Secrets of a Shoe Addict

by Harbison, Beth

  “But, if we’re lucky, we all do it. And I want to do it with my best friend. And that’s what she is. She’s the best friend I ever had.”

  She swallowed, but her throat was so tight, it hurt. “There’s a lot to be said for marrying your best friend.”

  Robert hesitated. A costly hesitation, considering how much he was paying per minute. “So what do you think about divorcing your best friend?”

  She took a breath. “I don’t really like it, but I think sometimes if two people initiate something like that, maybe their initial reasons are sound.”

  “Okay, but think about this.” Diplomatic Robert was here. “What if you’re wrong?”

  There was no Diplomatic Loreen. Just Reactive Loreen. “I don’t want to make a mistake because I fall for the passion of the moment.”

  “This is not a passionate moment. This is an honest moment.” Robert gave an exasperated sigh. “We’re facing the possibility of pissing our whole lives away, each of us alone, because we’re afraid to get hurt again.”

  Loreen shook her head in the dark, unable to take on such a huge possibility.

  “I can’t do this right now, Robert.”

  “Anonymous.”

  “Robert.”

  “Okay, Loretta.”

  She had to laugh.

  “When can you do this?” he asked. “We need to talk about this. That is, unless you know beyond any shadow of a doubt that your answer is no.” He waited a second. “Is that the case?”

  She shook her head, but the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.

  “Loreen, I hear fabric rustling. Does that mean you’re nodding or shaking your head?”

  “Shaking my head,” she said. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “You promise?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll talk soon, Loreen. Very soon.”

  She hung up the phone and held it to her chest, considering the possibilities. Could she get back together with Robert? Was that what she really wanted?

  God knew she thought about him often enough. She’d loved being married to him. In fact, until the end, when they’d butted heads repeatedly over the issue of her detachment from the marriage, she’d loved just about everything about being with him. She even loved to go grocery shopping with him.

  And, actually, she missed going grocery shopping with him.

  She missed a lot about him.

  Plus, there was the whole physical contact thing. Once upon a time, they were great together in bed, and she hadn’t been with anyone—except Rod, and Lord knew she was trying not to think about him—since they’d split up.

  It wasn’t just the sex either. It was the casual intimacy of draping her legs over him while they sat on the couch watching TV together. It was lying in bed next to him while they read before kissing good night and turning off the lights.

  It was that spatial intimacy that you just couldn’t have with someone you weren’t romantically intimate with.

  She missed that.

  She missed him.

  But was she setting herself—and Jacob, there was no leaving Jacob out of the consideration—up for disappointment if they tried again and found out it didn’t work?

  She closed her eyes against the possibility. It was all too much to think about so late at night. She just wished she could somehow relax and get back to sleep.

  She needed what her late-night callers got: a nice warm cup of orgasm.

  The phone rang.

  Damn it. She should have turned it off. She wasn’t focused.

  It rang again.

  She tried to collect herself. She had to answer. Everyone knew she was the reason they needed so much money.

  That got her. She opened the phone. “This is Mimi.”

  “Mimi, this is Anonymous.”

  She laughed. God, she was glad it was him. “Anonymous! Long time!”

  “Too long.”

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “Actually,” he said, lowering his voice, “it’s what I can do for you.”

  She frowned. He wasn’t going to press her on the getting-back-together thing, was he? Robert ought to know her well enough to know that wouldn’t go well.

  “And what is that?” she asked him cautiously.

  “Well, you do this service for guys all the time, but has anyone bothered to reciprocate?”

  Interesting. “No,” she said. “As a matter of fact, no one has done that.”

  “Exactly what I thought. So tonight I don’t want you to do a thing. Don’t lift a finger—” He paused. “—unless you want to.” He laughed. It was a nice sound.

  Actually, a sexy sound.

  Was she really going to fall for this?

  “I don’t, huh?”

