Boots

"No. There's absolutely no way I'm going to wear these Elliot," Candace stated flatly, pulling the thigh-high boots from their nest of tissue lined cardboard and shiny foil wrapping.

"Please Candy, honey," Elliot stammered. "Won't you please, Candy, for me?"

"I said no Elliot. For Christ's sake, look at these things will you?" she shouted, thrusting the boots toward him in accusation.

"The heels are so high, I could barely stand in them!"

Candace looked at Elliot's forlorn expression, realizing, of course, that Elliot had looked at the leather boots, long and hard.

"Candy, I just thought you might want to wear something a little different. I mean, it's been a long time since you...we...and well...I though...you might wear the boots and..."

"I know what you thought, Elliot and rest assured that I'm well aware of your little perversions. God, you were so sweet when I married you and now you're ordering me about like I was one of the employees! You've changed Elliot!" she said crying.

It was a lie of course, even the tears. Elliot was the same as he'd always been, a little mouse of a man who'd been lucky enough to inherit the family business and...to Candace's thinking...meet her.

"Oh please Candy, don't cry!" Elliot said getting down on one knee in front of her.

Candace rubbed her eyes with the back of one well-manicured hand and grinned inwardly.

That's my Elliot. Soft and predictable. My little man.

"I swear, Elliot, you have no appreciation for the things I do for you."

"That's not true Candy," Elliot stammered. "I couldn't run things without you. Northbay electronics needs you, and I need you. You know that!" he appealed to her.

Candace did indeed know that. After all, she had seen to that little detail hadn't she? Unlike his father, Elliot wasn't much of a businessman. He didn't have the stomach for it. Elliot was a guppy among the barracudas, but not Candace. She was a shark, and she had done some checking on Northbay Electronics soon after she had first met Elliot at a cocktail party three years ago.

Candace had a knack for sizing up people, not that she needed it when she was first introduced to the plump, balding little man who would be her future husband.

He wore his loneliness and social ineptitude like a crown.

Candace had been working as a secretary for a temp service at the time, locked down in the hierarchy of companies whose names she'd forgotten, but she had ambition. She was a ball-breaking, razor-keen, hard as nails woman who knew opportunity when she saw it, and Candace had definitely seen it in Elliot.

Elliot was attracted to her right away, but then most of them were. Candace was a museum piece of flowing auburn hair, long legs, and a voluptuous body. She was as beautiful as Ming pottery and twice as cold, and she had Elliot figured out in an instant as he stammered his way through "Hello". Normally she wouldn't have even bothered to give him a nod, pegging him for one of the "yes" men and flunkies that were swimming around the big fish at the party until he was introduced to her as the president of Northbay Electronics.

After the party, Candace reached her tasteful one bedroom apartment, got online, and punched up "Northbay Electronics" on her computer screen.

It was a respectable company with a young research and development staff on the cutting edge waiting to make it big.

All it needed was a woman's touch.

Candace called the local florist the next day and had half a dozen white roses sent to "president" Elliot Allen, along with a card that introduced herself and gave a phone number.

He called her that evening.

And on that evening, Candace was charming.

And Candace was vivacious.

And within 6 months, Candace was Mrs. Elliot Allen, an event which was one year ago to this very day.

Only today, Elliot was on one knee waiting for his wife's forgiveness instead of her hand in marriage.

"Elliot," Candace demanded through her tears, "I want you to take these horrible things back to where they came from, right now!"

"But Candy, I mean, couldn't it wait?" Elliot appealed to her.

"No "buts" Elliot. Take them back right now," Candace told him, weaving a serpent's coil of sternness around her words that was unmistakable. "I'm leaving for the office to catch up on some work, and when I come back...if I come back...I hope I'll find the kind and gentle man that I fell in love with a year ago today."

With that, Candace tossed the brightly colored wrapping paper in the trash, and threw the small gift card with her name on it back into the box and shoved the package at Elliot like an accusation before she walked out the front door to one of the twin, burgundy BMWs nestled in their car port.

Quickly patting her eyes dry with a wisp of Kleenex, Candace glanced at the house through the sedan's window as she began to pull into the long, semi-circular driveway that curved in front of their tasteful silicon valley home. For Candace, tears were tools, and she put them away easily.

