Читать книгу The Bachelor's Dare - Shirley Jump - Страница 10

Claire Richards ran her hand along the sleek exterior, the smooth metal gliding beneath her palm. If only men were this well-equipped. And this useful.

Her fingers slipped down the glossy surface, up and over the body ridges. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Now all she had to do was win the forty-five-foot-long beast. She’d worry about wrangling it down the highway later.

The shadow of the massive cream-and-burgundy Deluxe Motor Homes RV dwarfed Claire, even though she was five-foot-nine. The house on wheels had plenty of space for the bedroom, kitchen and living room, the sign advertised. Perfect, she repeated. A house and a getaway car all in one. She needed both—and the sooner the better. She’d made a promise and didn’t have a lot of time left to keep it. Not nearly enough time.

But getting out of Mercy, Middle-of-Nowhere, Indiana, was about more than keeping a promise. No matter what, Claire was going to make the new start she needed. She’d given notice at the beauty shop, tucked most of her belongings into storage, and scraped up enough savings to fund her move. When Claire Richards leapt off a cliff, she did it without hesitation and without a safety net.

In the back of her mind, a tiny doubt whispered that changing her life was about more than physical distance. Claire quickly pushed the thought away.

The RV was her ticket to a new life in California and to the only family she had left. She gave the motor home a final pat, then crossed to the registration table.

“Is this where I sign up for a chance to win the RV?”

A cheerleader from Mercy High turned a clipboard toward Claire and handed her a pen. The girl had dark, bouncy hair and a thousand-watt smile that must have cost three dollars a watt at the orthodontist’s. She wore a blue-and-white uniform and white sneakers. Change her hair to blond and she could have been Claire at that age.

“There’s, like, a million people signed up and only, like, the first twenty get on.” The girl gestured toward a board of rules. The number 20 shouted back at Claire, bold and big. “The contest starts Sunday. Try to be, like, early, and bring all your stuff.” The cheerleader dipped her head and started filing her nails.

For a fleeting second, Claire felt like grabbing the girl’s hand and telling her not to forgo a college education, not to put her faith in some silly boy who would end up working in the steel mill because his father worked there and jobs were inherited along with the family cowlick. She wanted to tell Go-Team-Go Gidget to get out of Mercy while she still had a chance. Or she’d find herself at twenty-eight, still single, stuck in this town and desperate enough to sign up for the September “Survive and Drive” contest at the mall.

Hoping for the opportunity to win back the freedom and hope she’d had in abundance at eighteen.

“Ma’am?”

That word jarred Claire back to reality. When had she gone from being a “miss” to a “ma’am”? Had there been some road sign she’d missed? You are now entering middle age. It’s all downhill from here.

“Ma’am?” The girl said again. Her emery board stilled. “Did you, like, want to sign up?”

“Yes, yes.” Claire scribbled her name on the sheet, then handed it to the girl. She circled the RV again, working on a strategy. There would be nearly two dozen people fighting for the vehicle. She’d better start humming the theme song to Rocky. She’d need to prepare for a long haul inside this house on wheels, competing with a bunch of strangers, or worse, people she actually knew.

“I wouldn’t mind being stuck inside an RV with a beauty like you,” said a deep voice Claire recognized.

Mark Dole, brother to Nate, Jack, Luke and Katie. A man Claire knew too well. The Doles had been neighbors of Claire’s nearly all her life. Ever since they’d been kids, Mark and Claire had fought and played like brother and sister. One day, they’d be friends making sand castles and the next, they’d be slinging mud balls at one other. Two hot-tempered people who brought out the worst in each other.

Claire turned around. “Hi, Mark.”

He had the same slightly wavy hair she remembered, dark brown with a hint of golden highlights, like some sun god. He was athletic, muscular but not bulky, and had been blessed with brilliant blue eyes that seemed to bore right through a girl. Mark Dole was the closest thing Mercy had to a Calvin Klein cover model. A man like him—gorgeous and full of pickup lines—should come with a warning label.

“Claire! I didn’t know that was you. I thought—” She saw him cut off the sentence before he said something stupid such as he’d mistaken her for someone he stood a chance with.