  “Mm-mm. What are you wearing? No, wait—don’t tell me. This time of year, it’s probably either the Eeyore nightshirt or that pink and green thing with the buttons that you got at Target about a hundred years ago.”

  “Wrong.” She gave Eeyore, holding a cup of coffee on the shirt she was, in fact, wearing, a silent apology for denying him. “I’m wearing a black satin teddy with garters and fishnets. You know, my usual work clothes.”

  “I’m unhooking those garters now. And pulling the stocking off your right leg.” He hesitated. “And now your left leg. And I’m running my hands back up, slowly across your thighs. Both hands, both thighs. You’re not wearing panties. . . .”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Good. Why waste time? I want to taste you. It’s been too long, and I want to taste you now.”

  She sucked a breath in.

  “Can you feel it? Can you remember?”

  “I can.” Her voice wavered.

  “Me, too, baby.” That voice. She loved his voice. “Remember what I’d do with my hand about now?”

  She closed her eyes and imagined it. “Yes.” She was going for it. She needed this.

  She’d needed this for a long time.

  Chapter

  19

  Sandra walked in to find Tiffany frying hash browns.

  It was galling that someone as thin as Tiffany could have hash browns for breakfast, while Sandra’s body just seemed to prosper and expand on one small Slim-Fast shake.

  “Hey,” Tiffany said when she saw Sandra. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am now.” Sandra sat on one of the barstools in front of the counter. “I brought you more shoes,” she said in a singsong voice. “The brand-new, just-unveiled Lorna from Phillipe Carfagni.” She plunked down a pair of round-toe platform pumps in deep mahogany kidskin leather, with an arch like the rolling hills of Italy, where they were made. She absolutely adored them, and figured Tiffany would, too, maybe especially since they’d make her tower over Charlie. “Aren’t they fabulous?”

  Tiffany set the spatula down. “They’re gorgeous. I can’t wait to try them on.” She picked one up, examined the heel, and gave Sandra a knowing look. “I really like them.”

  “Good. Now don’t make me stay and eat whatever it is you’re making.”

  “Papas fritas,” Tiffany said, putting the shoe down and picking up the spatula again. Then, in what Sandra always joked was her menu voice, she added, “A nest of hash-brown potatoes, topped with a poached egg, hot chili sauce, sour cream, and Jack cheese.” She raised an eyebrow and returned to her normal voice. “And you have to stay.”

  Sandra wanted to. Boy, did she want to. “I don’t think that’s on Weight Watchers.”

  “Oh, come on, you can’t worry about that all the time.” Tiffany set a cup in front of Sandra without asking, and filled it with coffee. Then she went to the fridge and got out the half-and-half, just like Sandra liked it.

  Tiffany was the perfect hostess.

  “Well, I do.” Sandra took a sip of the perfect, creamy coffee. “So is that Abbey’s car outside?”

  “Yes.” Tiffany set her spatula down and looked at Sandra. “Everything’s okay now, bu
t her husband was in a car accident last night, so she brought her son over here while she went to the hospital.” Tiffany shuddered. “It was really scary there for a while.”

  “How awful. Is Abbey okay?”

  Tiffany shrugged. “Seems to be.” Tiffany picked up the spatula again and gestured at Sandra with it. “And I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you, so you can’t leave.”

  “Okay, fine. So Brian’s really going to be okay?” Sandra confirmed. “They’re sure?”

  Tiffany nodded. “And, actually, in some perverse way I think the experience was good for Abbey.”

  “Good for her?”

  “Yeah, we had a really nice talk last night when she got back. She opened up about some things that have been bothering her for a long time, and I think she feels better now.”

  Sandra didn’t ask what kind of things Abbey had opened up about. She knew Tiffany would never break a confidence. This had always been convenient for Sandra when it was her secret Tiffany was keeping, but infuriating at all other times, when Tiffany appeared to have the goods on someone and wouldn’t tell who. Or what.

