’t have to think.

Heloise comes scampering out of her bedroom, laughing like a maniac. She’s hiding something behind her back.

“Whatcha got there, Slappy?” I ask her.

She throws a bundle of clothing right at my head. The clothes land all over the couch. Mostly on top of me. I peel a lacy piece of underwear off my face and hold it out in disbelief.

“I haven’t even worn most of this stuff yet,” she cackles.

Negligees. Panty and bra sets. Thongs. Nice. It would appear that my roommate has just buried me under the entire season’s Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue.

“Super,” I deadpan. “Does that mean that if I borrow these things, I won’t get crabs?”

“You can wear them at your new job!” she gasps, holding her stomach.

“That’s fantastic, darling. But then what would you walk the streets in?”

“Try the… crotch-less panties on!” Heloise actually has tears streaming down her face.

I’m so glad I could be the source of so much amusement. What on earth possessed me to tell her about yesterday?

“Well,” I pick through the disaster in my lap. “Most of this isn’t going to fit, seeing as I have breasts to fill it all out with.”

“It doesn’t have to, because it doesn’t stay on that long!”

She’s positively hyperventilating. I think she’s going to rupture something.

“Where are the shoes?” I ask. “I know you’ve gotta have something in that closet with round heels.”

Heloise shrieks and scurries into her bedroom again. I can hear her knocking things around in there. On the TV screen in front of me, a tornado takes the roof off a barn.

She comes back with a pair of black patent leather spool-heeled pumps, and drops them at my feet. “Now you’re all set!”

I scratch the top of my head with my middle finger and smile benignly at the giant pain in my ass that I call my best friend. Then I turn back to the movie and make a big show of ignoring her. Eventually she walks away. I stretch out across the couch and let the collection of undergarments fall on the floor.

The phone rings. I hit the mute button on the TV remote and hunt in vain for the handset. The answering machine begins its spiel.

“Thank you for calling the Confessional Hotline. Father O’Reilly’s not here right now, but if you’ll leave your name, number, and confession at the tone, he’ll get back to you with absolution as soon as possible. And remember, confession doesn’t count unless you confess all of your sins in vivid, graphic detail!”

I roll my eyes. Heloise has changed the message again. The phone itself appears to have migrated somewhere beyond this room, so I give up and lie down once more. Then I hear my father’s voice.

“Alicia, honey, where are you? We’ve been trying to call you all weekend. Your brother got into Princeton! … Your mother and I are so proud of him – it looks like he’s following in your footsteps. Speaking of achievers, how’s that fantastic job of yours going? Okay, I guess you’re not home. We miss you, honey. Try to get back to us soon, all right?”

He hangs up.

I close my eyes. If I’d briefly entertained the thought of asking my family to bail me out, I’ve now abandoned it once and for all. My father believes that I’m a mature, responsible woman, not some silly little girl who can’t handle money.

How would I even begin?

Hi Dad, congratulations to Alex. I have some news, too. I currently require some capital for investment in the health and continued growth of several collections agencies. Okay if I borrow some of my brother’s college fund?

Onscreen, Helen Hunt looks appropriately horrified. That makes two of us. I switch off the TV.

What am I going to do?

My glance falls idly on Heloise’s big, silly high heels, which are still sitting on the floor in front of me.

As a matter of fact, Heloise and I happen to wear the same size shoe.

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