Shoe Addicts Anonymous

by Beth Harbison

  “Wow, a boy! That would be so weird, wouldn’t it? We grew up in such a girly house.”

  “I know. I—”

  Sandra set her spoon aside, then looked at her sister. To her surprise, Tiffany was crying. “What’s wrong? Tif, what’s the matter?”

  Tiffany put her hands up over her face and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Is the baby really okay?” Sandra put an arm around her sister, wishing their mother were there to handle this. Sandra had no experience at all dealing with an insecure Tiffany. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “The baby is fine.” Tiffany sniffed and carefully wiped the tears from under her eyes without messing up her makeup. “It’s just…This is so selfish, I can’t even say it.”

  “What is it?” Sandra was alarmed. Was Tiffany about to reveal an affair or something? That was it, Charlie had probably had an affair. Sandra had never fully trusted him. He was cold. And a little mean. “Look, maybe we should call Mom and ask her to come over.”

  “No,” Tiffany snapped. “The last thing I need is her here telling me how wonderful everything is, and how perfect my life is, and on and on and on.”

  Come to think of it, Sandra wasn’t really fond of those conversations either. She grasped Tiffany’s narrow shoulders and looked into her eyes. “What’s the matter? Tell me.”

  Tiffany closed her eyes for a moment, her mouth quivering some with unspoken horror, then admitted, “I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t know what to do with the penis.”

  This wasn’t a phrase Sandra had ever heard before, so her first reaction was no reaction. “You don’t know what to do with the penis? What do you mean?”

  “The baby. I don’t know what to do with a baby boy. It’s not like we had brothers or male cousins or anything like that. When I found out I was pregnant, I was all ready for pink nursery walls and frilly bedsheets, and baby dolls, and Disney princesses….” She dissolved into tears.

  “Oh, Tif.” Sandra patted her back, unsure what else to say or do. “It’ll be okay. Really.” She didn’t want to add that she thought Tiffany was a victim of her hormones right now, but she did think that was at least part of the problem.

  “I’m sorry,” Tiffany said through shuddering breaths. “I love the baby—I really do. Part of me is disappointed that it’s not a little girl, but mostly I’m just afraid I can’t be a good enough mother to him because I don’t know how to teach him to be a boy.”

  “I’m pretty sure that will come naturally.”

  “Not necessarily. What about hygiene? When will he start to shave? What about wet dreams? I don’t know how to explain that stuff to him. I can’t even imagine having that conversation.”

  Sandra laughed softly. “Well, for one thing, you can’t imagine having the conversation partly because you haven’t even met the little guy yet. All these things will come to you in time. And don’t forget Charlie’s going to be around to take over those tough guy talks.”

  “What if he’s not?” Tiffany wailed.

  Sandra answered cautiously. “Do you have some reason to think he won’t be?”

  “No.” Tiffany took a tissue from the box on the counter and blew. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “No, not at all. I think it’s got to be really hard to be pregnant. You’ve hardly felt any of this stuff before.”

  Tiffany nodded. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It means it might not need to be so scary, though.”

  “God.” Tiffany closed her eyes tight and shook her head. “I just wish I could have a martini.”

  “I’ll bring one to you in the hospital in four months. What do you want, Appletini?”

  “Cranberry.” Tiffany managed a smile. “But my cravings may be different by then.”

  They laughed, and after a moment, Tiffany said, “You know what scares me the most?”

  “What?”

  “What happens when he wants to know about his family history?”

  Sandra laughed. “Are you kidding? Dad will get out that family tree he spent three years building at the Library of Congress, and—”

  “I mean his, you know, his blood family.”

  Sandra frowned. “I’m not following. Whose blood family?”

  “The children’s!”

  “Right. Okay, so, as I was saying, Dad can—”

  “Sandra, I’m not going to lie to him!”

  “To who?”

  “Kate and the baby!”

  “What are you talking about?” Then something occurred to Sandra. “Wait, is Charlie adopted or something?”

  “Not Charlie,” Tiffany said impatiently, looking at Sandra with sharp eyes. Then her expression lifted slightly. “Oh my God, are you kidding me?”

  This was too weird. “About what?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “So help me, Tiffany, I don’t care if you are pregnant, if you don’t tell me what the hell you’re talking about, I’m going to shake it out of you.”

  “Sandra.” Her eyes, which moments before had been glistening with self-pity now held pity for Sandra. “Charlie’s not adopted. I am.”

  Dear Occupant Ms. Rafferty:

  We have enjoyed running the Bethesda Commons Apartments and getting to know all of you over the past fifteen years. However, times change, and we have decided to convert all of our units to condominiums. You, as the occupant, have the first right of refusal, and you also have the unique opportunity to buy in at a discounted price.

  All units will be priced at $346/square foot. This means that those of you in 1-bedroom dwellings will pay an average of $340,000, and the two-bedroom units will be approximately $416,500. We feel this is very competitive and fair pricing, and with interest rates at their lowest in some time, the pleasures of ownership can be yours for only a modest increase over what you are paying currently.

  The last of your leases is up on October 1, and as a courtesy to all of you, we will allow you to rent on a month-to-month basis until then if your lease is up sooner. We feel this will give you ample time to make your decision and either get financing for your purchase, or find a new place to live.