  Tiffany looked up and behind Sandra. “Speak of the—” She stopped herself. “Hi, Abbey. How are you feeling this morning?”

  Sandra turned. “I heard it was rough going there for a while.”

  “It was,” Abbey said, running her hands up and down her arms as if to warm up. “But I think everything’s going to be all right now. And actually, that was the best I’ve slept in a long time. Go figure, huh?”

  “Sometimes when your life is turned upside down, you find out that’s right-side up,” Sandra said. “If that makes any sense.”

  “It does.” Tiffany looked at her thoughtfully. “It actually makes a lot of sense.” She added a pat of butter to the pan.

  Charlie came into the kitchen then. “Baby’s crying,” he said to Tiffany, taking out a cup and pouring coffee into it.

  Tiffany gaped at him. “Why didn’t you get him?”

  “I didn’t know what you wanted to do.”

  “I want you to get him.”

  “I’m on my way out to play golf.”

  “I’ll get Andy,” Sandra said quickly, obviously trying to defuse a situation that no one—especially Abbey—needed to witness right now.

  “Thanks. Just put him in the den to play with the other kids, okay?” Tiffany took a travel mug out and poured Charlie’s cup of coffee into it, then handed it to him. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”

  He gave her a quick look, then turned his attention to Abbey. “Was it your husband in the accident?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It was.”

  “You better get pictures of the car,” he said, grabbing a piece of bread as he passed the counter. “Insurance companies always wait too long for that.”

  “Oh.” Abbey frowned. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be late,” he said to Tiffany.

  She raised a hand dismissively. “No problem.”

  He left just as Sandra came back into the room.

  “I’m sure now that Charlie’s having an affair,” Tiffany said, looking after where he’d just left.

  “Oh, Tiffany—” Sandra said.

  Tiffany was almost surprised by her own words. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s not nearly as important as Brian’s health and well-being right now.”

  “Brian’s going to be fine,” Abbey said in a soft voice. “I’d welcome the distraction. Tell us about Charlie.”

  “Well, for one thing,” Tiffany said, “he separated all of our bank accounts a couple of weeks ago. And for another, he just went to play golf without taking his clubs.” She gestured to the corner by the laundry room, where his golf clubs had been since last Saturday.

  “You need to hire a detective,” Sandra said.

  “I agree,” Abbey said. “You need evidence now. Apparently he thinks you’re not on to him, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

  “I know someone,” Sandra said, taking out her cell phone.

  “You know a private detective?” Tiffany asked.

  “A friend of mine dealt with him last year,” she said. “He’s got a soft spot for nice women getting dogged by their husbands. I’m going to get his number and we’re going to hire him today.”

  Later that afternoon, after private investigator Gerald Parks had been hired and sent after Tiffany’s cheating husband, Abbey went to the impound lot where Brian’s car had been towed. Tiffany and Sandra had offered to come with her, but she’d refused, afraid of her own reaction. Instead she asked them to keep Parker so she could go take pictures, as Charlie had suggested.

  And she would take pictures. She might as well, in case they did need them for the insurance company, but that wasn’t the real reason she was going. She was going because she had to see for herself, somehow satisfy herself that this had been an ordinary case of losing control of the car instead of the much more sinister possibility that Damon was involved.

  How she was going to prove that to herself she had no idea. But she was going to begin by examining the back of the car for any scratches, dents, or any other sign that Brian was hit from behind.

  She stopped at the office, and a scruffy guy with a two-day beard looked the car up on a list and told her where to find it.

  She drove through the lot, noticing windshield after windshield with a head-smash on it. Why didn’t people wear their seat belts? The evidence was so conclusive that—

  Her thoughts stopped. So did her heart, for a moment. There was Brian’s car. Or, rather, what was left of Brian’s car. It looked like a cheap toy accordion. When Abbey saw where they’d cut Brian from the driver’s seat, the metal torn and impossibly thin-looking, she broke down into sobs.

