Red Shoe Diaries Page #4

Everything but red.

Blue.

Pink.

And I have green.

I had my heart set on red.

It's too bad.|It's a popular colour.

Hey, there. What's your name?|What do they call you?

Stella. Stella.

You know who said that? Stanley Kowalski,|"Streetcar named desire". Yap?

Tried out for the role in school,|they gave it to one kid with pimples.

That's too bad.

Red shoes with high heels?|I hear that.

Playoffs. Must be the end|of the half. I love basketball.

Thirteen triple E. Nine wide|in eleven and a half double E.

Am I right? - Yes, right.|- Alright.

What's up, man? Are you following me?|- Hey, the shoe salesman.

How you doing?|- Alright. How you doing? A beer?

I'd love one. - Reese, two beers.|- Okay, two beers.

I'll pay for that.|- That's alright. Beer, man.

Thank you.|- My one and only love.

Yes! NCAA action, you can't beat it.

Basketball, beer,|an occasional woman or two.

In a perfect world I'd be black,|6,9 feet and they'd call me Mike.

Some of the guys I played against|in the pick up games around here

are as good as the ones up there,|they took a wrong turn.

Really?|- You know what I mean? - I do.

How much money you got on you?|- How much I got on me?

Why, do you need some money?

I bet you a thousand dollars against|whatever you have in your pocket

that I can beat you in a game|of twenty one.

What?

I bet you a grand against whatever|you have in your pocket

that I can spot you ten points|and still kick your ass.

What, are you kidding me?|- Don't I look like a ballplayer to you?

No.|- Really?

Not everybody looks|like who they are.

I'd never have thought you were a|guy that sells ladies shoes.

It's a just a part-time job.

I know. When I was a kid, my|mother used to take me shopping,

the guys selling shoes were dignified|with greying hair at the temples,

drink Martinis at lunch,

kind of guys who would have been|gigolos in Miami beach if they could go there.

That's my idea of shoe salesman.

But you really never know who|somebody is until you test them.

You never realy know?|- You don't know.

A grand against whatever|you have in your pocket

says I am who I pretend to be and|I can kick your ass on the court.

What do you say, Michael?|You ready to be tested?

What have you got to lose.

I've called dozens of times,|left dozens of messages.

I never got a chance...|- Marlene... - Hi.

I'm just having a beer.|- I'm sorry.

We'll talk about it later.

My friend Ingrid, and this is|Ingrid's friend, Heidi

and Heidi's friend, Heidi.|- Heidi again.

And this is Jake and...|who's your friend? - Tom.

Thomas K. Butler Jr.|- Hi. Tom. - Skol.

Skol. - Ingrid and I were cheerleaders|together in high school.

Red, white, fight, fight.

Who fight? Red, white!|Fight, fight!

Fight!

She was the "Exchange student extraordinaire",

I was of course " Miss personality".

Now, Ingrid's best friend is Heidi|and Heidi's best friend is Heidi.

Heidi one and Heidi two.|- Heidi iho.

Heidi one doesn't speak any English|but is just,

knocked out by America.|Aren't you, Heidi? - Yes.

And... and American men.

She says yes to everything.|It's the only word she knows.

I think I've died and|I'm gone to heaven.

Let's bring them along, we play game,|they can cheerlead, you and me.

Allright, make the take.

Ten zip. My ball. Twenty-one.

Jake, Jake he's our man.|If he can't do it, nobody can.

Jake, Jake he's our man.|If he can't do it, nobody can.

Hey, what about me?|Isn't anybody going to cheer for me?

Huddle up, huddle up!

Jake... Three!

I'm surprised at you, Tom.|From the way you talked,

I figured you'be a lot quicker.|Must be the beer, the latitude.

Doctor Jack, my ass.

Get off the court,|get off the court now.

Just get off the court,|you're gonna get hurt.

Tom, Tom, he's our man.

Jake, you want some oxygen?

You did that when you were a kid, Michael?

Make belive you were an announcer|calling big game?

Time out! Time out!|Medical time out.

Chapagne break.

Poor baby.|- You get a cold towel, not too bad.

F***! Jake, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to f*** up|your beautiful floor.

No wait.|- Did you get a towel? Get a towel.

Just wipe it up with this.

No, no!

Sh*t, you need a...|I have a thing...

Contraceptive?

Hope and fear rolled into me.|Talk about paranoia.

Talk about wishful thinking.|- Come on Michael. Let's go.

I'll be back|I'm gonna toss this guy off.

No basket, it's my ball

You drew blood, you lose, pal.|That was an intentional foul.

I'll let it slide this time,|but don't let it happen again.

You got that?

Oh!|- Excellent.

I might have underestimated your|athletic ability there, Jake,

but I could tell you lived in such|a place just by looking at you.

Just one look and you said I was|living in a renovated glue factory?

I could tell by your shoes. You could|tell almost everything from them.

Come on, Jake!

Chicks in worn heels,|cracked insteps and scuffs.

I can see their kitchen sinks,|cigarette butts,

plates piled high|with mouldy food.

Now, chicks in two hundred|dollar shoes from Paris.

I can tell, not a scuff|on the heels of toes.

I can take one look at 'em|and know everything I need.

Yeah? What do you know?

I know what they're gonna smell like.|What they're gonna feel like

Is that right, Tom?|Is that why you sell shoes?

To pull up the shades|to their souls?

Or you're gonna look at their feet|once a while?

Maybe to catch a glimpse|up their skirts.

I bet you keep a score card of how|many of them don't wear panties.

Tell me I'm right.

Jake!|- This is crazy! Stop it!

That's twice.|- Yeah?

Who the f*** cares?|Tell me what she smelled like.

Tell you who smelled like?|- The chick in the 200$ shoes.

Was it like ivory snow?|Was it like fresh soap?

I ain't talking about a chick.|I'm talking about chicks in general.

And how many chicks|are chicks in general?

Four, eight, ten,|twelve, twenty?

This is it! It's over!

What do you call them when they're|all clumped together?

Gaggle? Phalanx? Choir? Possyy?

Stop it, Jack. Someone's gonna|get hurt. I'm serious.

What the f*** are you talking about?

Tell me what she felt like.

Soft as a baby's butt?|Soft as a kidskin glove?

You're f***ing nuts, man.

Am I? Tell me about these chicks.

You know what they smell like|and you know what that taste like.

Do you know what's inside their|heads? Anything about them?

Do you know what makes them laugh?|What makes them scream?

All I know is that|they all love shoes.

Every single one of them.

And they go on buyin'em|until they die.

Guys, this is it.|Hey, stop!

F***, man!

You f***ing win!

Take your f***ing goddamn money.|Here it is, take it.

Take the f***ing money and|shove it up your f***ing ass.

Where is the bathroom?|- Straight ahead.

Don't quit now, Stanley.|We're just getting warmed up.

C'mon. I'll double your money|and I'll spot you five more points,

and I'll still take you.

That's your problem,|you give up too easy.

Just think, if you had that part|of Stanley Kowalski in high scool,

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