That would never happen. Once, Claire’s best friend Jenny, who was dating Nate Dole, had thought it would be fun to double with Claire and Mark. The results had been disastrous. The boy who’d dipped her ponytail in blue tempera paint in third grade hadn’t become boyfriend material. They’d clashed on everything from the movie choice to the popcorn tub size. They’d ended up with their own buckets, sitting on the far flanks of Jenny and Nate.

“What are you doing here?” Claire asked.

“I’m signing up for the competition. I’m going to outlast all the other poor suckers and win this baby for myself.” He gave the hull a self-assured pat.

He was the epitome of all the men she’d vowed to avoid. Men full of sweet lines and sexy words, but lacking considerably in substance and permanence. Men who wouldn’t just break her heart—they’d feed the pieces to a shredder.

One of Claire’s close friends, Leanne Hartford, had learned that firsthand after dating Mark for two months, falling half in love with him, and then being unceremoniously dumped just before the senior prom. Claire had never forgotten—nor forgiven—Mark’s insensitive end to the relationship.

Claire forced herself not to gag. “Poor suckers?”

“Well, the other people who signed up. There’s probably only a few anyway.”

“Try closer to, like, a million.” She did her best to mimic the cheerleader. “Only the first twenty get on.” She pointed out the sign.

He blinked. “That many?”

“A contest like this is a major deal in Mercy. Plus, it’s a chance at a free ride out of small-town life. You’d have to be nuts not to gamble on it.” Claire had done more than take a chance, but she didn’t tell Mark.

He considered that a moment, then looked at her. Those cobalt eyes had probably made a lot of women’s hearts beat faster, but Claire was not impressed. Eyes were eyes, even if they were an almost electric color. “What about you?”

“My name’s already on the list.”

“Oh.” He nodded, then flicked a thumb at the RV. “So, you think you can outlast me?”

“I know I can.”

“Want to bet?”

“Sure. Twenty bucks says I win this thing.”

“Sounds fair.” He grinned. “I bet you’re out of there on the first day.”

She let out a chuff of disbelief. “You won’t last the first night. Remember, you’ll be sharing a bathroom and a mirror.”

He clutched his heart. “Oooh, that’s low. You wound me, Claire.”

Despite everything, Claire laughed. If there was one talent Mark had always had, it was the ability to make her laugh. “Hey, if those arrows work, I have a million more, baby.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight into fighter stance. “I am going to outlast you, Mark Dole. And then I’m going to drive away from this town and leave you in my dust.”

“I think you’re the one who’ll be choking on my exhaust.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

“Neither do you. Never underestimate the stubbornness of a woman.” Especially a woman with virtually everything at stake. Claire spun on her heel and started to walk away.

“Claire! You’ve forgotten one thing,” Mark called.

She stopped, pivoted back. “What?”

He pointed at her, then himself. “You. Me. Locked together in there.” He gestured toward the RV and smirked. “It could get mighty hot.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling lukewarm already.”

He stepped closer. The woodsy scent of his cologne drifted between them. On any other man, it would have been sexy, tempting, but on Mark—

“We’re not teenagers anymore, you know,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice a reminder of how far along Mark was on the male development scale. “We’re all grown up, with very grown-up desires. Knowing how stubborn both of us are, we could be in there for a very long time. Aren’t you worried such tight quarters might, ah…tempt you?”

She fanned her face à la Scarlett O’Hara. “Why Mr. Dole, I do declare, you are the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen. How will I ever keep my head on straight?”

“Cute. Very cute.” He stepped back. “We’ll see who’s the last one off the fun bus there.”

“I already know that answer. Me.” She took a step closer to him, pointing at his chest. “And remember, I don’t play fair.”

“Neither do I, Claire.” His smile reached his eyes. If she’d been any other woman, it might have made her pulse skitter. “This is going to be fun.”

From the smoldering look in his gaze, she knew he wasn’t talking about the kind of fun they’d had playing Twister when they were seven. Something in Claire’s gut coiled with heat.

Nothing a cold soda wouldn’t fix, she told herself, and walked away. Well, maybe two cold sodas.

Earsplitting buzzing, screaming bleats. In his ear. Loud, annoying, repetitive sound. Mark slapped at the nightstand, searching blindly for the source of the god-awful noise. He bumped against hard plastic and smacked it until his fingers hit the snooze button.

He cracked open an eye and glanced at the red numbers. Three in the morning. What insane person gets up that early?

