If the Shoe Fits

by Sandra D. Bricker

  “And if you’d like to bring a date, there will be room.”

  Phoebe paused. “Me?”

  “Of course, you! You have to be there.”

  “I wouldn’t even know—”

  “What to wear?” she interrupted, and the young woman nodded. “We’ll go shopping next week.”

  “Well, I … The thing is …”

  The light dawned while Phoebe fidgeted, and Julianne chastised herself. “Listen, I know about being on a budget. I spent five years at the public defender’s office. I know some great places where we can both get something affordable. And if not, we can go shopping in Suzanne’s closet for you, too. You and she are about the same size, and her closet is the square footage of a small bedroom. She has a whole section of fancy-schmancy. We’ll work it out.”

  Phoebe chuckled, and Julianne waved at her as she headed out the door. “I’ll be back in time for my three o’clock.”

  “I was thinking about that Burberry suit jacket with the tieback. Do you know the one I mean?”

  Suzanne nodded and took a quick bite of her salad before she hopped off the bed and disappeared inside the closet. “It has trousers with it, but they’re going to be way long on you. We could do a temporary hem though.”

  “I don’t know about pants. The last time I borrowed that jacket, I wore it with my black pencil skirt.”

  “Oh, right, for that lawyer lunch. And that beautiful starch-white blouse, with the rhinestone pin at the collar.”

  Julianne sighed. “That’s right! That’s what I’ll wear with it for the photo shoot.”

  Suzanne emerged with the tailored black jacket on a wooden hanger. “What would you do if you had a normal friend who wasn’t a complete clotheshorse?”

  “Camp out in front of the Salvation Army store?”

  Suzanne motioned toward the mirror and stood behind her as Julianne slipped into the jacket. As she buttoned it, Suzanne tied it at the back, accentuating Julianne’s small waist.

  “You look like a million bucks,” her friend told her reflection. “I’m so proud of you, Miss Person of the Year.”

  “Not yet. But you’re coming, right? To the gala?”

  “I can’t, honey. I’ve got a sales conference in Dallas that weekend.”

  Julianne groaned. “You’d rather spend the weekend with a hundred pharmaceutical sales geeks than cheering me on at the gala?”

  “No, I would not. But I’m already registered, and my whole team will be there.”

  “Traitor.”

  The soft lining of the jacket caused it to slide straight down her arms, and she carefully placed it back on the hanger while Suzanne retrieved a vinyl garment bag from the closet. Once they’d zipped the jacket safely inside, Julianne hung it on the bedroom door and returned to her salad.

  “What are you wearing anyway?” Suzanne asked her, munching on a quesadilla wedge that came with her salad. “It’s black-tie, right?”

  “I found this gorgeous gown in that vintage shop in Clifton. It’s pale ice blue with a beaded little bolero overlay with three-quarter sleeves, a rhinestone empire waist. Ah, Suz, it’s stunning. It has this whole forties Balenciaga vibe … without the price tag, of course.”

  “It sounds smashing. Shoes?”

  “None yet.”

  Suzanne’s hazel eyes flashed suddenly, and she leapt to her feet and rushed into the closet. “You know, I thought of you when I bought these, Julianne. And now I feel like, I don’t know, maybe it was meant to be!”

  She emerged from the closet clutching a shoe box, and she plopped on the bed beside her. She opened the box as if presenting Julianne with the Holy Grail of footwear and slowly peeled back several layers of light pink tissue paper. Sounding more like the theme song to Star Trek than the harps-and-angels song Julianne felt sure she was aiming for, Suzanne crooned at the top of her lungs. When she got a first look at the contents of the box, Julianne gasped.

  “Oh … Suz …”

  “Crazy, right?”

  “Completely.”

  Julianne moved her hand toward the shoes, gingerly touching one of them with the tip of her index finger. Four-inch spiked peep toes, three-quarter-inch platform, metallic silver underneath solid rows of sparkling crystals.

  “It’s like … a shoe made out of … diamonds.”

