Welcome to the Cheap Seats

Tessa watched Dallas getting thinner outside the Greyhound. The bus transfer represented a minor highlight after... she didn't even know how many hours.

"How long have we been on the road, Zache?" she asked, maintaining the sneer in her voice. Her phone pinged.

"About thirty hours!" Zache responded via text, chipper as ever. "Isn't this enjoyable?! You've never been out of California, Miss Jett, so it's quite an adventure! Something to add to your origin story!"

"Hmm," Tessa grunted, side-eyeing the other passengers. They'd packed up tighter than pleased them, cognitive dissonance ringing in the air. Tessa's seat was empty, and yet no one could sit there. Mysteries of the open road.

"Pretty please, with sugar on top, get off my feet," Tessa tried. Her phone pinged again. She didn't bother looking.

"Memphis!" Zache would assure.

She eventually read it anyway, then scrolled all the way back.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tessa had hit D's Joint for a teriyaki tofu bowl, her employee discount not enough to keep her at work for lunch.

She'd popped into Goodwill on the way back and seen the shoes.

Tessa had tried them on, already having mentally bought them. A supernaturally perfect fit, and cute! Even with her black work pants and ankle socks.

And then she'd realized she couldn't take them off.

"'Scuse me..." she'd led with, finally having to admit defeat and approach the cashier.

It hadn't taken long for the next penny to drop: not only could she not get the shoes off, no one even acknowledged her existence. These two realizations delivered a phone ping.

"Mistress Jett, so glad to make your acquaintance!" read the text. From one 'Zache Footwise,' absurdly enough. His avatar a smiling blue anthropomorphized footprint.

In amongst the demands, threats and entreaties Tessa had fired off, thumbs flying, she'd softened into wonder. Walking the not-quite two miles home, she'd had her phone in her right hand and her black work shoes in her left. Tessa had stepped into the street as an experiment, watching the vehicles part around her on Hawthorne Boulevard. Not an exercise for the faint of heart.

"I'm not going to start dancing, am I?" she'd asked, remembering the fairy tale. She'd by now realized she could speak directly to the shoes, but Zache still had to answer via text. "And it's Tessa! Stop with the 'mistress' stuff, don't make this creepier."

"LOL!" Zache texted. "I'm blue suede, not red silk and leather, Miss Jett!" Tessa took the small victory. Then tried to text Zofia at work, already realizing she couldn't come back from lunch to serve if no one could perceive her.

"That won't work either, Miss Jett!" Zache had informed, cheerful as ever. Each exclamation point a wink of bonhomie. Tessa had watched as he'd crafted his own text to "Twee" Z, informing her Tessa was calling off sick for at least the rest of her shift, "bad fish taco idk." More interesting than Zache's text intercession had been discovering Zofia's last name was Ochs, though Zache hadn't felt she'd rated a 'mistress.' Wearers only.

"I don't need to go to work!" Tessa had announced, halfway back to 115th Street. "I could walk in and rob a bank! I'm moving to El Segundo!"

"Now, now, Miss Jett!" Zache had responded.

~ ~ ~

She'd gotten a selfie outside of Union Station. Surrendering, to all of it. Zache's insistence on a trip to Graceland for the liberation of her feet. His polite evasions regarding his provenance and full range of abilities. The (feigned) imposition over the costume! Tessa's musings on her imperceptibility had promoted her from bank robber to superheroine, and she'd prodded Zache to cough up some really good powers.

"I can manage a change of wardrobe, Miss Jett!" Zache had supplied.

She'd screamed as he'd eaten her socks, howled as black tights started crawling up her legs, cooed as the cape sprouted.

"But... black?" Tessa had carped, checking herself out in the plate glass of Moshi Moshi Mambo. She didn't want to be evil Supergirl. Certainly not with a stylized Denny's "D" on her chest. Still, aside from color, the outfit appeared to be a perfect replica.

"Transmuting materials leaves me bound to original color, Miss Jett!" Zache had apprised brightly. "Your costume is well-nigh invulnerable, you know, even if you aren't! Best I could manage!"