He rolled back to the pillow and closed his eyes. When he did, the image of the RV flashed in his mind. He jerked upright. “I’m that insane person,” he grumbled.

The Survive and Drive contest started today. Only the first twenty got on the RV. If he didn’t haul his butt out of bed and get to the mall, he’d lose his shot.

He stumbled for the shower and didn’t bother to wait for hot water. He stripped off his boxers, stepped inside the stall and let the needles of cold water sting him awake. Two minutes of sudsing and rinsing and he was done. He rushed through the rest of his morning routine, choosing the faster electric razor over the more-precise disposable blade, skipping aftershave.

In his childhood bedroom, Mark flicked on the overhead light and got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Pennants from Indianapolis Colts and Pacers games hung on his walls, souvenirs of trips to the stadium with his dad. A selection of sports trophies collected cobwebs on a shelf on one wall, golden images of boys at play with footballs, hockey sticks and baseballs. A five-year-old picture of his family—Jack, Mark, Luke, Nate, Katie and their parents—sat on top of his dresser. Mark’s gaze swept over it all. He ignored one corner, though. On that wall hung a plaque etched with many words of praise for Mark Dole.

And not a single one of them was true.

He shoved enough clothes for a few days into a gym bag, tossed in some deodorant, shaving cream, a razor and his toothbrush. He added his laptop, a notebook and a few pencils, then zipped it shut, slipped into his sneakers without untying them, and headed over to Luke’s room.

His twin brother’s bedroom was in sharp contrast to his own. Luke, the more organized of the two, had already turned his space into one befitting a grown-up. The few pieces of furniture he’d moved with him from his California house seemed to bring all the remnants of what had once been a happy home into the small space. The hallway light cast a soft glow over the room, revealing a handmade quilt on the corner recliner and a series of photos on the rolltop desk Mary had given Luke on his last birthday. The photos were of happier times, before Death had made a special delivery to Luke’s door.

A sharp pang grabbed at Mark’s chest. He was twenty-nine. Too old to be playing the games of his youth. He’d outgrown the pennants, the cheers of the crowd, the adoring girls standing on the sidelines. When Mary’d died last year, Mark had seen and felt—in some special twin synergy—Luke’s grief and had suddenly known he was missing something very special. Coming home two weeks ago and being welcomed into his parents’ warm, bread-scented home told him just what that missing part was.

A home. Not an apartment empty of anything but the basic necessities of bachelorhood. Not a string of women, their names blurred into one—CherylJudyMelanie-Heather. For the first time in his life, Mark wanted a taste of what his brother had had. He was done with fast food. He wanted roast turkey with all the trimmings.

But having that meant settling down. Being responsible. Not letting Luke down and losing their business in one fell swoop. Mark wasn’t even sure he had it in him to be the kind of guy who could be counted on for a paycheck every two weeks and a retirement account.

Either way, before he thought about himself, he needed to restore Luke’s life to him—or at least the parts Mark was able to give back, which meant getting to the mall before nineteen other people did. He shook Luke awake.

“What? Go away. I’m asleep.”

“I need you to drop me off, or pick up my car later. I’m not leaving it in the mall lot. It could be there for days.”

Luke let out a string of expletives that said he’d forgotten his promise to drive. “It’s a Nova, Mark. Nobody’s going to steal a damned beater box from the seventies.”

“Hey, my car’s a classic.”

Luke rolled over and covered his head with the blankets. “Maybe it will be when disco comes back, but right now, it’s just an old car.” Luke let out a sigh. “I’ll pick it up later.”

“Thanks.”

Luke peeled back the blankets from his face and blinked several times. “You really going to try to win that thing?”

“Yep.”

“What the heck for?”

“I want to—” he stopped himself. “I want a portable house.” Not a very good lie, as lies went, but he couldn’t tell Luke the truth. Luke had been through enough this past year, more than anyone should have to endure. With any luck, Mark could fix some of that by being the last man standing in the RV.

And then, maybe he could embark on fixing his own life. First, he’d have to figure out where to start on himself, though.

Luke shrugged, pulled up the blankets again. “Wake me when it’s over.”

