Happy Holly Day: A Spinoff From The Late Christmas Story

[paradigm88]

In re-reading the very-late Christmas story I shared a month or two ago, I felt like I had another unresolved character in the plot: a girl named Holly. Here was this seemingly-naïve college-age girl (with a perfectly seasonal name, mind you) who had to borrow a pair of ballet flats to wear to a fancy party.

Mostly, it was an application of Chekhov's Gun to remove my main character's safety net - her pair of emergency flats stashed away in her desk - but after I wrote the story, I had to give a little thought to what kind of girl would have to borrow, of all things, a pair of black ballet flats. (I mean, every college girl must have at least one pair of ballet flats, right?)

And here's the result of that: a relatively-short tale of a college girl who has a new experience with another woman's shoes. It's quick and dirty, relatively and literally speaking. But at least now we know what happened to Lilly's spare flats, and if they were worth her lending them out in the first place!

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"Happy Holly Day"


“Oh, damn it!â€￾ Holly Kingsley muttered as her shoe sailed through the stairwell, turning end over end in slow motion, before coming to a loud crash at the bottom of the next landing. Standing there with one foot extended and her hand on the railing, Holly felt as if it had happened in slow motion.

This is what she got for leaving the party early, Holly told herself. The organization she had been interning with all semester opted to throw their annual holiday party on a Saturday night. Holly had spent that afternoon helping the employees set up, and she was at the party when she got a text from a guy she had been seeing. Holly had told her co-worker Lilly that her boyfriend was getting off work early, and that was only part-true; the guy was hardly a boyfriend, but he was cute and had potential. And making out at his apartment would have to be more fun than schmoozing with rich people all night.

Holly paused at the top of the stairs, sort of hoping someone would be coming upstairs who could bring her the shoe. But how long could she wait for that? She leaned forward, her outstretched, shoeless right foot landing on the step below. The stairs were hard and cold on her unprotected foot, but she gingerly balanced on her toes as she stepped down with her left shod foot, then took another step down with her shoeless foot, balancing on her toes on the cold step as she stepped down again with her left foot. She stepped down onto the landing left foot first, then her right. She could feel the cold and the wet and the grit of the snow and sand people had been tracking in, and it made her frown.

Sitting one step out of reach was her shoe. Or, at least, it was her shoe for the night. Holly was a college girl, and she had embraced the stereotypical New England college-girl wardrobe: leggings by default, jeans if necessary, flip-flops if it was warm enough, and Uggs if it wasn’t. When she had to look “nice,â€￾ and the internship often required that, she exchanged the flip-flops for a pair of ballet flats. But her sole pair of ballet flats was well-loved, the heels crushed down, the toes scuffed and dull, the insoles worn and blackened. Holly knew she could never wear the worn-out flats to a fancy party. Her only other dressy option, a pair of strappy sandals, was hardly appropriate for a winter party, never mind that Holly had not worn heels since the spring.

So before the party, Holly had asked her co-worker Lilly if she had a spare pair of shoes to lend her. Lilly lent her a pair of black flats she kept in a desk drawer for shoe emergencies. Holly reached down and picked up the overturned black flat, dusting some sand off the shiny leather and slipping it back on her foot. She still felt some of the sand from the floor on her foot, scraping at the insole of Lilly’s shoe, but she would have to take care of that later. Now wearing both of her borrowed shoes, Holly continued down the stairs, the outside door only a flight and a half away.

With each step, Holly felt her heels sliding in and out of Lilly’s shiny flats. She and Lilly were both a size eight, and the flats had fit perfectly when Holly tried them that afternoon. But while the girls were in Lilly’s office, Lilly took her own flats off, and Holly saw that her sophisticated supervisor was wearing nylons under her leggings. Holly had last worn hosiery when she was a little girl, and in a college girl’s world, there was little room for a luxury like nylons. But this was a somewhat-fancy business party, not a summer wedding or social gathering. Holly had been thinking of Lilly’s nylons since she left the office to go change, and after getting dressed, she looked in the mirror and felt incomplete. Holly’s roommate was out of town, so she looked in her dresser, found a pair of suntan pantyhose, and slipped into them. The nylons darkened Holly’s pale legs and gave them a nice shimmer, and Holly felt somehow complete.