  “They’re spectacular, aren’t they?” Suzanne asked rhetorically, and she nudged the box closer. “Try them on.”

  Julianne lifted one shoe from the tissue-lined box and held it up to the light from the window long enough to watch it shimmer.

  “If they don’t fit, I’m going to jump off the roof.”

  “My condo’s a single-story. There’s nowhere to go. Put them on.”

  Julianne kicked off her own shoes and lovingly slid into one of the crystal stunners. The farther her foot went into the first one, the wider her grin became. When it was evident that the fit might work, she snatched the second shoe and happily jammed her foot into it before rushing over to the mirror.

  “How do they feel?” Suzanne asked her.

  “The truth?” she said with a chuckle. “They pinch.”

  “Ohhh.”

  “But I don’t care. I love them!” Julianne exclaimed, turning her leg sideways to admire the reflection. “What’s a little pain when your legs look like this?”

  “That depends on how long you’ll be in them,” Suzanne remarked. “But if you’re willing to endure it, I’m willing to lend them.” She wagged a finger at Julianne and grinned at her. “Get that? They’re on loan.”

  “Yes, yes, I get it…. I’ll have them back to you before the clock strikes midnight at the end of the weekend.”

  With her plastic salad fork in hand, Suzanne jumped up and knighted her friend. “Then I hereby dub you … Belle of the Ball.”

  Julianne beamed. “Thank you, Fairy Godmother. You kind of rock.”

  “Kind of?” she teased before shifting gears. “And what about your prince? Is he all set to step into the Cincinnati lawyer scene with you on his arm?”

  “I haven’t asked him yet.”

  “Well, get on it, girl.”

  “He’s taking me to a fund-raiser tonight. I’ll talk to him about it then.”

  “Cincinnati’s Hungry Children or Cincinnatians Without Cars?” Suzanne teased.

  “Legal Aid Art Exhibition,” she stated. Glancing at the clock, she jumped to her feet. “I’ve got to go. I have a three o’clock with Lacey James.”

  “Oh, that sounds like your idea of a perfect afternoon,” Suzanne teased.

  Julianne grabbed the garment bag as she passed it, blew a quick kiss to Gus in his cage, and hurried out the front door.

  She placed Suzanne’s Burberry jacket in the backseat with all the loving care it deserved and slipped behind the wheel to head back to the office. At the stoplight on Galbraith and Winton Roads, she quickly punched out a text to Paul.

  Reminder re benefit 2nite. Pick me up at 7?

  By the time she merged onto Interstate 71, her phone jingled with his reply; but she couldn’t read it until the light at Eighth Street.

  Sorry, meant to call. Can’t make tonight.

  “Ahhh, maaan,” she whimpered, and she tossed the phone into her purse.

  Julianne pouted all the way upstairs to her office. She’d really been looking forward to attending this one with Paul. A lot of her peers from the legal community would be in attendance, and she thought it might be a good practice run.

  She noticed Will in the conference room, and she stomped in and flopped into a chair across the table from him.

  “So much for my brilliant plan.”

  He looked up at her and removed his wire glasses. “Another brilliant plan bites the dust?”

  “Paul backed out of the legal aid benefit tonight.”

  “And his taking you was brilliant because …”

  “Because if he had a good time, I might get him to agree to take me to the gala.”

  “Ah.”

&
nbsp; Will stretched and leaned back into the chair.

  “What are you reading?”

  He tilted his iPad toward her. “Trial Lawyers Magazine.”

  She faked a yawn, and Will chuckled.

  “Did Phoebe tell you Holly was here earlier?” she asked him.

  “She did.”

  “And?”

  “And I called her.”

  Julianne bristled. “You called her? Will!”

  “Don’t ‘Will’ me. You just didn’t want me to prove you wrong since you told her that I wouldn’t.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Of course she did.”

  She felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her, and she pulled a face. “Of course she did.”

  Will smiled and shook his head. “You thought she wouldn’t?”