And so she'd taken the picture. Nineteen-year-old blonde bowl-cut geek, no glasses, voguing an actual supersuit outside a bus station after a long, painless walk. With no one to admire her but her. And Zache — who'd had the sense to become blue suede boots, a striking complement to her black pantyhose.

"I genuinely can't gift you with flight or teleportation or portal spawning powers, Miss Jett!" Zache had said, not at all impatient with Tessa's strategic wheedling.

"By bus, no less," Tessa had said, tromping onto the Greyhound and sashaying past the oblivious driver.

"Humble beginnings, Miss Jett!"

~ ~

"Allirra the Unobtrusive!" Tessa had announced in Arizona darkness. The other riders were drowsing. She was wide awake, neither hungry nor thirsty. And clean. Super-clean. She'd been wondering how to manage the costume for calls of nature. Zache had blithesomely allowed these were things of the past, so long as she kept the outfit on. Eating and drinking were now recreational, elimination was conveniently rescinded, hygiene was comprehensive and continuous.

"Though, really, Miss Jett, your middle name?! It makes for a delightful - if questionable - alter ego!"

"Hmmph," she'd responded with good humor. The 'Louisiana Hayride' podcast Zache had scared up was actually interesting. She chased it with "Into the Night". David Bowie and Carl Perkins, out the window!

~

Tessa was getting weirded out by the persistent wakefulness. Not wired, but simply not getting tired. Her phone had also stuck at 80% charge, Zache declaring this optimum. He ran interference with movies and music: "True Romance" punctuated with some Ral Donner tunes. "Mystery Train", naturally enough, then a run of Terry Stafford songs. Following a leg-stretch stop in Tunica, Zache sandbagged Tessa with the two Coreys in "Last Resort", a shaggy dog run at the end credits. Then a track from Eilert Pilarm to twist the blade. Tessa squirmed and loved it.

The bus broke down in North Little Rock.

"There is no passenger train from Little Rock to Memphis!" Tessa insisted.

"And yet, Allirra, you've accept everything else since we made our acquaintance?! Trust my guidance!"

Tessa grumbled, bopped over the Arkansas River on a pedestrian bridge, strolled up Riverfront Drive. She defused a kerfuffle in the Wyndham Riverfront parking lot by pantsing both parties.

"Quick-thinking, Allirra!" Zache gushed. "Most unobtrusive, insofar as violence was avoided! You're shaping up into a creditable heroine!"

"Yeah, well," Tessa said modestly, shrugging and grinning under the blue suede approbation. Her reflexes seemed to have sharpened considerably, even granting neither of the guys could recognize her presence.

She waltzed right in to the UP hump yard and hopped the freight Zache indicated. Running faster and jumping higher than was humanly possible, to be sure, but it still didn't completely scratch the 'super' itch for Tessa.

"Look at you go!" Zache texted, enthusiastic.

"It wasn't all that," Tessa said dismissively, smiling.

"We'll arrive after sundown, an evening introduction to Soulsville!" Zache told her.

"How did you restrain yourself from the pun?" Tessa teased. Then immediately found herself glued in place, cross-eyed with insole pleasure. Zache was feeling playfully vibratory. Tessa gaped at having been on the verge of an authentic footgasm.

·

Zache fast-walked Tessa out to Elvis Presley Boulevard. Suit-induced satiety aside, he then insisted she make a pitstop at the A & R Bar-B-Q. Zache placed an online order for pick-up, and Tessa did indeed pick it up, with no one the wiser as she reached over the counter.

"You know..." she began, talking around a mouthful of pork shoulder sandwich.

"It's paid for, Allirra, no worries!" Zache assured. Tessa thanked him, with feeling. Her food service reflexes had been screaming.

In less than four miles, they were there. Arthur Crudup and Everly Brothers on the way, no slack in the music.

A KFC across the street from the Graceland Guest House, Boulevard Souvenirs, the 'Lisa Marie' Convair 880, and then past the big lot to the main complex. Not the mansion itself, but the Graceland Soundstage, the car museum in back, and the place Zache was stepping for: the Entertainer Career Museum.

"I don't know, Zache," Tessa temporized, stifling a Bar-B-Q burp. Or something.

