Blue Ticket by Sophie Mackintosh

Author:Sophie Mackintosh [Mackintosh, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2020-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

12

I left the telephone where it was, showered, put on the dark red lipstick and walked out of my room, to the lift. The carpet was thick and soft against my bare feet, peachy-brown. No time to put my shoes on. No time to wait for the lift; I walked down the stairwell. Flickering cold light. The bar in the hotel was mostly empty. I ordered a whisky and sat at a table in the corner, curling my bare feet under myself. I flipped a coaster back and forth, a tic learned from R. The coaster advertised iron-enriched beer. I tore it, a little, just because I could. My teeth felt too big for my mouth, and hard. I was the only woman. Pick a man, any man, I said to myself. Do it. I stared at a short man with dark hair sitting up at the bar on a stool. The bar was mint green and fake marble, the seats vinyl. I did not think he looked like an emissary, but then, who could tell. I had been wrong about so many things and I would keep being wrong. He kept turning to look at me and eventually came over.

Where are your shoes? he asked. I smiled.

I ate them, I said.

The man motioned to the barman, who nodded and took two glasses down from a shelf. I watched him as he poured things. He was making martinis. He brought them over on a round copper tray. Paper-thin lemon. The glasses were very cold. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.

What brings you here? the man asked.

Everything, I said, taking a sip. Bad mother, bad mother.

You’re not very forthcoming. You don’t talk very much, he said. You’re not giving me anything to work with.

Well, I don’t have that much to say, I said.

Maybe you’re the kind of person who only speaks when they have something to tell, he said. Or maybe you’re into other things, rather than talking.

I think you might be right, I said. About the other things.

Don’t you want to know about me? he asked.

No, not really, I said, and he laughed. The laugh seemed charmed by my rudeness, not angry. I took another mouthful of my drink. Somewhere in the background a woman was singing to an orchestra. The music came out of a speaker above our table. I looked up from under my eyelashes, I let him see the clean line of my throat.

But what happened to your shoes, really? he said.

I’ll let you in on a secret, I said, leaning in. I’ve never worn a pair of shoes in my life. I’ve always just walked around in my bare feet. My skin is unnaturally strong. I’ve never needed them.

So you’re a medical miracle? he said.

That’s right, I said. At my birth the doctor proclaimed it an unprecedented event. He carried me around the hospital personally so that everyone could see me.

Can I see these magical feet? he asked.

I swung them into his soft-trousered lap.

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