  “Never mind. What did she want?”

  “To talk about the other day. It was a little awkward when we ran into each other at the kite festival.”

  “Yeah, it tends to get awkward when you run into the guy you—” She stopped herself just in time. “Sorry.” After a long pause, she grinned at him. “You know what would make you forget all about Holly?”

  “Finishing this article about Quick Response codes that … Never mind. What would make me forget?”

  “Taking me to the legal aid benefit tonight.”

  Will groaned.

  “Oh, come on, Will. I have the tickets already. You don’t want me to go alone, do you?”

  “Don’t I?”

  “No. You don’t.” When he seemed unconvinced, she added, “It’s at the Radisson. I’ll bet there will be shrimp. You love their shrimp.”

  After a long moment’s thought, Will asked, “Can I have yours too?”

  “Legal Aid has developed many programs that help people within the Southwestern Ohio region to resolve critical problems. Specifically, they make every effort to contribute to the solution of community issues, such as the health and well-being of children, secure housing, resources for low-income job seekers, and our greatest effort—providing legal services to those in need.”

  It wasn’t that the cause was anything less than worthy, but Will had been to so many of these things over the years that the speeches had all begun to run together. He tapped Julianne’s wrist with the handle of his fork, and she in turn passed him the crystal bowl of chilled shrimp sitting in front of her.

  “Careful,” she whispered. “Eat too many of those and you’ll ruin your appetite for the rubber chicken.”

  “Hey. I’m here for the shrimp. You think that guy across the table is going to eat his?”

  She shot him a disapproving glance before she shrugged and asked, “Can I have your roll?”

  While the speaker explained the semantics of the art exhibition and silent auction, Will paused to exchange pleasantries with a couple of familiar faces and to thank the server who poured iced tea into his glass, but he’d finished off Julianne’s shrimp by the time the entrees were delivered beneath shiny silver domes.

  “Score!” Julianne exclaimed when the waiter removed the dome from her plate. “It’s not rubber chicken after all.”

  Fragrant salmon fillets, garlic mashed potatoes, baby carrots, and broccoli florets.

  Score, indeed.

  Julianne looked lovely with her honey-gold hair twisted into sections and pinned at the back of her head with jewel-toned rhinestone clips. Her deep purple dress brought out the indigo of her eyes, and she’d shown off her strappy black shoes no less than three times since he’d picked her up.

  “They really are pretty, aren’t they?” she asked him at the door, in the car, and again in the elevator on their way to dinner.

  Will could take or leave the shoes, truth be told, but Julianne … now she defined “pretty.”

  He looked on as she continued to charm the elderly gentleman seated on the other side of her, and every time she giggled at one of his remarks, Will felt the rumble of it deep within him, like the echo of a beautiful song sent down into a canyon.

  “I was surprised to see you with a brunette,” Holly had said to him on the phone that afternoon. “It gave me a little hope, actually. I felt like maybe you’d finally moved on.”

  He swallowed her comment along with a large bite of salmon.

  Finally moved on.

  He wished she’d meant moved on from her. But he knew what she meant.

  I felt like maybe you’d finally moved on … from Julianne.

  Will glanced over at Julianne as she ribbed her dinner companion with her elbow, and the old guy’s steely eyes sparkled with delight. He saw it, too—that indescribable, indefinable something that she had. But then he easily moved back to conversation with his silver-haired wife on the other side of him. Will envied the ease with which he made the transition.

  “Where’s your mind?” Julianne asked him, and he blinked back to the current moment.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re a hundred miles away.”

  “Oh. No.”

  “Are you thinking about your conversation with Holly?”

  He twitched. “Sort of.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Okay. Let’s play the dessert game then.”

  Will chuckled. It was a game that had been born out of dozens of these charitable dinners, derived out of a mixture of boredom and Julianne’s quirky, creative mind.

