by Joan Bauer
The Oakbrook Gladstone’s Shoe Store was all windows facing a little garden of red geraniums. Everything about it seemed so sure, so right, except the window sign.
TODAY ONLY
Rollings Walkers
20% OFF
Rollings Walkers were the shoes that were giving me blisters.
Helen Ruggles, normally a happy woman, today looked stern. We sat in the back and got down to business. Helen said, “Madeline, I believe Elden wants to shut the Gladstone stores down one by one and move everything over to discount retailing.”
She had to be kidding!
Mrs. Gladstone sipped her coffee. “Did he tell you that?”
Helen set her jaw. “No, but I’ve been hearing things. In Louisiana, Elden is exclusively selling the Shoe Warehouse labels. In Kansas City, he has just made a decision to close that store and have the local Shoe Warehouse handle the business.”
Mrs. Gladstone tensed. “That’s outrageous! Why haven’t I been informed?”
Helen kept her voice low. “Madeline, are they taking you seriously in Dallas?”
That caught Mrs. Gladstone up short.
Helen pushed back her bangs. “I know you were named Director of Quality Control. Are they really giving you that authority?”
“Ken and I talk regularly. He’s listening to my thoughts on doing business.”
Helen sighed. “Elden is coming out to visit the stores and tell us about the new plan. Did you know that?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t.”
I wasn’t sure what to say on the way home.
I pulled onto I-88 and headed to Chicago. “Mrs. Gladstone,” I asked finally, “what are you going to do?”
“Jenna, sometimes in life we have to fight for what we’ve been given. Do you understand what I mean?”
I wasn’t sure why you’d have to fight for something you already had. “I don’t think so.”
“You see, the sad truth is that corporations can play games with people. They tell you that you have certain authority and then, without telling you, they make sure you don’t.”
“I had a friend like that once, Mrs. Gladstone. She kept telling me we were such good friends, but behind my back she was putting me down every chance she got.”
“And what did you do about that friend?”
“I confronted her. I told her I knew what she’d been saying.”
“I think I’m getting ready to do something like that, too.”
“Well, don’t expect people to take it real well right off, Mrs. Gladstone. Franny started screaming at me right by my locker that I was a liar. You know, it was kind of embarrassing, but then I realized it made her look like the fool, not me. That was a year ago; we still go to the same school, but she just looks away when she sees me coming.”
“I will remember that, Jenna.”
The longer I’m in the business world, the more I see how much they need me.
“Right now,” she continued, “we have two ways to approach the matter. Retreat or advance.” I could hear her sitting up straighter. I wondered how she kept going forward with all the junk piled in her way.
“I’ve never seen you retreat from anything, ma’am.”
“I’m going to do my job whether they like it or not.”
I smiled, but inside I felt cautious.
Could they fire her?
And if Mrs. Gladstone was gone, could they fire me?
I felt a sharp pain shoot through my heel.
I dropped Mrs. Gladstone at the store and limped to the only man in Chicago who could help me.
“Hi, Gus. I’ve got a problem.”
A small, gnarled man was hunched over a shoe at a back table. He made a noise but didn’t look up.
“Everyone who comes to me has a problem.”
I took off my shoes to get his attention. “I’m being tortured here, Gus.”
He walked slowly to me, grabbed my Rollings Walkers, felt the inside, tapped the toe, slammed it hard on the counter. He put it on the shelf near his window and peered at the heel.
“Okay, here’s your situation. The stitching’s a little wide and that’s causing the heel to wobble. When did you buy these?”
“Two weeks ago. But I had another pair and they never gave me any trouble.”
Gus felt the sole, sniffed it. He pushed his spectacles onto his wide forehead. “They changed it.”
“No, Gus. Not this brand.”
“Only evident to the trained eye. I could restitch it for you. Make it tighter.”
“How much?”
Gus shook his head. “Everybody wants to know everything ahead of time. I’m not going to know the full damage until I get in there.” He looked at the other shoe. “This one’ll give you the same problem, but it hasn’t blown yet.” He stood back, thinking. “Twelve fifty, but that’s an estimate.”
“I’ll bring them tomorrow.”
“You gotta put these back on?”
I nodded.
He threw me a package of moleskin. “You should know better.”
Even though I was in pain, I took the long way back to work so I could see Opal and remind her that her summer job from hell only had one more week to go. I saw the tiny Fotomat booth at the end of the block where Opal sat eight hours a day. In the early weeks she’d made the most of it and really turned on the personality. Now, the walls were closing in.
I poked my head in the booth. “How are you?”
“I’m thinking about the meaning of life, and the answer isn’t in this chamber.”
“It could be worse. You could be Bo-Peep walking down the aisle.”
“I could have a real job like you.”
“You’d hate selling shoes. You’d argue with the customers.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Opal, you’d have to deal with the demanding public.”
A woman poked her head in the booth and said, “My photos aren’t ready until 5:00 P.M., but I was wondering if I could pick them up now.”
Opal turned to me. Her eyes looked hunted. “What do you call this?”