"I know, Allirra, I know!" Zache responded. "Beyond reflexology, I'm adept at podomancy as well! The moment you put me on, I knew we'd be coming here together! You were the perfect companion to make the journey with! No tears, I'm blue enough already! Farewell!"

Zache doffed himself from Tessa's feet, transforming from boots back to shoes. He walked off quickly toward the museum doors, the best 'not looking back' performance that sapient footwear could manage. Tessa choked up, but held on. Felt something under her right foot, checked it. A Chase Sapphire Preferred card, score! She grabbed the plastic and headed back out, wandering idly.

"You walk down in your stockin' feet, hon?" asked the guy stepping out of the guardhouse, smiling. The tuneful front gates of Graceland proper, but Tessa wasn't keen on seeing the actual mansion.

"I'm here with a friend," she said, glad to be visible again even as she realized she must look ridiculous. "They went to get my boots for me."

"Can't you just fly to where they are?" he asked. Heavyset older guy, whitening at the temples. He was having fun, but not unkindly.

"Nah," Tessa said, smiling back and walking away.

Zache had left directions on her phone. Back up Presley Boulevard, a fair walk down Winchester, over to Airways. Another bus station. The Sapphire took care of the fastest one-way ticket back to L.A., and Tessa welcomed the stares she was getting.

"'You'll be swimming those milk clouds on hiiiiigh!'" Tessa sang back to some kid who'd said something to her she hadn't even made out, as she minced up the bus steps to find a seat. No official condemnation of her shoelessness, thankfully.

Some guy came and sat next to her, and they struck up a conversation that lasted well into Mississippi.


---

Blink Check: I did this on a whim for the 11/16/2024 prompt from The Writer's Cramp: "Please write a story or poem that has the title: ''Evening Train to Graceland''. Please select 'Music' as one of your genres."

I'm not into Elvis, thought exactly that while reading the prompt, and remembered The Wonder Stuff album from 1991. I then thought Jill Setter as Tara from "Welcome Freshmen" would fit the bill as a protag, and was later surprised to find that "Welcome Freshmen" itself had debuted on Nickelodeon just months before "Never Loved Elvis" released. Unconscious knowledge?

The thing is, the only song I knew off of that album was "The Size of a Cow" which doesn't really fit the story. But I rolled with it into the anagramming phase, all the same.

Tessa Allirra Jett = "Jill Setter as Tara"
The Size of a Cow = "Zache Footwise" (ditto "Zofia 'Twee' Ochs")

I had about twelve hours to try and shape something up, and so my 'evening train' turned into a trainwreck.

I put Tessa in Hawthorne, California after the high school in "Welcome...". I obviously know nothing about Hawthorne past the Beach Boys association. Found a thrift store next to a Denny's, called it good enough. Figured where she might live around there, determined most of the journey would be by bus with a train at the end. Had to check if there was a direct route to Memphis from Los Angeles (not via Greyhound, apparently). Was surprised to learn there's no passenger rail service between Little Rock and Memphis. Knowing nothing about Little Rock or Memphis, had to check routes there. I did more research than writing, as normally happens.

This entire piece was basically a tour on Google maps, and it shows. But it was still fun to write. I scratched the fetishy itch without burying the squick needle, with any luck (ymmv). All from a "Blue Suede Shoes as Red Shoes!" inspiration. I made several Elvis-adjacent references while only using the name once.

And then I didn't post it to Writer's Cramp! Ha! I'd thought the story limit was 2k rather than 1k words, whoops. I didn't feel like cutting and mutilating at that point. I also didn't really want it to end where it did -- I wanted many more adventures for Tessa and Zache -- but Zache was ultimately bound for the museum. Having to whip something up quickly made it interesting, though. A longer time mulling the premise would likely have landed it all in Notes Limbo where virtually everything I've ever 'written' resides, more spectral with each passing year.

A huge shout out to Sophia Snowflake who demonstrated that gentle stories about sentient clothing and bikes can be enjoyable.

My realization: walking the line between fantasy and outright fetish fuel is... a faculty I'll never get together. I'll forgive myself and hope to meet someone like-minded.