The black leather Prato boots

Beth just sat there drinking right through Dominique’s shift. Ordering double Jacks on the rocks and tequila shooters in between those. Like she had something to forget, some heartbreak to heal.
But she would never say what that was. Oh no, Beth van Wyk wasn’t that kind of girl. She was one of those girls who was your friend, but never really shared anything. You’d only find out she had a new boyfriend when she brought him round the Roxy and said casually, “Dom, this is Eric. Eric, Dom.” And that would be the end of that.
This was without a doubt another boyfriend drama, but Dom knew she wouldn’t get word one out of her colleague. Beth was also a Roxy’s barlady, but tonight was her night off. So Dom had the pleasure of serving her whiskies while she propped up the bar and Blow The Band screamed metal mayhem from the stage.
The worst part was that Beth was wearing the boots. The black leather Prato boots she’d borrowed from Dominique two months ago. “Ah, these are gorgeous! I can wear them to the Civic tonight. Is that cool, hey Dom?”
Of course she’d said yes, and of course Beth had been wearing the boots ever since. You’d swear they were the only shoes she owned.
And it’s not like she could ask her to give them back tonight, and then expect her to go walk home from the Roxy barefoot.
But they cost almost a thousand bucks – a whole weekend’s earnings, if not two. Beth knew very well Dom could never buy another pair, and of course Beth would never be getting a pair of her own. She was too busy spending her wages on the other side of the bar on her every night off.
And they were such nice boots too. Polished leather. Dress boots, the lady called them. They had wedge heels and went halfway up your calves, with a side zip so you could get them off easy.
So cool. And you could wear them with anything. A long dress, or stockings and hotpants… or just a pair of faded black jeans, like Beth was wearing tonight. You couldn’t even tell they were boots, for goodness’ sake.
“What do you think of Chris?” she wanted to know now.
“He’s alright I guess,” Dom speculated. “He’s got something, about him.” Beth always went for bass players. Groovy silent types.
“I’m gonna ask him to walk me to the ATM… I’ll be back now.”
Dom watched Beth’s progress as she poured a set of shooters for Blow, who’d just come off stage, and couldn’t help smiling to herself as Chris the bass player shook his head and pointed to his wallet pocket. He’d just come back from the bank.
Beth turned on her shiny black wedge heels and stormed out of the Roxy, looking irate and a little unsteady from the whiskies.
Blow had played a hectic set, and installed themselves at the bar for three rounds of suitcases while the Diesel Whores played.
The Diesels set was almost over when Dom noticed Beth wasn’t back yet. It had been almost 45 minutes. And she banked at First National – their ATM was just a block up Main Road. She said she’d be back…
Dom had a sick feeling in her stomach, and she knew she had to go check. She asked Paulina to cover for her and took a walk up the road.
In Main Road three sets of lights flashed in the middle of the road a block up. Right outside the ATM.
Please don’t let it be true. The Netcare 911 car obscured Dom’s view as she ran towards the scene. She could see a bunch of people huddled around a pile of jackets on the road. Like someone had been hit, and they were trying to keep them warm.
Two paramedics knelt by the pile of jackets. They were about to slide the victim onto a stretcher. Oh no, please let it not be her…
A plaid blazer slipped off the pile as it was loaded onto the stretcher. A pair of black-leather Prato boots peeked out…
And Beth’s voice shrieked tipsily across Main Road Melville: “Put me down! Get your hands off me!”