But on the walk back to the party, Holly discovered that Lilly’s perfectly-fitting Nine West flats no longer fit so perfectly. With every step, the shoes slid up and down Holly’s heels, threatening to pop off. She almost lost one shoe a couple times on that walk alone. At the party, Holly tried to concentrate, keeping her feet planted in Lilly’s shoes. She had sat down a couple times, though, and the shoes had popped from her heels as she stretched her legs under a chair. She felt a tiny bit of comfort knowing that as she watched Lilly, Lilly’s shoes had the same tendencies. But Lilly had worn shoes and stockings before. For Holly, it was a totally new experience.

And that new experience made Holly’s trip down the stairs that more tenuous, as she tried just to keep the flats on her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a bench there, and Holly sat down, crossing her right leg over her left. She took off Lilly’s right flat and fished in her purse for a tissue, wiping the dirt and salt off of the shoe so it looked clean again. She shook the shoe over the floor and dusted the insole off in case any sand had gotten inside. The last thing she could do was return Lilly’s shoes to her in less-than-perfect condition. She slipped the flat back on her foot and uncrossed her legs, her feet flat on the floor.

Holly checked her phone for a text from the boy. As she did, she slid her feet back and felt the flats pop from her heels again. She thought of Lilly, traipsing around the party upstairs in her sheer black nylons and tall heels, and wondered how she did it. Holly shook her feet to loosen the flats some more, and curled her toes inside as she thought. The boy was a long walk from the party, more blocks than Holly cared to count. In Lilly’s flats, it would be a treacherous adventure.

Holly considered ditching the nylons. She knew the flats would stay on her bare feet. It wasn’t as if the hose were keeping her legs that much warmer, after all. And the boy wouldn’t likely even notice. Holly wondered if anyone could tell. She stretched her legs and feet out in front of her, pointing her toes. Maybe the nylons were noticeable, she thought. Her legs looked soft and sunkissed and slender. She had expected them to be uncomfortable, but instead they felt sensual, especially as her feet brushed against each other.

Holly had an idea, reaching back into her purse. She reached her feet under the bench for the flats, hooking them with her toes and sliding them back into view. She opened her package of tissues, crumpling a handful of them and stuffing them into the toes of Lilly’s flats. She slipped her feet back into the shoes. It was better than nothing, she figured. Holly gathered her purse and phone, pulled her coat and scarf tight, and took the five steps to the outside door, pushing through the door and into the cold.

Unfortunately, it took all of those five steps for Holly to realize her attempt at stuffing her borrowed shoes was futile. The tissues she had crumpled into the shoes had merely been crushed into the pointy toes of her flats, so instead of helping to pad out the loose shoes, they were just distracting Holly’s toes instead. And so with each step, Holly felt her stockinged heels sliding around in her shoes, sometimes popping loose for the winter air to nip at them before her next step. She clenched her toes trying to keep the shoes on, but even that was a hopeless case. Holly remembered being a little girl, wearing her mother’s way-too-big high heels around the kitchen. Lilly’s flats were hardly that loose, but at that moment, they might as well have been.

Holly glanced back at the office, the silhouettes of partiers moving about in the lit windows a few stories up. Meanwhile, she held her coat tight against her. The cool winter air blew through her thin nylons and swirled under her short party dress, and Holly wished she had stayed at the party. Holly quickened her steps, her borrowed flats clicking against the pavement as she crossed a side street. She had no sooner stepped back onto the sidewalk when she felt her right flat come loose as she stepped forward, inadvertently kicking the shoe off. Holly landed her footstep anyway, the gritty concrete feeling icy cold on her sole. “Damn!â€￾ Holly said, limping a few steps ahead with light steps on her stockinged foot until she reached the empty shoe. She slipped her shoe on quickly, and kept walking.

Three side streets later, Holly had chased her errant shoes three more times. She had kicked each of her shoes off down the sidewalks, and her left shoe slipped off while she crossed one side street, forcing her to double back for her missing shoe. Holly’s feet were cold and uncomfortable, her soles damp from her accidental stocking-footing down the concrete. As she crossed her fourth side street, Holly’s right shoe came off again, and she stepped down into a snowbank. Holly whimpered as she slipped the loose flat back on, her toes sliding around on the loose tissue inside the shoe.