  “Anyone else want to play?” she asked the other six people at their large round table. “It’s called The Dessert Game. If you already know what they’re serving, then you can’t play. But everyone puts at least twenty dollars into the centerpiece. We go clockwise around the table, and everyone guesses what they think will be served. The trick is … you can’t repeat what someone else has already guessed. And the winner gets to collect the money and donate it to the cause in their name, or the name of their firm. Who’s in?”

  Further proof of her adorability, Will noted, every person at the table tossed money at the centerpiece.

  “Will goes first,” she declared.

  “Cheesecake,” he called out. These functions almost always had cheesecake.

  They went around the table. Everything from berry cobbler to Dutch apple pie to chocolate mousse found its way into the entries. Being last, all of the usual suspects had been submitted, so Julianne settled on an unlikely delicacy. “Bread pudding with warm honey-vanilla sauce.”

  Some of their companions pretended to swoon while the others laughed out loud.

  “If we all sneak out now, we might find a place that serves it,” the elder to Julianne’s right suggested.

  “Ooh, here come the waiters with dessert!” the woman with the flaming red hair seated directly across from him exclaimed.

  They all craned their necks, and Will thought the waiter must have thought them to be the biggest collection of eager sweet-toothed philanthropists in Hamilton County.

  “What is it?” someone asked.

  “Key lime pie,” the waiter replied.

  “Key lime pie!” Julianne blurted through laughter. “No one guessed that! This is the first time we’ve played this game where no one has guessed the dessert!”

  “Let’s just donate the money anyway, in the name of Table Thirty-Six,” Julianne’s new friend declared, and they all agreed.

  “What a fun game,” the woman next to Will sang to him. “I think we want to sit with you two at every one of these shindigs.”

  “She’s the fun one,” Will told her with a grin. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  “How long have you two been married?” she asked, and Will froze for an instant.

  “We’re not married. We’re partners in the same law firm.”

  “Oh!” she said with a chuckle. “I could have sworn you were an old married couple.” Leaning around him, the woman caught Julianne’s attention and told her, “I thought you two were married!”

  A strange flash in her eye struck Will with a
pinch as she replied, “No. Will dodged that bullet a long time ago.”

  “Well, if you’re both single, I’d suggest you connect immediately,” she teased. “You were made for each other.”

  They finished dessert and coffee, and a small group from the table strolled around the art exhibit together. When they had circled the room, Julianne looped her arm through Will’s and smiled.

  “I’m tired. And my feet hurt.”

  “So much for your really cute shoes,” he remarked. “Can you still take them back?”

  “Why would I do that when they’re so pretty?”

  He should have learned that lesson long ago, but he continually fell into the trap. In the same way that paper always covered rock, cute shoes trumped pain every time, he reminded himself.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked her.

  “More than.”

  They said their goodbyes to a few of their new friends, and the old man who’d been seated next to Julianne gave her an enthusiastic hug.

  “You’re sheer delight,” he cackled. He nodded at Will as an afterthought. “Both of you.”

  On the drive home, Julianne rested her head against the window and closed her eyes. Will wasn’t sure if she’d actually fallen asleep until he pulled up in front of her small Greenhills building and shut off the engine. Her breathing was deep and unencumbered, and her shoulders rose slightly and fell again with each breath she took. He hadn’t noticed when she’d removed her shoes, but there they sat, overturned in her lap.

  “Jules,” he whispered with no response. He jiggled her arm slightly and repeated, “Jules.”

  She stirred a bit, and one corner of her mouth lifted in an unconscious sort of smile. Then she sighed before drifting back to sleep.

  “Hey. Jules. C’mon,” he said, shaking her arm until she whimpered. “Wake up, girl. You’re home.”

  Her lashes looked longer and thicker under the shadow of night, and her blue eyes fluttered as she struggled to open them.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

  “You’re home. You have to wake up.”

  She glanced around, squinting. “I’m home?”

  “Yes. Put your shoes on.”

  She lifted one of the shoes and looked at it strangely before poking the spiked heel into her twisted hair and scratching her head with it. “Shoes?” she repeated sleepily.