Mark dashed out the door, hopped into his Nova and headed across town. Mercy had been growing over the last year as people in Lawford opted to leave the city for land and quiet. The population had stretched by a couple thousand, prompting the opening of a mall, even though it only encompassed twelve stores. Still, it seemed to stay busy, especially with the summer tourists and antiquers.

When Mark arrived, he counted eighteen cars in the main parking lot, a couple in the mall employee area. Damn. How early did these people get up? Once inside, he saw a virtual campground had been set up on the cold white tile of the courtyard. Lounge chairs, beach towels, blankets, pillows. And people—nineteen of them. With the motor home beside them, the whole pristine, antiseptic scene looked like Walt Disney’s version of a campsite.

Mark settled onto the floor at the end of the line and rested his arms across his knees. On his left an elderly woman sat in one of those three-dollar folding lawn chairs. Beside her slept a nearly bald, wrinkled man. They both wore beret-style hats topped with a fat yarn pompom. The old woman was knitting, her needles clacking away in the quiet. Her husband had his head back, mouth open, loud, hock-hock-hock snores coming from his mouth.

“Why hello, sonny. I’m Millie Parsons. Are you here to win the motor home?” she asked, without missing a stitch.

“Yes, I am.”

She reached out a gnarled hand and patted his. “Good luck, dear.” She smiled nicely, then added, “but Lester and I are planning on winning it. We want to go to Florida, don’t you know.” She grinned until all her dentures showed. “And we don’t plan on losing.”

Mark smiled right back at her. “Neither do I.”

Her smile dropped away, she yanked her hand away and went back to her knitting. Click, clack, click, clack. Row after row of pink stitches. Probably making a noose for anyone who tried to outlast her and Lester.

A very unladylike curse sounded from behind him. Mark turned and saw Claire. “I’m twenty-one,” she said.

“Honey, you couldn’t pass for it,” Mark quipped. But in reality, she could. Her straight blond hair was up in a ponytail, a youthful style fitting her smooth, unlined skin. She had bright, almost emerald eyes, and a generous mouth he’d never seen without red lipstick. From ten feet away, it screamed “Kiss Me.” That is, it did to every man but Mark, who had never been her favorite male Homo sapiens.

She was one of the tallest women he knew, lean and athletic, and given to tight, bright-pink jeans and iridescent tanks that never seemed to extend past her belly button. God bless clothing designers who didn’t account for long torsos. Catching a glimpse of the creamy skin above her waistband could become his favorite pastime. She’d finished off the outfit with boots sporting three-inch heels. There was a name for shoes like that, but he wasn’t going to say it in public.

Claire didn’t seem to appreciate his lusty appraisal. In fact, she gave him a most irritated look. “I’m not talking about my age. I meant my place in line. I’ll never get on there now.”

He blew on his finger like a gunfighter who’d knocked out the competition. “Gee, that was an easy bet to win.”

Mark had always wondered what a glower looked like. He knew now—and it wasn’t pretty.

“It’s not over yet,” she said. “Some of these people might be here to keep the others company.” She dropped her large suitcase to the floor and plopped down beside it.

“Who are you? Ginger? Taking along a year’s worth of clothes for a three-hour tour?”

“I’d rather come over-prepared than find out two days into this that I don’t have any deodorant. I might be here for days.”

Mark leaned over and whispered in her ear. “If you want to outlast Lester and his girl here, it might be weeks. She’s got a lot of knitting to do.”

A faint smile appeared on Claire’s face. “I’m prepared.” She arched an eyebrow at his small gym bag. “Are you?”

“I travel light.”

“Then travel out of here and give me your place in line.”

“Claire, darling, you almost sound desperate.”

A flicker of something—fear, worry—flashed in her eyes, but in an instant, she was all Claire again. “No, just determined.” She fidgeted for a few seconds. Then she dug in her handbag and pulled out a bag of Hershey Kisses. She unwrapped two and popped one in her mouth. She offered the bag to him.

He shook his head. “A little early in the morning for a sugar high.”

“It’s never too early, or too late, for chocolate.” She popped in the second, chewed, swallowed. “Give me your place in line. I need that RV.”

“So do I,” Mark said. “Now, move over, twenty-one, and give the big boys some room.”

She crossed her arms over her knees. “I don’t think so.”

He crossed his over his chest. “I figured as much.”

