The Penny-Loafer

This had been the longest dinner of Marty Starr's life, and his left penny-loafer had nothing to do with it. All through dinner, Marty noticed that Lydia called her father, “Daddy” He believed she called her mother, “Mother” but he wasn't sure, because he hadn't really been listening. He couldn't remember one topic they had discussed. All he knew was that he had the steak and they had the fish. They were fish people.

Marty Starr's left penny-loafer bit into the side of his foot as he stood up. His right penny-loafer was fine, but the left, no matter how he squished around and tried to adjust, it just seemed to dig in deeper. Marty was now in true and serious pain. These were the first and last penny-loafers Marty Starr would ever own. They were Lydia's idea. As was his new haircut. As was the fact that he no longer sported a beard.

Marty opened the restaurant door for Gloria St. Claire, his future mother-in-law. She crinkled her face in what perhaps in her circle was meant to be a smile of gratitude. In Marty's circle it would be called an unattractive sneer. He smiled a return smile that those who knew Marty might not call a smile at all, but a grimace of not very well hidden agony. She waddled past him in her own gradual, laborious manner, leaving a sickly sweet toilet-water scent in her wake which Marty instantly could taste on his tongue.

Next through the door came the future Mrs. Martin Starr, who, by the by, was also his room-mate. They had been living together for the last two and a half years, though this last bit of information was on a very strict need to know basis. Lydia, who had seen the smile Marty had just given her mother, looked him dead in the eye as she walked past, and, as only a woman can do, managed to smile a smile of abundant warmth as her eyes told of incredulous disappointment. Martin could only nod his head at her.

And last through the door came the big guy himself-- Lester Lee St. Claire, the pompous, the rude, the ultra-superior father of the bride to be. It wouldn't be so bad that the man was all those things, but he was also six foot four, and had one of those square chins you usually only see on comic book supper-heroes. He was richer than God and drier than toast and though he himself would never mention it, as Lydia tells the story, he had been picked for the 1964 Olympic water polo team in Yugoslavia or some such place, but had to turn it down in order to take over the family TV repair shop when his dad took sick. He still managed to get an education in his spare time, and held records in the long jump at Yale to prove it--though again--Daddy would be the last one on God's green earth to ever talk about it.

This had been a lousy night. Now what he had to look forward to was going home with Lydia, where he was sure she was going to insist on going over the guest list “one last time”. He couldn't wait to wave good-bye to her parents. He wanted a cigarette and few shots of Tequila Gold. He wanted to take off his goddamn shoes.

“So, how we doing?” he asked as he joined them on the sidewalk. “We going to get you a cab? There's one now!” he said, and began to wave frantically, but the cab went right on by.

“I thought we might give them a ride to their hotel, Marty. It's right on the way to my house.”

“Right back,” Martin said. He turned and began walking up the hill trying not to limp. He could feel all their eyes on the back of his head. “I only hid my car three blocks away so they wouldn't see it!” he said to himself when he was a good fifty yards up the long hill. “We'll drop you off at your place and then I'll drop Lydia off at her place, and then I'll just drop me off at my place!”

At the top of the hill he couldn't stand it any longer and he stopped and took off both his shoes and walked the rest of the way. His Pinto stood alone in an otherwise empty lot and even in the dark it looked like a piece of junk. As he searched his pocket for the keys he was asking himself why Lydia would want him to drive her parents to their--

His keys were locked in the car!

Without even looking through the window he just knew he had locked them in the car. He looked around the empty parking lot hoping for a coat hanger, but if there was one-- he couldn't see it in the darkness.

He could just picture himself hobbling back down the hill in his socks and saying, “I locked my keys in the darn old car! Gee, Mr. St. Claire, can you call one of your auto clubs and see if they can help a guy out?”It was too much! He wasn't going to do it and that was that. He looked around the lot one last time for a coat hanger, and spotted a brick instead.

He hefted the brick in his hand once for measure and then swung with all his might. The driver side window exploded. He brushed the glass off the seat and sat down. His key was right there, and he swore once loudly and turned the ignition. Nothing. He tried it again. Nothing.

“Those people are going to just have to get home by themselves,” he decided. Marty put his head down on the steering wheel. He didn't really want to get married anyway.

986 Words