Candace really didn't care about the boots, mostly because she didn't really care about Elliot, but it was important to pull on the reins every once in a while. She had rode Elliot hard today and tonight she'd sleep with him and maybe even let him tie her up again as she often did before they were married. Sex was a tool for Candace as well, and although it was a delicate instrument that required precision, she was adept in its use.

Candace knew that Elliot might eventually have the nerve to take on a mistress... someone who'd be happy to play Elliot's little games, but as long as Candace played him correctly, by the time her husband took that step, it would amount to nothing as far as she was concerned. She was slowly establishing herself as the motivating power of Northbay electronics. It hadn't been hard really. Elliot was a dreamer and, to him, the day to day crunching of facts and figures that formed the framework of a successful business were an inconvenience... a bore in fact. Perhaps, deep down inside, that was why Candace held such a real distaste for her husband. To her, Elliot was a rich kid, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, whose only real talent lay in spending money, not making it.

As the sedan raced through scarce Sunday traffic, Candace thought back bitterly to the days when she worked as a cocktail waitress, struggling for an associate degree in business only to be flushed through a variety of temp jobs after she graduated. She realized early on that she would remain locked down with the rest of the bottom feeders because she didn't have the right connections, and on the heels of that realization, Candace decided that, no matter what the cost, she would not allow herself to be condemned to a future spent in some second rate company making coffee for the guffawing golfing buddies and know-nothing sons like Elliot who were grand fathered into positions above her so that they could shove their privileged little noses in the golden trough.

But those days were behind Candace now, she reminded herself. She was in control of herself and her future now, and there was no way she'd ever let that go.

No way.

In the car, Candace's head shook slowly from side to side like a metronome for her thoughts.

*

Meanwhile, just as Candace was arriving half-way across town at the office building that was the home of Northbay Electronics, Elliot was making his way from a parking lot back to the trendy shoe store where he'd bought the boots that his wife seemed to find so repulsive. With the box clutched to his chest like a broken promise, Elliot moved with quick, furtive little steps as the arid desert wind, choked with exhaust from a hundred other shopper's cars, swept over him. He loosened his tie a little in the heat and mumbled to himself as he stared down at his feet and the fun house reflection of his face in the polished tips of his shoes.

Step,step.

Have I really changed?

No. She's the one who's changed.

Why do I let her have this hold over me?

Step, step.

God, she was so sweet once.

And ready for anything!

Now all she thinks about is the business.

Step, step.

All she does is ignore me.

Dammit, I've had enough!

Things are going to change!

Step, step.

I am going to change!

I'm not going to let her get under my skin anymore.

She's my wife and I'm going to demand she start acting like it.

And, as Elliot screwed up his courage, turned himself around, and began the long walk back to his car, still clutching the boots and the new promise of changes to come close to his heart, he was oblivious to the persistent DON"T WALK flash of a crosswalk sign which had grown into an ominous stare as he was struck down by a white Volkswagen convertible filled with a gaggle of gum-popping teenagers racing on their way toward all that the future and the retail shops held in store for them.

*

Candace arrived back home before dusk and parked her car next to Elliot's forlorn BMW in the carport. She opened the door to the house, preparing herself for the drama of reconciliation, only to find it empty.

"Elliot?" she called out "I'm home, honey."

The only answer to Candace's call was the sight of Elliot's gift box mocking her from the top of the living room coffee table. Candace strutted angrily toward the bone of contention, ignoring the envelope taped to the front of the lid and the tiny rust-colored patches on the white cardboard finish.

Candace grabbed the edges of the lid.

"This had better be empty," she hissed under her breath.

Inside their bed of tissue, the long, black leather boots lay folded over themselves in supplication before her.

"For Christ's sake Elliot!" Candace shouted at the silence.

"Didn't I tell you to take these back!" Candace added to the air.

Candace threw the lid down on the table before the envelope with her name hastily scrawled upon it beckoned her attention. Tearing it free from the lid of the box, Candace opened the envelope and pulled out the slip of paper tucked away inside.

It was a note from Elliot's secretary, Kathleen Wagner.

Dear Mrs. Allen,

Please call me at home right away.

Something terrible has happened.