Frustrated and miserable, Holly stopped and checked her phone. Where was she meeting the boy, anyway? He wasn’t really out of work early, like she had told Lilly; he was at one holiday party, and wanted to meet Holly at another. The first party was at a hotel, the second was at an apartment, and Holly had only a vague idea where to find either. The boy had left her a text message, though: “Just left party #1, headed to #2.â€￾ She texted him back: “Where is #2?â€￾

Holly made one more block without either of her shoes falling off. She stopped and checked her phone again. The boy had left another message: “Catch a train to Davison Station.â€￾ Holly was vaguely familiar with the instructions; Davison Station was in the middle of a neighborhood full of college-student-friendly bars and affordable apartments. Where could she catch the train though? Holly saw a sign for a subway stop about two blocks down. She started walking in that direction, her shoes still slipping like before.

The next two blocks passed without Holly losing a shoe. Maybe this evening would be less miserable than she had feared, she told herself. As she stepped into the stairwell to the station, though, her right shoe glided effortlessly from her stockinged foot, sailing to the landing eight steps below. “Why?â€￾ Holly whined as she made her way down the steps, the concrete steps cold on her sole. Holly had just reached the landing when she heard the squeal of train brakes entering the station. Holly reached down, grabbed her empty shoe and shuffled in one shoe to the next set of stairs. As she stepped forward, though, her left shoe came off her heel and cartwheeled to the bottom of the stairs, landing noisily. Holly cried out in frustration, grudgingly walking down the concrete and rubber steps in her stocking feet. The train was waiting at the platform and people were filing off of it, so she collected her left shoe, fumbled for her train card in her purse, swiped the card, and burst through the gate, running into the train in her nylons before the doors slid shut.

Holly sank into an open seat and dropped her empty shoes in the seat next to hers. The gritty floor of the train car reminded Holly that she was shoeless, and she suddenly felt self-conscious, tucking her feet under the seat, but when she glanced around, she realized she was alone on the train car. Feeling slightly more relaxed but still frustrated, Holly stretched her legs out and wiggled her toes. The floor of the train car was cool underfoot, and she felt the grit from others’ sandy shoes inside, but she imagined her feet were a mess already anyway. She crossed her right leg over her left. If she were going to look trashy, at least she could try to be classy about it.

“I hate these shoes,â€￾ Holly said out loud as she picked up Lilly’s flats from the seat next to her. They were perfectly nice shoes, far nicer than her own black flats. But they had been trouble for Holly since she left the party. As she dusted the sand and salt from them, she thought of Lilly traipsing about the party in her sky-high heels. Holly imagined having to dash down the sidewalks in those. She rarely wore heels anymore, so it would have been a nightmare. So it could have been worse, she decided as she shook loose sand out of each flat onto the train floor. The train slowed for a station, the doors opened, but no one got on.

Holly waited another two empty stops before putting Lilly’s shoes back on her feet. Again, she thought about sneaking into a bathroom and stripping off her borrowed pantyhose and barefooting it in the shoes. But as she sat with her feet on the floor, she felt the shoes brush the sides of her feet, and she liked the sensation of wearing nylons in her borrowed shoes. She thought of Lilly that afternoon, her own stockinged feet popping out of her flats. She wondered how Lilly stayed planted in her heels all night. And she decided to keep the nylons on. If Lilly could do it, so could she.

At last, the train pulled into Davison Station. Holly got off the train and, with careful steps, made it to the ground level without once losing a shoe. There was a clean bench right next to the station exit, though, so she sat down to check her phone, slipping her flats off and stretching her toes as she did. At least the flats were better than her usual strappy sandals in one sense, she thought. It took a moment for her phone to pick up the messages she had been sent while on the train, but it seemed the boy had already left the second party, and was bound for a bar a few blocks away. Holly slipped Lilly’s flats back on and slipped her phone into her purse. She felt a little like she was in a game of hide-and-seek.

It only took a few feet of sidewalk, though, for Holly to find that Lilly’s flats were back to their old tricks. With each step, she felt the heels of the shoes pop loose, and the cool air nipped at her stockinged heels. On one step down, her left heel popped free and came down on the back of the flat, crushing the leather under her foot and turning Lilly’s flat into a backless slide. Holly made it a few steps like that before stopping and reaching behind her to fix the back of the shoe. She breathed a sigh of relief with both her shoes on her feet correctly, but her sigh turned to a grumble as, on her next step, the flats went flying from her feet again, sailing into a snowbank a few steps ahead. The cold concrete was a shock on Lilly’s soles as she stormed over to the snowbank, removed the flats from the snow and slipped them on.