They sat there like two store mannequins for the better part of an hour. A few other people hiked into the mall, suitcases and duffel bags in hand. All but two young boys turned away once they ran a count on those ahead of them. The boys settled down beside Claire and got into a mock sparring match.

At 5:00 a.m., a thin, wiry woman who looked like a steel rail came out from the mall offices, stood before the group and clapped her hands. “Okay, group, let’s begin!” She had a long, pinched face and black hair cut short enough for Mark to see her ears. He could imagine her as a gym teacher somewhere, shouting tortuous instructions with exuberance.

Lester continued hock-hocking away. His wife gave him a jab in the side. He jerked awake, blinking and looking around as though he had no idea where he was or why his wife had done that. “Is it time, Millie?”

“Shush.” Millie tucked her knitting needles into an I Love Bingo canvas bag. “Pay attention to the lady, Lester.”

Millie probably cut Lester’s meat into little pieces before dinner. She seemed the type.

“I’m Nancy Lewis, the community development coordinator for the Mercy Mall. We may be small, but we’re growing,” she said cheerily, using the trademark sign-off for the mall. Nancy smiled perkily and paced along the line. “I’d like to welcome you to the Survive and Drive contest! Only twenty of you will get the chance to win this fantastic motor home.” She ran her hand along the hull with the reverence of one of Bob Barker’s girls. “It’s a very expensive vehicle—an eighty-five-thousand-dollar value. It has a fully-equipped kitchen with gorgeous wood cabinets, a lounge chair, sofa, queen bed and dinette. We’ve added a couple of fold-up stools to provide additional seating. There are three televisions, one up front, one in the living area, and one in the bedroom. The shower comes with a power massage head and a skylight. Power windows, power locks and deluxe stereo system.” She slipped her hand along the side in a swoosh finale. “Anyone would be thrilled to take this motoring up to the Catskills or down the coast of Florida.”

Millie gave Lester another jab; he’d started to doze again. Claire, however, was paying close attention. Her gaze flicked between the RV and the woman, her muscles tensed, ready to spring should the number of contestants get stretched to twenty-one.

“I’d like to thank Deluxe Motor Homes for donating this magnificent RV. They’re celebrating their fiftieth anniversary in business here in Mercy by giving away one of their newest models. Let’s give a big thanks to Don Nash, the CEO of Deluxe.”

From the front of the vehicle came Don himself, a slight man in a tailored suit. Deluxe Motor Homes was one of the biggest employers in town and did a brisk business creating custom RVs for country singers and retirees. Mark supposed this contest promotion was a drop in their marketing budget bucket.

Led by Nancy’s wild bring-back-Tinkerbell-from-the-dead claps, the crowd applauded Don’s generous donation.

“Now.” Nancy clapped her hands together again. Mark wondered if her palms were starting to smart. “Let’s play who’s who among the competition before we board.” She pointed to the first person in line. “Why don’t you start?”

Mark craned his neck around Millie and Lester’s lawn chairs. A thin African-American woman wearing business clothes sat primly on one of the mall benches someone had dragged over by the RV. “I’m Adele Williams.”

“And…” Nancy prompted, waving her hand in a circular motion. “What do you do?”

“I’m a loan officer for Lawford First National.”

“Probably could have bought her own RV,” muttered Millie. She pulled out her knitting again. It seemed to be the thing she did when she was frustrated. Click, clack, click, clack.

Nancy went down the line and unearthed a few people Mark knew, a few he didn’t. There was John Madison, a guy he’d played football with. John was married and had two kids, a fact he gleefully shared, complete with photos. “They want to go to Disney World,” he said. “Two little kids, dreaming of Mickey.” He glanced around but no one expressed an iota of empathy.

There was Renee Angelo, a girl who’d been a class behind Mark. She told Nancy she wanted the RV so her grandmother could “retire in style.” Again, not an ounce of pathos from the group.

Then two makeup counter salesgirls, a security guard who looked about a hundred years old, three women who were stay-at-home moms and one guy who didn’t seem to have a job and couldn’t come up with a good reason for wanting the RV. “This girl asked me if I wanted to sign up,” he said with a shrug. “So I did.”

