I knew that at MarySue’s memorial party as well as everywhere I went, I represented Dolce and our shop and I owed it to her to look my best. So what about shoes? I sat down on a bench and tried on a pair of flat ankle boots with my dress, but they were too casual. Next, strappy sandals in glossy patent with a pair of opaque tights. Better but not perfect. Maybe glossy wasn’t subdued enough for this occasion, although MarySue would have appreciated them. I kept the tights and tried a pair of black suede peep toes. Yes. My ankle was still a little weak, but I couldn’t baby it forever.
When I got up the next morning, the air was crisp and the sun was shining. Seeing as I hadn’t been to kung fu for weeks, I decided I needed some exercise, so I joined a group of people practicing tai chi in Golden Gate Park. My kung fu instructor had recommended it to us because he had a reciprocal arrangement with the instructor. I’d observed them previously, and I was impressed by their fluid, seemingly effortless movements. Just my kind of exercise, I thought. I just hoped Nick didn’t walk by and ask me why I didn’t take his class instead of that one.
I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but sometimes it’s nice to exercise anonymously. Before the MarySue shoe episode, I did everything anonymously; now it seemed as though every time I left the house, I ran into someone I knew. Just in case I did, I was wearing a pair of stretch leggings that were comfortable as well as stylish with a high-performance racer-back tank and a black training jacket. On my feet were a pair of MBT sneakers, which as everyone who exercises seriously knows can activate neglected muscles and tone and shape the entire body. MBT stands for Masai Barefoot Technology, of course. Since the Masai tribes are the best runners in the world, I had no doubt their shoes would help me run faster if I needed to.
When I arrived at the meadow where the tai chi instructor held his class, he smiled and beckoned to me to take a place in the front row, but I stuck to the back so I could watch the others and copy their movements. I quickly found it was harder than I’d thought it would be to achieve that fluid movement I’d admired. I knew it involved deep breathing and mental focus, but today I was happy just to be waving my arms around slowly and inhaling the fresh air, and feeling proud of myself for making the effort while other fashionistas were still in bed. The focus would come later, I hoped. I wanted to focus just enough to forget the scene that had almost torpedoed Dolce’s fashion show.
After the class I felt refreshed and invigorated, so I wandered around the park, into the area called Chain of Lakes, enjoying the feeling of being away from the hustle and bustle of cars and tourists and screaming children flying kites or kicking balls in the field. I walked around the misty lake, drinking in the atmosphere and hearing the wind in the trees.
As fate would have it, there was a food, art and music festival going on in the concourse, so I stopped for a Korean taco stuffed with seasoned rice, kalbi short ribs and kimchee salsa folded into Japanese and Korean toasted seaweeds. It was so good I would have ordered another, but I had to get back and get ready for my date with Jonathan. I hadn’t even decided what to wear yet.
Layers. That was all I could think of. I started with my new skinny jeans, tossing my old boyfriend jeans aside. They were so torn up and dated I could barely believe I was ever tempted to buy them.
Next, shoes. Knee-high boots or loafers with argyle socks? The boots looked great with the jeans tucked in, but since I’d be with Dr. Jonathan, I decided to be sensible and go with the loafers. I chose a silky top and a black hooded cashmere sweater over it. Slim fitting and luxurious, it felt soft and warm. That way I’d be comfortable on the boat and on shore and in the prison and wherever we went afterward.
When Jonathan picked me up, he gave me an approving look right down to my loafers. I would have looked even better if I’d had Marsha do my hair, but I ironed it myself and it looked pretty sleek, I thought.
He told me last night had been busy at the ER.
“Like most every Saturday night, I imagine,” I said. “I’m fortunate I came through with only minor injuries. So just another typical Saturday night in the ER.”
“That’s right. Gunshot wounds, overdoses, car crashes, you name it, we’ve got it.”
“But no society women poisoned by their husbands.”
“Not that I noticed,” he said with one of his dazzling smiles as if I’d been joking. I was, but only partly.
“One of the nurses told me you specialize in sports medicine.”
“I did a rotation in sports medicine. It was interesting. Saw a lot of tendonitis, arthritis, bursitis and some fractures. But to me the ER is more exciting.”
“All those gunshot wounds.”
“And accidents like yours. You never told me how you landed in a tree that night the woman in the silver shoes brought you in. Or is that none of my business?”
“It’s a long story. Maybe later,” I said. Or maybe never. I just didn’t want to talk about it now. I wanted to hop on a boat and set sail for an island. Which we did. We stood at the railing and the wind whipped my sleek shiny hair around, but I didn’t care. I was on a date with a gorgeous doctor far from the society scene where everyone knew more than they wanted to about everyone else. I should never have gone to Marsha to have my hair done. I needed to break away from the Dolce crowd. Like today.
“I took a tai chi class today,” I said. “Have you ever done it?”
“No, but I’ve read the literature, and I hear from patients that it helps with chronic pain and stress reduction. I’m interested in all kinds of alternative medicine. Acupuncture, herbs, meditation, I’m open to anything that works.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. Although I can’t complain about the traditional medicine you treated me with. I feel fine.”
“You look fine too,” he said with an appreciative gleam in his blue eyes.
I felt a flutter in the pit of my stomach. It could have been a twinge of seasickness, but it was more likely the proximity of the gorgeous and brilliant doctor I was with. Who would have thought a few weeks ago I’d be on a boat in the Bay admiring a spectacular view of the city with a man who was not only a skillful, highly trained ER physician, but also a sexy straight guy with fashion sense. I sighed happily as the white buildings in the city receded in the distance and we approached the island. All my worries about Dolce, the shop and the murder faded along with the city we’d left behind.
Our group was met at the landing by a guide who gave us a brief history of Alcatraz. He told us the island had a grim past but a bright future. He instructed us to “imagine yourself on a cold and windy morning. You are a prisoner headed for your final destination, Alcatraz, where no one has knowingly ever escaped from.” He paused to be sure he had our attention. He had mine, that was for sure. “It is a cold and foggy morning. Heavy steel shackles bind your ankles and wrists. You are shivering from the cold and the fear of incarceration.” I wasn’t a prisoner, but I was shivering anyway. “Your fellow prisoners on the “Rock,” as it’s called, are the most hardened criminals in the American prison system. Their crimes range from kidnapping to espionage, bank robbery and murder.” He paused and switched gears to a more pleasant subject—the history of the island. “It was used as a fort during the Civil War times to protect the San Francisco Bay and Harbor. After that it was a prison known as “the Rock” that housed some of the high-profile criminals of the day like Machine Gun Kelly, Al Capone and the Birdman of Alcatraz.
He listed the various escape attempts and said it wasn’t surprising that no one succeeded given the cold water, the waves and the high level of security.