After another block and two more shoe losses, Holly finally reached the bar where her new boy had promised he’d be. She checked her phone, but he had not texted her since she left the train station. Holly flashed her ID to the bouncer and walked into the dark pub. She looked around the tables for a group of people, but he was not among any of the groups. She walked back along another set of booths, and then glanced over the bar. She spotted him there, wearing the same green plaid scarf he wore when they first met. He still had his coat on, a beer in one hand, and he was locked in a kiss with another girl.

Holly took a deep breath and composed herself. No good would come of confronting him with the other girl. She watched and waited as the two separated, then the girl left her drink at the bar, holding up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The boy gestured with one finger and holding his half-full beer, so the girl left him at the bar. Since when did he smoke? Holly wondered. But that was immaterial. With his new flame departed, Holly worked her way closer to the bar.

The new boy noticed her approaching faster than she realized. “Oh, Holly,â€￾ he said. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it.â€￾

“I told you I was coming,â€￾ Holly said. “Who was she?â€￾

“She?â€￾ the boy asked.

Was he really going to play that game? “The girl you were just kissing before she went outside for a smoke.â€￾

“Oh, her,â€￾ the boy said. “We just met.â€￾

“It didn’t look like it,â€￾ Holly said.

“Well, at the last party,â€￾ the boy said. “She just broke up with her boyfriend.â€￾

“But you knew you were meeting me,â€￾ Holly said. She felt betrayed. She knew what was coming.

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t sure if you’d get out of the party, and even if you did, it’s a long way over here.â€￾

Holly reached down and picked off one of her flats, stomping her stockinged foot on the bar floor. “I came all the way over with these awful shoes falling off every step!â€￾ she said, holding Lilly’s flat up as evidence. “Of course I was going to come and see you! We’re dating.â€￾

“Well, just in case, I figured I’d chat up Kayla and see where things went,â€￾ the boy said, smiling.

“But we’re dating,â€￾ Holly said, feeling her emotions cracking at her voice. “We, we…â€￾ She lowered her voice to a bar whisper. “We had sex last weekend.â€￾

“Well, that’s what you do when you’re dating,â€￾ the boy said. “But I wasn’t sure if you would make it, so—“

“So I was your backup,â€￾ Holly cut the boy off. “Well, thanks. Have a nice night, jerk.â€￾ Holly turned and was about to triumphantly storm out, but as she took her first step, her remaining flat flew off, skidding across the bar floor. Holly looked back one last time and saw the boy laughing a bit as she stormed off, picked up her errant shoe and left the bar in a huff in her stockinged feet. She glared at the girl outside the bar.

Holly was crying, and it took her a few steps down the sidewalk to recognize the cold sidewalk underfoot and realize that she was in her nylon feet, carrying Lilly’s shoes. She stopped to put the shoes back on and got a bearing on her surroundings. She was in a neighborhood she rarely ever ventured into. She had ditched a Christmas party and traveled half across the city, chasing a pair of ill-fitting shoes that wouldn’t stay on her feet, only to get humiliated by a boy who wasn’t worth the trip.

Holly wiped tears from her eyes as a gust of wind whipped around her legs and gave her a chill. She was sad and embarrassed and cold and uncomfortable, and lonely. And yet she didn’t want to go back to the party, or back to her apartment, or anywhere really. Holly sniffled and wiped a tear off her cheek. She just wanted to feel less alone. But as another gust of wind blew under her dress, she decided she just wanted to feel warm. She was surrounded by bars and closed restaurants and cafes, but there was a single coffee shop open. She walked up the steps, opened the door and stepped inside.

Holly took a moment to dry her eyes again. She ordered a hot chocolate - with a squirt of hazelnut syrup, topped with whipped cream - and looked for a seat. The shop was almost empty, but the big empty chair by the fireplace looked appealing. Holly walked toward the fireplace. It was a simple gas fireplace, but the heat was plenty real, as she felt the warmth against her legs. Holly slipped her right shoe off and pawed at the carpet with her toes. The carpet was soft and warm, so she planted her right foot in the fibers of the carpet, curling her toes into the warm rug. The soft, dry carpet was a more pleasant feeling than the concrete and pavement and brick walkways and sidewalks and the messy bar floor that she had been walking on earlier.