Mrs. Gladstone was in her office with the door closed, but when she’s upset, her voice really carries.
“Rollings Walkers have never had a five percent return. Never! We’ve always been at one percent or below. What is happening at that Bangor plant? . . . Well, find out and get back to me.”
A return in the shoe business usually means the shoe was made badly. Rollings Walkers are our best-selling brand. I heard her slam the phone down. I went over and knocked on her door.
“What!”
I opened the door a crack so she could see me.
I walked in, took off my Rollings Walkers, and told her what Gus had said.
Mrs. Gladstone picked up my shoes, bent them hard, and bent them again.
“Is there something you want me to do, Mrs. Gladstone?”
“Yes,” she ordered. “Get some better shoes and keep your eyes open.”
Chapter 8
You can find a lot that’s wrong when you keep your eyes open.
There were staff problems—Murray couldn’t find passionate shoe people to work other shifts. Nells, who replaced me when I was gone this summer, had the personality of a clam. Ginger, our weekend floater, was part snapping turtle. “I’m trying to motivate sea life here,” Murray shouted. “Where are the visionaries? Where are the stars of tomorrow? In addition to you, kid.”
“Thanks, Murray.”
Company memos were coming in. My in-box was bulging.
From the desk of Elden Gladstone:
The design of Gladstone’s popular women’s penny loafers is being updated to appeal to today’s fashion-conscious consumer. Please discount all remaining stock from now until the end of the year.
That’s business speak for Get rid of the old shoes. The brand is being eliminated.
The funding was cut for the consulting podiatrist, too.
I peered in corners, eyes open.
&nb
sp; But what did she want me to see?
The green envelope in my in-box read, For everybody. I opened it.
The card was hand-painted with brilliant colored flowers and butterflies. A squirrel family poked from behind a tree—they were all wearing high-top red sneakers.
The words A SECOND CHANCE curled across the top like skywriting. I opened it.
Thank you for not just seeing our wrongdoing, but seeing the other part of us, too.
Thank you for giving my brother and me a second chance.
You have the best shoe store in the world.
Your friend,
Yaley
Below it was printed,
U RULE!
Webster T. Cobb, age 4 and 3/8
I’d never heard of a four-year-old who could write.
I felt a rustle of movement. There was Tanner. I showed him the card.
“The girl can paint.”
“Yaley painted this?”
“She’s the best, when she keeps her head straight.”
He headed down the stairs before I could ask what he meant.
I thought about second chances and what Mrs. Gladstone had said about people learning from their mistakes. I thought about my dad—how I’d given him a thousand second chances probably, but they never did him any good.
I thought about the big second chance Mrs. Gladstone was giving Tanner. He could seem more grateful.
I went into Mrs. Gladstone’s office and showed her the card. She studied it, smiling.
“Look at this detail, Jenna. She said her mother taught her.”
“The mother on drugs?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Gladstone put the card on her desk next to the picture of Elden in better days, when he was a smiling little boy.
I wondered how many second chances Mrs. Gladstone had already given him.
Her phone buzzed; I reached to answer it. Murray’s voice burst through the receiver. “Kid, Madeline better get down here right away. There’s a . . . gentleman to see her about Tanner.”
The way Murray said gentleman, I could tell this guy didn’t fit the bill.
I followed Mrs. Gladstone to the elevator; we took it to the sales floor.
A large, sweaty, pasty-colored man was standing at the register, jiggling a big key chain. The keys clicked together in an irritating clink.
“Madeline,” Murray said, “this is Burt Odder. Tanner’s parole officer.”
Mrs. Gladstone didn’t even blink. I tried to get Murray’s attention, but he was looking down. If this were school, I would have stuck my hand in the air and asked the big question.
Ex-convicts have parole officers, right?
Burt Odder nodded slightly at Mrs. Gladstone and kept jiggling those keys. The front of his shirt was wet from perspiration.
“Ma’am, I’m here to tell you that I’m aware of you offering this individual a job, and while that’s kindly, I need to make you aware that he’s had five arrests in two years. He was just released from a youth prison for pickpocketing.”
“I see.” Mrs. Gladstone looked at Burt Odder’s keys.
“I watch ’em come and go. I can tell the ones who are going to make it and the ones that nobody can help.”
“How have you tried to help him, Mr. Odder?”
He smirked. “I tell him what’s what, you know? I tell him the law.”
“And how does that help him?”
“It means he knows what’s what.” Burt Odder leaned against the checkout counter like he owned the place.
“I would imagine he already knows what’s what, Mr. Odder. I would imagine he would want to know how to get out of the fix he’s in.”
“Look, lady—”
“You can call me Mrs. Gladstone.”
Burt Odder didn’t like that, but she was just getting started. She narrowed her eyes and charged. “This is my store, Mr. Odder. I pay my taxes and I’m a law-abiding citizen. I can hire whomever I choose.”
