There was movement outside her door. Heavy breathing. Oh dear Lord! The lady was right there. She felt sick and her right forearm was itching like crazy. She held her breath, her heart hammering in her ears. She could just see the woman's feet outside her door, then, suddenly, the woman spun on her heel and crashed into the fitting room right next to Mary's. She took advantage of the reprieve to scratch her right forearm with her left hand. Removing her hand from the shoe, she scratched furiously. To the casual observer, it would appear as though she were simply scratching one calve with the toes of her other foot. A very thin foot. A very thin foot with the longest toes known to mankind! Toes badly in need of a pedicure. Toes with a wedding ring! Mercy! She had forgotten to remove her wedding ring! Oh well, some people wear toe rings she comforted herself.
The whole situation would have been hilarious of not for the fact that her life was in imminent danger. And when her husband found out about this, he was going to..................Sssshhhhh, she was right outside the door again. "I know you two are in there!" The lady hissed through the slats in the door. Mary smiled and would have pumped her fist in victory, had she been able to do so. She had done it! She had convinced the food court lady that there were two of them in the dressing room. "I'm coming in and I want your hands where I can see them!"
This presented a whole new set of problems. What to do with her hands? The door crashed back on its hinges with such force, it hurled Mary into the mirror. She feared it would shatter. Making contact with the mirror, Mary simultaneously threw both hands in the air, above her head, pumps still firmly in place. The food court lady slammed the dressing room door closed behind her, turned and leaned her forehead against it, sucking in great gulps of air. Mary stood still as stone, paralyzed by fear.
The lady seemed to gather herself, turn and slump against the door, head back, eyes closed. Mary stood stock still, mesmerized by the ladies rapidly beating pulse at her throat. She passed a hand over her eyes, took a deep breath and looked at Mary for the first time since invading the dressing room. Her eyes went wide with shock at what she saw. Beginning at Mary's feet, food court ladies eyes traveled up slowly, stopping at Mary's hands, still wearing the pumps.
She busted out laughing. Bending over at the waist, she slapped her knee and laughed hysterically. She laughed until tears streamed from her eyes. Mary didn't know what to make of this shift in the woman's emotion. Mary slowly lowered her arms, crossing them across her chest, hung them at her side, to eventually clasp them in front of her as if in prayer. At this, the woman laughed harder and pointed at Mary's pump clad hands. Frustrated and angry, Mary planted both hands on her hips. This dropped the woman flat on her back as she laughed hysterically, fists beating the floor. Realizing how ridiculous she looked, Mary quickly removed the shoes from her hands and dropped them to the floor.
This seemed to snap the woman out of her hilarity and just as suddenly as she had begun to laugh, she began to sob. She walked over and dropped to the small bench in the dressing room. The poor thing was not only badly in need of a pedicure, she clearly had split personality syndrome as well. Moved with compassion, Mary sat down next to the woman, placing an arm around her shoulders. "What's your name?" Mary asked tentatively. The lady hiccuped and swiped an arm across her nose. "Heather." The woman responded so softly, Mary feared she had misunderstood. "Heather?" Mary probed. "Yeah, Heather." The lady answered. "Here let me get you a tissue." Mary said as she turned to rummage in her handbag. An ominous "click" shattered the silence as Mary felt cold steel press into her lower back.
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