-Kathy

Elliot's secretary had added her phone number to the bottom right corner of the note, and Candace's stomach curdled a little as she began to punch in Kathleen's home number on the house's touch tone. After a few rings, there was a pickup on the end of the line.

"Hello?" a young voice inquired.

Candace conjured up a picture of perky incompetence wrapped in a tight sweater.

"Hello, Kathleen. This is Mrs. Allen."

"Oh Mrs. Allen!" the voice sobbed over the receiver. "Something terrible has happened!"

"Yes, dear," Candace answered, slightly annoyed. "I gathered that from the note you left for me."

"I tried to reach you right away Mrs. Allen, but no one answered at you house or the office...but...I mean they called his sister first...because her name...oh god..."

"Kathleen," Candace stated flatly, trying to hide her irritation. "I was at the office and simply took my phone off the hook. Now please tell me what's happened."

After a hitching of breath, Kathy's words came tumbling out over each other again.

"I picked up the car Mrs. Allen. Steve from Marketing followed me, and...oh, Mrs. Allen, he had bought you a present...and he was carrying it and...

"And what, Kathleen?" Candace demanded, her frustration getting the better of her.

"And, oh god, he's dead Mrs. Allen. Elliot...Mr. Allen... is dead," she cried.

It would be a lie to say that Candace wasn't taken aback by the news or that she wasn't a little sad, but it all passed quickly enough, washed away in an overwhelming surge of responsibility...a sweeping flood of possibility.

Already plans and preparations began to align themselves in her head, clicking into place.

She'd have to be at work early, just to make sure that everyone knew that the company was still in good hands, her hands, just as it had always been really and...

"Mrs. Allen?"

"Mrs. Allen, are you okay?" Kathleen whispered at the end of the line.

Candace felt the thread of her thoughts slip away, and she let it go for the time being.

"Yes, Kathleen, I'm fine. I guess it still hasn't quite sunk in yet."

"Would you like me to come over? I could call someone..."

"No, Kathleen. I'll be okay, I just need some time alone."

"Alright, I understand, but..."

Candace cut her off with a click as she dropped the handset down on the phone's cradle.

"Yes, everything's going to be alright," she thought, "even better than alright."

*

For Candace, the next few hours were inconvenient, but necessary.

Phone calls were placed, condolences were shared, arrangements were made, and when Candace was sure that she had done enough for the evening, she smiled and picked up the phone one last time.

After several rings, a husky voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello Ray, It's Candace. I feel like celebrating tonight. Why don't you stop by the house?"

"Elliot's out of town tonight eh?" the voice laughed. "Alright, I'm game."

"Good. Be here around eight."

Just as the hands on the house's tasteful, grandfather clock clicked past a quarter after eight, Candace watched the headlights from the young man's two door, paid for by Candace with Northbay slush money, glazed the driveway with halogen crispness.

Candace answered the front door's chimes with a turn on the knob, and Ray greeted the open doorway in a perfectly set smile and blue contact lenses that hid his ordinary brown eyes. The young man walked in, grabbed Candace around the middle with powerful arms, and kissed her deeply. Candace grabbed his lower lip between her teeth and pulled it slightly before letting go.

"Save your strength, and we'll have a little wine first," She chided.

Candace extricated herself from Ray's eagerness and grabbed a bottle of Dom Perignon from behind the bar. She and Elliot had been saving the champagne for a special occasion.

"Well, no time like the present," she announced to no one in particular.

From the bar, Candy admired the young man's ass under the expensive Italian tailoring of his suit (one of several she'd bought for Ray), and ran her fingertips slowly over the long neck of the wine bottle as he primped himself in the mirrored back of one of the living room's china cabinets. Ray was a well-built paradigm of masculinity, with a personality as paper-thin as the pages of the fashion magazine he seemed to have stepped out of. He was a waiter at one of the restaurants she and Harold frequented, and, during the past year, Candace and the young man had become involved. She had seen to it that Ray was well kept. After all, just because she denied Harold, it didn't mean Candace had to deny herself.