He wiped his sweaty forehead, but it didn’t make much of a difference. “I just came to warn you, nice and friendly. My job is to protect the public, to assist ex-offenders adjusting to life in a free community, and to prevent future criminal acts.” He said it like he had that memorized. “The rules are like this—if you decide to keep him employed, I can come in here at any time to check up on him. I got Judge Perrelli’s personal orders that I’m to watch this one specially close.” He showed her some official paper.
Mrs. Gladstone said, “Jenna, let Tanner know that Mr. Odder is here.”
I headed in the back as Burt Odder said, “I don’t need to talk to him now.”
“No time like the present, Mr. Odder.” She nodded to me. “Jenna . . .”
Burt Odder glared at me like I’d better not go back there.
Do I obey the law or The Law? I decided to obey the one who signed my checks.
I rushed into the back. Tanner was sweeping up, doing a really thorough job, too, getting all the dust balls from the corners. He probably learned good sweeping skills in prison. My warning bells were clanging.
“Listen,” I said, “there’s a guy out there you know.”
Tanner looked concerned. “Who?”
“Um . . . Burt Odder.”
Tanner threw the broom against the wall. The stick broke in two.
I stepped back. “I think you’d better come.”
He didn’t move.
“You did a good job on the floor, Tanner.”
He clenched his fists, shoved them in his pockets. We walked out on the sales floor. Burt Odder smirked. “Okay, you know the routine.”
Mrs. Gladstone snapped, “I don’t know the routine, Mr. Odder. Explain it to me, please.”
“He’s gotta check in with me when I say and stay clean. Isn’t that right, Cobbie?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“And we’re happy to know he’s going to be helping out here at the store.” He said it like it was all a good joke.
Burt Odder jingled his keys, turned on his cheap plastic soles, and waddled out of the store. It was like watching a bad storm pass, hoping it hadn’t left too much damage.
Mrs. Gladstone said, “Tanner, you can go back to what you were doing.”
I carefully avoided the back room until we ran out of peds; unfortunately, that’s where they were stored. Murray and I flipped a coin to see who would go in. I lost.
I poked my head in the door; Tanner was creating a recycling space, putting all the supplies in order. The peds were on the shelf across the room. How to build camaraderie and remain uninjured?
I did a quick dash across the floor, saying, “That guy Odder’s a genuine jerk.”
Tanner slammed twine and scissors on a shelf.
I reached up on the high shelf and got the peds. “That must be hard to have to report to somebody like that.”
Tanner moved behind me. “What do you know about it?”
“Nothing. I was just—”
“What—trying to help? You want to rehabilitate me so you can put a badge on your arm, show you did your good deed for the day?”
I spun around. “No. That’s not—”
“You got some kind of thing to prove with me?”
“That’s not fair!”
“I don’t come from where it’s fair!”
He grabbed a box of shoes and threw it against the wall; he hurled another one, swearing. I dropped the peds, tore out of the back room, and almost crashed into Mrs. Gladstone; she’d been standing at the door.
“Jenna,” she said, “stay here.”
She marched into the stockroom. “Mister Cobb, I have no idea what your life has been like. I have no idea what it is like to try to play the hand you’ve been dealt. To tell you I understand would be an insult to you, but to excuse your behavior solely because of it discredits us both. Pick up the shoes and apologize to Jenna.”
Tanner stood there, not moving. His breathing came in short gasps. Mrs. Gladstone didn’t blink. Then Tanner bent down, slowl
y picked up the shoes, put them back in their boxes, and said, “Sorry.”
She turned to me.
I swallowed hard. “It’s okay, Tanner.”
“Sorry about my language,” he added to Mrs. Gladstone.
She glared at him. “I find that talk mostly tiresome and un-creative. But I do have a favorite four-letter word. Would you like to hear it?”
I took a step back.
“Work,” she snapped, and threw a mop toward him. “There’s one thing I know to be true for rich and poor—there’s power in honest labor. I know how to teach it; I know how to make sure you are properly trained so that you can make a fair living. That is the opportunity I offer you here, but it won’t be handed to you. You will have to work for it.”
Tanner exhaled sharply and looked down.
“Jenna Boller has a work ethic that you would do well to emulate.”
He nodded. “I guess I could sell shoes.”
“That remains to be seen, young man.” Mrs. Gladstone turned on her heel and hobbled off.
Chapter 9
Over the next few days, I felt observed.
Tanner Cobb was studying my every move like a robber casing a bank. Mrs. Gladstone had set the stage, too.
“Jenna, I feel that there’s much you can demonstrate to Tanner about good business sense.”
I shook my head. Not me.
“I’m asking you to take him under your wing.”
“I’m wingless.” I put my arms firmly at my side to make the point.
“You soar more than you realize, dear. Now when you’re doing something, explain the steps to him. Let him soak in the experience of how well you do your job.”
It’s hard to say no when a request comes wrapped in compliments.
I was standing on the sales floor with Tanner. When you do things naturally, it’s hard to break them down with explanation. Like measuring feet.
Tanner was on his knees, trying to measure my right foot. He moved the lever to the top of my big toe and studied it. “I can’t tell if it’s a ten or an eleven.”