  How close had she come to losing him?

  What on earth would she have done without him?

  She couldn’t even bear to think about it, yet, looking at the car, she could think of little else.

  But she had to. She’d come to see if this was Damon’s work, and that was the one task she had to complete. She examined the bumper, the license plate, the taillights, the wheel hubs, everything on the back of the car, but it was as shiny as if it were new. So she moved to the side of the car. The passenger side was also in fair condition, but she checked it out first, since the driver’s side was the one that had hit the tree, and it stood to reason he’d done it because he was avoiding something on the passenger side.

  But there was nothing of note there either.

  So she moved to the driver’s side. She’d been dreading that because of the bloodstained air bag and seat, and when she saw them, she had to fight back the despair. Yes, it was a terrible accident, and yes, she might have lost Brian, but she hadn’t, and she needed to concentrate on that.

  She tore her eyes away from the bloody mess that was the driver’s seat and scanned the side of the car.

  It was so small that at first she didn’t see it. But there, between two folds of metal that had been the driver’s door, she saw, scratched firmly in the paint, the clue she’d been looking for.

  10K.

  The very amount Damon insisted Abbey owed him.

  He was behind this.

  She wasn’t surprised, of course. This was what she’d suspected. It was the reason she’d come, and yet seeing it like this, part of her just couldn’t believe it was true. Before Vegas she hadn’t given Damon a thought in years. Now, suddenly, he was casting a shadow across her entire life. Whereas for years he’d seemed not to exist at all, now he had the power to change—to ruin—her life.

  She needed to stop him.

  She was going to call the private investigator, Gerald Parks, herself. She wanted—no, she needed—to find Damon Zucker before he found her again.

  “These are called Michelle, and I brought a pair for each of you. Just promise you’ll wear them everywhere and tell everyone they’re Carfagnis.” She smiled and handed out boxes of the Michelle, metallic pink pointed-to
e slippers with brushed leather soles. “You won’t believe how comfortable they are.”

  “I will,” Loreen said. “I’ve worn those Helenes almost constantly. I never knew how different really good shoes could feel from the discount store crap I’ve been wearing.”

  “I know it.” Sandra nodded knowingly. “It’s a lesson we all learn sooner or later. If we’re lucky.”

  “I’ve certainly learned it,” Tiffany said. “Honestly, I used to think you were just some sort of freak with all your shoes, but when I put on those high heels you gave me, I swear I felt like I was walking in seven-league boots. They made me feel powerful.”

  “You are powerful,” Sandra said. “But I’m glad you like the shoes.”

  It was weird, Sandra thought at the next get-together, how much the phone sex business had changed Tiffany. Or maybe it was just the independence, the making money—good money—and finding out she didn’t have to be completely reliant upon Charlie in order to support her children. Tiffany was like a whole new person.

  Although damned if she didn’t seem to be enjoying it. It was like she was undergoing her own little private sexual revolution.

  Whatever it was, Tiffany had grown more relaxed, more fun. She let the kids play without checking on them obsessively, and Sandra had even seen her put a piece of cheese or two in her mouth when they met at Loreen’s, where the food was always fabulous and fattening.

  It was nice to have her sister back. Or to have her sister for the first time. It was hard to say which it was. And it was nice to have Abbey and Loreen, too.

  “So when’s the next date?” Tiffany asked Sandra. “I’m thinking the third one is bound to be the charm.”

  “Once I would have agreed with that,” Sandra said. “But given the first two, my confidence on this one is seriously wavering.”

  “Not everyone is a weirdo,” Loreen said.

  “I’m not so sure,” Abbey said. Then she smiled. “But the odds of you meeting another one without anyone even remotely normal in between do seem slim.”

  “God, I hope you’re right.” Sandra was still tired of being alone. She still wanted a companion, someone to enjoy the little things in life with. But she was tired of humiliation, too.