  Again, we have enjoyed meeting all of you and wish you the best of luck whatever your choice.

  Sincerely,

  Artie and Fred Chaikin,

  Your Management Team

  Obviously Lorna was going to have to stop opening her mail. It was always—always—bad news.

  Three hundred and forty thousand bucks. Like her debt wasn’t high enough. She went online and looked for a mortgage calculator. With no money down—and that was the only way she could even consider getting a mortgage of any sort right now—the monthly payment would be over $2,200 a month. That was a thousand dollars more than she was paying now!

  They called that “modest”?

  To say nothing of the condo fees, whatever they might be. Lorna had heard figures into the hundreds for some local places.

  So now what? She was in debt up to her neck, her credit was a mess, and she was about to lose her home. She had to do something; it wasn’t as if she had a choice to just sit on this information and hope for a change.

  No, no, that was bullshit. She didn’t have to hope for a change, she had to make a change. She needed a better-paying job, or maybe an additional job.

  But first she needed a new place to live.

  She took out the newspaper, which she’d already put into the recycling bin unread, and sat down on the sofa to look for other rentals in the area.

  Turned out prices had really gone up in the five years since she’d moved into the Commons. To live in a place in this neighborhood, she was going to have to pony up at least three hundred more than she was paying right now. And that was for some of the crummier apartments.

  Unless she could get a better job, she was going to have to move farther out in Montgomery County. Maybe even to Frederick County. But the thought of driving fifteen, twent
y, even twenty-five miles to work from some generic suburban enclave was just too depressing.

  She flipped through the help wanted section and circled a few things that sounded terminally dull but promising in terms of pay and benefits.

  She went to her computer and printed out several copies of her résumé to send to the P.O. boxes in the ads.

  Then she signed on to eBay to reward herself with a little something fun after the depressing task of looking for a job. Maybe she’d find a pair of Pradas for $4.99 because the seller had typed in Predas accidentally. She was discovering these tricks as she went along. Unfortunately, Shoegarpie was learning them, too, so they still ended up competing over most of the same shoes. But Lorna hadn’t made the mistake of overbidding by so much again.

  She’d also discovered Paypal.com, so she could pay for her auctions directly, without having to go in to the bank and put her dignity on the chopping block to beg for a cashier’s check.

  She clicked her way through the size 7.5 designer shoes and was thrilled to find a pair of perfect vintage Lemer spectators for just $15.50. The heels were magnificently high, and the arch curved so gracefully that, were it not for the uppers, these could have been sexy strappy sandals.

  So far Shoegarpie didn’t appear to have seen them, and with less than six hours left until the end of the auction, Lorna’s hopes swelled.

  That’s when she had a revelation.

  If she looked at this objectively—and it was time she did just that—she truly was a shoe addict. She had no control over herself or her impulse to buy more shoes. Credit, cash, it didn’t matter, she could rationalize her purchases no matter what, and it was ruining her life.

  Starting Shoe Addicts Anonymous had been a good first start. It wasn’t like she was addicted to substances, so the shoes themselves weren’t harming her. It was the spending…the overspending. Which made eBay…good. Right?

  She wasn’t sure about that, but she was sure of one thing: it was time to do what she should have done a long time ago.

  She went to the freezer and took out the Neapolitan ice cream she’d bought for a fussy dinner party she’d had six months ago. She set the box in the sink, lifted the lid, and ran hot water over the crystalized ice and ice cream until it melted enough to reveal the secret within:

  Her Nordstrom credit card.

  Perhaps because it was a department store credit card, it hadn’t shown up on Phil Carson’s list when he’d made her turn over her cards. So she’d kept it, just in case, a sort of emotional retail crutch she could use in case she really needed to.

  She’d already used it twice since then, for online purchases, because she’d long ago memorized the number.

  Hiding it in the ice cream had only made it messier for her to dig it out and take it to the store.

  Well, all of that had to end now. She had to get rid of this final string that tied her, financially, to her addiction.

  She went to the phone and slowly dialed the number on the back. Someone in the credit department answered right away, fortunately, so Lorna forced herself to speak before she could talk herself out of it.

  “I need to cancel an account,” she said.

  From now on, it was cash or nothing.

  It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a start.

  When the Shoe Addicts arrived two hours later, the star of the evening was Joss, who had brought a pair of fabulous Gucci pumps. Lorna swapped her dark blue John Fluevogs for them, but it was worth it. The Guccis must have been from the sixties or so, but they were in fantastic condition. One of them was a little scuffed, though it looked like it had been cleaned up. No matter. Lorna had a special saddle soap that would get that scuff right out.

  Sandra told everyone about her sister’s pregnancy, and the fact that she had just learned for the first time that her sister was adopted.

  “Why would they tell her and not me?” she mused aloud.

  “Maybe they didn’t want you to be smug about it,” Lorna suggested, and when Helene shot her a look, she shrugged and said, “I’m not saying she would, I’m just saying that might be what they were worried about.”

