Ex-husband Levi, one might say. He stood on the table in Christina’s boarding-house, watching her pack her things and stuff them into several of her own trunks. She would be moving out the next day, and they would be taking the train out west. Something had happened in Midtown. A fire had spread out across a block, and though – as yet – there were no confirmed deaths, several people, including Christina herself, were suspected of, at the very least, arson. She had been seen in the neighborhood, an hour before the flames engulfed it.

“I cannot understand this, yet. I’ve done what you asked, and what Clara demanded, but my size doesn’t seem to have returned as yet. Indeed I feel quite the same as I always have. I don’t mean, Christina, to seem partly fearful or apprehensive about this, but is it possible that Clara lied to you?”
“No Levi, that doesn’t seem possible to me. Wait an hour or so, and don’t worry so much.”
“And then my mind has been full with thoughts of Lydia. What could she have thought, when I was – it hurts me more, when I recollect it – when I failed to respond. I cannot imagine.”
“No, Levi. I make bold to suggest that you ought not to try imagining or picturing or regarding any of that as being of any future consequence to you whatever. She shall soon forget about it.”
“Yes, I’m sure, and I hope so, of course.”
“Of course. While I greatly enjoy, beyond words, our little chats, Levi, climb inside my shoe and clean it a bit before tomorrow.”
“What? But you can’t be serious.”
“No, I'm very serious. (Though I reckon you won't always find that that's the case.) This time I am serious.” She picked him up and carried him over to her old shoes, which were just underneath the bed. “I need clean shoes for the excursion tomorrow, and I simply have no time to work them myself. So you must clean them for me.”
Levi looked at her dubiously, and with some fear. “But, see what I have already done for you: the $4,000, the trip, the --”
“And consider what I’ve done for you, Levi. Remember that. You shall have your life again. Get working.” She turned away and busied herself with other things. Levi resigned himself to the task at hand, and started to lick the shoes for her. He had fallen a long way indeed, although he still focused, hopefully, on the next day, when the potion would become operative, and he would begin to grow again.

An hour later, Christina withdrew the shoes from underneath the bed and inspected them. She smiled at Levi. “I’m pleased with this, very pleased.”
Levi, despite himself, smiled and felt obscurely gratified with the praise, and proud of his workmanship. 
“In celebration of my exodus from the city tomorrow, let us spend the night together on the town, get dinner. And after all, little guy, I’ve got nothing here. Curl up in your spot, underneath my toes.”
Levi expressed a faint objection, a slight disagreement, an alternative. “I’m worried that the formula, that the formula’s active ingredient may have been delayed too long. Maybe we should return to Clara, and question her. I don’t know why –”
“No, no, Levi. Just be patient. Be more patient. And think of the life that is coming to you. Think of the future. I cannot express to you, however much I wish I could, how grateful I am to be quitting the skirts of this downhill moldering town. And I cannot help but judge you and perceive a thin air of ingratitude surrounding you when you aim to oppose me in this. Is this opposition, Levi? I’ve sacrificed the last day for you, haven’t I?”
“No, it's only concern, it's worry – is worry opposition?”
“Worry, in this case–I assure you–is irrational and unnecessary. Be patient, I say. Be very, very patient. Climb down under my toes – I’ll not warn you again.”
Levi waited for her toes to cover him, and was overwhelmed again by the pressure, scent, and presence of Christina’s feet. He grew erect at once, and – against his best interests, concerns, and thoughts – began to feel grateful. He would try to be more patient with her. Day by day, we change, he considered. Tomorrow he would return to his size, and then they would leave together. Tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for the rest of their lives, he would be grateful for what Christina had done for him. He remembered how she had fitted him carefully in her drawers, just as they were leaving, and how a man had tried to detain her. She pulled him out, briefly, and exposed him to the light. Then there was the sudden flash of steel on flesh, and he was plunged back in beside her womanhood. Perhaps she had saved him then, he thought. He inhaled deeply, and began to kiss and lick between her sweaty, bare toes. She seemed to appreciate this, and curled and flexed her toes in response. Though at first he disliked nearly all that she seemed to like, he would learn – in time, day by day – to be more patient.

--------------------------------------------

That same morning Charles Och woke up from quiet dreams to find his wife with another man. Two letters had arrived early that morning, one for him, and the other addressed to his wife, Lucy, scented with lilies. The butler handed them to him at sunrise, when Och, bursting like another sun out of bed, stood by his chamber window and watched the people passing by in the street. Craning his body halfway out, he looked off toward the western horizon, and saw the meteors falling below the reach of the sun.

Charles gave a quick and interrogative, though very puzzled, look at his butler – who shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “These arrived early, did they?”
“Yessir. During the night.”
Charles observed – with surprise, and some interest – that his legal partner had written to his wife Lucy, and included the return address on the envelope. The letter addressed to him was anonymous and, as he scanned its contents, penned in a hurry by someone – he guessed a woman – who seemed to be in some distress. That the two letters could be connected did not at first cross his mind. It was not until much later in the morning, around 8 o’clock, when he was setting up his desk at the office, arranging papers, and sorting through files, that he realized – with a curious shock – that Levi might have been less than forthright with him. Because it was at 8 o’clock that bright and frosty morning, in Fulton Street, that Lucy Och charged into his office and thrust her own letter into his hands. She was furious, insulted, and demanded to see his partner. He wasn’t in, Charles said. What was the matter? Read, read, and soon you’ll know all.

So Charles read, and then shared his own anonymous letter with his wife. To Charles, the case soon became very perplexing. About his wife he could doubt nothing: she had only received an unseemly letter from another man. Another man who addressed himself – though the handwriting seemed to be somewhat off – as Levi, his law partner. Charles Och resolved to walk down to the house on Fulton Street and ask Levi what was going on. He was puzzled, and very nearly offended.

But the house was empty on that sunny, meteor-flung morning, and neither Levi nor Lydia was at home. There was a note on the door, scrawled in large, black letters, which read: OUT. He decided to leave his card, and come back later in the afternoon or on the following morning. This was only a small mystery, he thought (and hoped), and would easily be cleared up after a single conversation. Someone had been playing a practical joke on him, and he was a man who could appreciate a good, rollicking joke. Yet -- he had hoped for a quick resolution.