Then there was the bingo bunch, two couples about Millie and Lester’s age, who all talked of moving to Florida for the winter months. Millie apparently knew these folks and muttered about them under her breath as she click-clacked away. Number fifteen was a doctor. He checked his beeper twice while telling Nancy about his practice. Mark didn’t think he’d last long.

Claire was mute. She watched Nancy make her way down the line, eyeing them all like the second-ranked runner warily watching the first-ranked before the race’s start.

Sixteen and seventeen were a married couple on their honeymoon. They must be insane to want to spend their honeymoon in an RV with a bunch of strangers. They looked young and gullible, still at the age where they thought the world was going to hand them good things on a platter. A few short months ago, Mark had felt the same way. Funny how fast things could change.

Eighteen and nineteen were Millie and Lester. Twenty was Mark. When Nancy asked him what he did for work, he hesitated. “I’m… I was a salesman for a software development company but now I write training manuals.”

“How cool! Like for Microsoft?”

He snorted. “Not exactly.”

“And why do you want to win the RV, Mark?” Nancy flashed him a smile.

“I, ah…” What could he say? He was dead broke, he’d screwed up royally and he needed the RV to provide himself with both a reliable ride to California and a means to right the mistakes he’d made? Instead, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I want to go to Disneyland.”

“How sweet,” Nancy stepped over by Claire, then counted with her pointer finger. “I’m sorry, you’re twenty-one.”

“But I couldn’t pass for it,” Claire joked, using Mark’s one-liner as if trying to charm Nancy into letting her stay. “I’m Claire—”

“You’re twenty-one,” Nancy interrupted. “The rules say only twenty get on. Sorry.” She pointed to the board of rules. Then she walked back to the head of the line. “Okay, people.” She clapped twice. “Bags up! Let’s get aboard!”

Millie jabbed Lester again and stood while he folded their chairs and hoisted their bags. The others who’d missed being part of the lucky twenty wandered away.

Mark turned back to Claire. He’d never seen such a forlorn look in a woman’s eyes before. “I’m sorry, Claire.”

“Give me your place.” She gripped his arm. “Please, Mark. I’ve never asked a favor of you before, just give me this one thing and I’ll…” he saw her reach for the words, knowing from past history Claire wasn’t the type to ask anyone for anything, “owe you for the rest of my life.”

He hesitated. Any other day, if a pretty woman asked a favor of him, he’d oblige, charmingly offering a date in trade. They’d wine, dine, flirt, and before the end of the night, she’d be in his bed and he’d figure he’d been the winner.

But this wasn’t any other day. And these weren’t ordinary circumstances. For the first time in his life, Mark Dole was desperate. Desperate enough to ignore a beautiful woman’s smile and deny her the one thing she wanted. “I can’t, Claire. Sorry.”

Disbelief washed over her features. “You can’t tell me your trip to Disneyland is more important than my reasons.”

“And just why do you want to win that thing? It’s a bit big for your driveway, don’t you think?”

“I need to get to California.” She said it with such determination that he doubted she was lying.

“Buy a plane ticket.”

“A plane ticket doesn’t solve my problems. Besides, up until yesterday, I was a hairdresser at Flo’s Cut and Go. I’m rolling in blue hair dye and quarter tips, not dough.” Her gaze filled with entreaty again. “Please, Mark. I know you haven’t always liked me, but—”

“Who says I don’t like you?”

“All aboard!” Nancy cried. “Last call for the RV Train, bound for Florida or maybe Disneyland.”

Mark ignored the drill instructor. “Who says I don’t like you?” he repeated.

“Come on, Mark. We had the date from hell with Jenny and Nate. Don’t you remember? We fought over everything.”

He smiled. His memories included a spirited fight, yes, but also a spirited attraction. Why they’d never pursued that, he couldn’t recall. “I remember you were pretty warm that night.”

She let out a sigh. “That wasn’t me. It was the butter at the bottom of your popcorn bucket.” She shook her head. “That’s not the point. I need to get on that RV and win it.”

Mark raised his hands in a gesture of futility. “Sorry, Claire. I wish I could help you.” He picked up his bag, and crossed to the motor home. Behind him, he could almost hear the sound of Claire’s disappointment.

He’d arrived before her. He was number twenty. He’d earned his place on the motor home. But as he walked toward the prize he intended to win, he couldn’t have felt like a bigger heel if he’d been on the bottom of a pair of loafers.