  “You might be right,” Sandra conceded. “But the weird thing is, I grew up feeling exactly the opposite. I could never understand why they seemed to go out of their way to make Tiffany feel good when she already had so many obvious assets. I mean, really, she’s gorgeous. Tall, blond. I think I got into shoes partly so I could bridge the height gap between us. That and the fact that your shoe size doesn’t change even if you gain weight.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Helene said. “I’ve put on a couple of pounds recently, and my shoes have been feeling really tight.”

  “Are you about to get your period?” Lorna asked. “I swell like a water balloon beforehand.”

  Helene nodded. “I think it is some sort of hormonal thing. Water retention. When I got to the sugar pill days on my pill this month, I didn’t even get my period.”

  “That happened to me for three months in a row once,” Sandra said. Then, in answer to everyone’s attention, she added, “I was on it to try and regulate my period. Eventually it worked, but those first three months nothing. I would have really enjoyed it if I wasn’t afraid it was going to start any minute.” She laughed. “I wore pads every day for those three months. It was like wearing diapers again.”

  “I hate to tell you this, girls, but in my case it might be perimenopause.” Helene nodded grimly. “It can happen anytime from thirty-five on. So maybe I’ve been on borrowed time for the last three years.”

  “No way, you’re far too young,” Joss objected. “I don’t believe it.”

  Helene shrugged. “I’ve got all the symptoms. Tired all the time, vaguely ill, weight gain, food cravings and aversions—What? Why are you all looking at me that way?”

  “Because it sounds like pregnancy, too,” Sandra said gently. “Believe me, I’ve been going through this with my sister for five months.”

  Helene shook her head. “Believe me, if I weren’t on the pill, that would be the first thing I’d be worried about.”

  “Then it’s the pill!” Lorna said. “I’ve never been sicker than when I was on the pill. I hated it! Still, maybe you should see a doctor.”

  Helene waved the idea away. “Oh, let’s forget about me. I’m just whining. What’s going on with the rest of you? Joss? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  Joss’s face went slightly pink, just highlighting her dewy youth. “Actually, there is something I’d like to get your opinion on. You know how I told you I kept getting job offers from other families?” Everyone nodded. “The other day I found out that Mrs. Oliver has been propositioning other nannies herself.”

  Lorna gasped. “You mean she’s been offering other people your job behind your back?”

  Joss nodded. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “It’s grounds for breaking your contract,” Lorna huffed.

  “I agree,” Sandra said. “That’s like finding out your boyfriend is seeing someone else. It had to hurt.”

  Joss turned to her, with gratitude in her eyes. “It did. Even though I’m not very fond of Mr. and Mrs. Oliver, I think I’ve done a good job for them. The boys respond well to me. I’ve done everything I was supposed to and then some.” She sighed. “It’s a slap in the face.”

  “But you’ve had other offers,” Helene reminded her. “Were they from people like Mrs. Oliver, who already have nannies?”

  “I think so,” Joss said ruefully. “Actually Lois Bradley might not.”

  “So keep her in mind,” Helene said earnestly. “Just in case. You wouldn’t want to work for someone who was cheating on a nanny she already had.”

  “No,” Joss agreed. “But what about someone who’d try and steal someone else’s nanny?”

  “It’s kill or be killed in this world,” Lorna said.

  “Amen.” That was Sandra, nodding her still-greenish-blond head in agreement.

  “That may be a little cynical
,” Helene said, then shrugged. “True, but cynical. Listen, Joss, please see a lawyer. At least let someone look over your contract to see if you have any legal way out of it.”

  “Well…” Joss looked uncertain.

  “Would you rather wait until she springs it on you that she’s hired someone else and is firing you for some made-up reason?” Lorna had no patience for people like Deena Oliver. She saw them all the time at the restaurant, and she’d never seen a spark of humanity light their eyes. “See a lawyer. Then decide what you’re going to do with it later.”

  “You’ve got nothing to lose,” Sandra added.

  Finally Joss said she’d think about it, maybe call one of those TV lawyers who say the first consultation is free.

  But Lorna had a feeling she wasn’t going to do it.

  “I hate to say it, but I’ve got to go,” Sandra said, close to 11 P.M. “I’m supposed to meet someone.”

  Lorna raised an eyebrow. “Big date?”

  Sandra blushed, but didn’t cower from the question. “Yes,” she said, pride ringing in her voice. “Yes, it is.”

  “Ooh! Who is it?” Joss wanted to know.

  “A guy I went to high school with. Funny enough, I never really gave him a second look, at least romantically, and now…” She sighed. “He’s really hot. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other.”

  Everyone gave a squeal of appreciation for this positive turn in Sandra’s life.

  Sandra blushed again. “Jeez, he’s got me giddy. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be,” Helene said, laying a hand on Sandra’s forearm. “We’re so happy for you. And I’m thinking you’re pretty happy yourself. You look it.”

  “And you’ve lost a ton of weight,” Joss added.

  “Twenty-five pounds,” Sandra replied, then pumped a fist in the air. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of her, and Lorna smiled at her unabashed joy. “It’s been hard work.”

  “Congratulations!” Lorna said earnestly, and the other two con curred, adding their congratulations and comments on how obvious and spectacular the change was.