After a moment, Holly slipped her left shoe off and did the same, the warm carpet soothing on her cold and damp soles. Holly wondered if anyone was critical of the trashy shoeless girl in front of the fire, but as she wiggled her toes against the carpet, she decided that anyone who had a problem with it could keep it to themselves.

“Cold feet?â€￾ a stranger asked from behind Holly.

Holly turned to see a tall, bespectacled guy standing behind her. He was wearing a buttoned shirt under a casual brown blazer, with jeans and brown shoes and a matching messenger bag worn across his body. He looked like an academic. Normally, Holly would have felt in her element, confident and ready with a response. But tonight, she was tired and dejected and cold and shoeless and she felt completely disarmed. “Well, yeah,â€￾ she managed, sipping her hot chocolate.

“It’s kinda chilly out,â€￾ the guy said, stepping forward and standing next to her by the fire. “You look like you just came from a Christmas party or a date or something.â€￾

“Sort of both,â€￾ Holly said. “I intern for this non-profit downtown and we had our big holiday party tonight, and then this guy I’ve been seeing wanted to see me so I left the party early to go find him. So I got all the way out here, and he’s at a bar with some girl he just met because now I’m his backup.â€￾ She took a breath. “And I borrowed these flats from someone at the non-profit for the party, but they won’t stay on my feet and they kept falling off all the walk over here and my feet are cold and wet and this is the best I’ve felt all night.â€￾

To Holly’s surprise, her new friend hadn’t left by the end of her rant. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m just coming from a meeting for a paper that’s due Monday morning,â€￾ he said. “So I haven’t exactly been lighting up the town.â€￾

“I think I’d rather have been working on your paper,â€￾ Holly said, managing a laugh.

“I’m Matt Cartwright, by the way,â€￾ the guy said, smiling.

“Holly Kingsley,â€￾ Holly said. “I’m usually not like this.â€￾

“Like what?â€￾ Matt asked.

“Shoeless in a coffee shop looking like a mess,â€￾ Holly said.

“You look fantastic,â€￾ Matt said. “I mean, even with your shoes off.â€￾

Holly sat on the hearth by the fireplace. “Aww, thanks,â€￾ she said, crossing her right leg over her left. She was reminded of how elegant and sensual Lilly’s stockinged feet looked when she took off her shoes, and Holly’s feet looked the same, the nylons hiding her unpolished toenails. She rotated her ankle and looked at her sole, and it was a different story. The ball and heel of her foot were dark from her barefooting moments, and there were tiny pulls in her stockinged sole. A couple runs had started at her toes and another ran up her heel. She rolled her left foot over and saw her sole was equally darkened, a tiny hole worn in the back of her heel. Matt had sat down next to her on the hearth, and he was leaning closer. “Don’t look,â€￾ Holly said.

“What’s wrong?â€￾ Matt asked.

“My soles are dirty,â€￾ Holly said, rotating her dangling right foot so Matt could see. “And I have runs.â€￾

Matt laughed. “It happens,â€￾ he said. “Imagine spending ten hours in the library on a Saturday with three girls who thought it was a good idea to wear heels to a work meeting.â€￾

Holly reached down and rubbed her right foot. “But that’s a library,â€￾ she said. “Not the winter streets.â€￾

“What do you think three girls’ soles look like after seven hours of running around a campus library barefoot?â€￾ Matt asked.

Holly glanced down at her foot as she curled her toes tightly. Matt nodded, and the two laughed. “At least I wore pantyhose, then,â€￾ Holly said.

“On the other hand,â€￾ Matt said, picking up one of Holly’s shoes, “the other girls were wearing heels to start…â€￾

“I’m a Florida girl,â€￾ Holly said. “I should be wearing flip-flops right now.â€￾

Matt reached down, took Holly’s dangling right foot and propped it on his knee, examining her ruined sole before giving her arch a gentle knead with his thumbs. “For what it’s worth,â€￾ he said, “I’m glad you’re not.â€￾

“Me, too,â€￾ Holly said, pulling her left foot up and under her on the ottoman. She looked at Lilly’s empty black flats on the floor, and then at her stockinged foot in Matt’s lap, sighing as he pressed his thumbs deep into her sole. “Me, too.â€￾

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Hope you enjoyed - as always, comments and input are welcome!