The young man was running a hand through his impeccably gelled hair now, as Candace uncorked the dark bottle and pulled out a pair of fluted glasses from the bar. Candace interrupted Ray's preening and gestured him to the couch in the living room. She walked over to the coffee table and shoved aside the gift box so that she could set the bottle and mated glasses down upon the table's etched glass top just as Ray walked over and seated himself on the contemporary black leather couch.

His attention drawn toward the gift box, Ray took one long finger and flicked the lid off onto the floor so he could get a look inside.

"Well, well." Ray chimed as he slid one of the boots out from its nest of tissue paper.

"Have you got something special in mind for tonight?"

Candace thought a moment and then smiled as she poured the bottle's precious cargo into the fluted crystal glasses.

"Well, I was feeling a little wicked tonight," Candace purred, quickly taking the boot from his hands and whisking the box off the table before he could notice Kathleen's note, crumpled into a ball, shoved among the tissue paper.

Candace put the box on one of the couch's companions, an overstuffed chair across from the couch, and turned her back toward Ray.

She carefully kicked off both of her shoes and wriggled out of her skirt slowly, gently using her tapered fingers to coax the wool down the alabaster perfection long legs. Even though she couldn't see him, Candace could guess the effect her little performance was having on Ray. She unbuttoned the soft cotton of her blouse and let it slide from her shoulders to the floor, and her bra and panties followed it like autumn leaves of silk.

Candace unzipped one of the boots and slid the toe over her left foot, which she steadied on one of the arms of the leather chair. She turned her head to face Ray and placed her cheek the bridge her leg had made between the gentle curves of her naked body and the chair's arm. Smiling through a cascade of deep brown hair, Candace took hold of the boot's zipper and pulled it up slowly, running her hand over the butter soft leather as it trapped her leg in warm, black kidskin. Then, afraid to balance on only one boot's high heel, Candace sat down on the chair's arm and teased her right leg into the other boot, sealing it with another long, slow pull of the zipper. When she had finished the little performance, Candace got up and moved to where Ray was sitting with a grin that threatened to crack his face in two.

Candace moved the Champagne glasses and sat down on the coffee table, facing the young man. She picked up a glass and placed the tip of one of the boots between Ray's legs, rubbing the pointed leather toe against the hard flesh Ray was growing there, just for her. She dipped a finger in the wine and placed it in her mouth.

Ray watched the hollows on her checks form as she sucked the appendage dry. Candace pulled a knee up to her chest, trembling ever so slightly from the coolness of the thick glass top, and dipped her finger into the fluted glass once again. The finger was damp with sparkling droplets, and Candace touched it to the tip of one of the boots. Drops lingered on the warm leather, threatening to roll off its shiny finish. Candace placed her foot on the young man's knee.

"Lick it off," Candace told him.

Ray grabbed the tall heel in his hand and bent over to press his lips to the drops of Champagne. As his tongue moved to lap up the droplets of sparkling wine from the leather, Candace could feel a tremor run up and down her legs in response to the young man's tongue as if the boots themselves ignited gooseflesh which ran over her entire body. When Ray had finished the Champagne, he let his tongue continue over the soft folds and soft creases of the boots to the tender flesh on the inside of Candace's thighs.

Candace took the Champagne and tilted it in front of her so that fat droplets ran down the glass and over her hand to fall like rain on the secret garden of dark hair that surrounded the blooming center of her sex. She put down the glass and, with both hands, entwined her fingers at the back of Ryan's thick head of hair, pressing him towards her.

"You missed a spot," she purred.

*

Candace dreamed of Elliot that night, and in her dream, her dead husband lay in bed next to her with his arms wrapped around her body like the lover she had never let him be. And although she pushed and struggled, Candace couldn't free herself from the silent clutches of the corpse. Indeed, the more she fought, the tighter Elliot glommed onto her until finally, mercifully, she woke up. Her body covered with chilly sweat, Candace sat bolt upright in the bed and put her fingers to her temples, trying to shake the whirling, half-conscious images of her dead husband.

Candace turned to Ray who lay snoring on the far side of the bed and thought better of waking him for whatever limited comfort he might be able to provide. She looked to herself for relief instead, just as she had always done, and it was well past midnight when Candace walked into the house's ornate bathroom, her boot heels clicking on the expensive tiling. She had become eager to take a hot bath and soak away the cold sweat and heavy male scent from her body.