Once Upon Stilettos

“This is the designer department,” I said in a hushed voice as we stepped off the escalator and walked past all the high-end boutiques.



“Your Aunt Sally would think she’d died and gone right to heaven if she saw this,” she said in an equally hushed voice.



“And here are the shoes. Some of these are amazing.”



She didn’t hold any to her breast in rapture like Gemma did, but she did gawk. I’d been right about her considering this as good as visiting a museum.



I squeezed her hand. “There’s one pair of shoes I really want you to see. Gemma and I found these a couple of weeks ago.” I led her to the boutique where the red stiletto pump was on display.



The moment I saw it again, I knew those shoes were meant to be mine.



“I’m going to get those,” I said softly, more to myself than to Mom. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”



“They’re beautiful,” she agreed. “But aren’t they a little flashy for you?”



“You were just saying I needed to be more sophisticated and glamorous.”



A salesman approached and said, “May I help you?”



I picked up the red shoe. “I’d like to try this in a seven medium, please.”



“One moment, miss.”



Mom took the sample shoe away from me and turned it over to look at the price tag. Then she gasped. “Katie Beth, did you see how expensive these are? You could buy a whole outfit for that much.”



“I just want to try them on,” I said, flopping into a nearby chair and slipping out of my loafers. “And they’re not that expensive for good shoes. They’re half the price of a pair of Manolos or Jimmy Choos.”



The salesman returned with a box, then knelt at my feet. As he slid the shiny red pump onto my foot, I knew exactly how Cinderella must have felt. I felt a surge of power, like I could take on the world and have any man I wanted. “Wow,” I breathed, more sigh than actual speech.



“How do those feel?” the salesman asked, sitting back on his heels. I thought I saw a flicker of desire in his eyes. Maybe he had a foot fetish and had found his dream job of putting gorgeous shoes on women’s feet all day.



I gingerly stood up, wobbling for a second in the unfamiliar high, narrow heels. Once I got my balance, I took a few tentative steps that flowed into a supermodel strut. I felt like every head in the entire department had turned to watch me, and I loved the feeling. I’d never felt more alluring.



“I am definitely getting these,” I said, when I returned to Mom and the salesman.



“But what would you wear them with?” Mom asked. “You couldn’t wear red with them because it would either clash or be too much.”



“These shoes would be the outfit. I’d wear something basic and simple as a backdrop,” I argued, using Gemma’s reasoning. Now I understood what Gemma had meant. I should have listened to her and bought these shoes the first time I saw them. Everything would have worked out so much better if I had, I was sure.



Mom picked up the same style of pump, but in basic black. “If you want to get those shoes, why not these? They’re more versatile. You could wear these with everything, but without drawing so much attention. You don’t want people saying, ‘Oh, here comes Katie in her red shoes again.’”



“Why not?” I challenged. “They could be my signature item.”



She shook her head. “But they’re not you. You’d be wearing someone else’s signature.”



I put my hands on my hips. “Why aren’t they me? They might be me, but you don’t know me anymore. Or I could grow into them.” I whirled to look at the salesman, who’d shrunk back and was pretending to mind his own business. I had a feeling this wasn’t the first shoe department dispute he’d ever heard.



“They do look lovely on you,” he said, “and those shoes are very popular. I can show you a pair in another color, if you like.”



“No thank you,” I said. “I want these.” I walked over to a mirror and admired myself. I’d wear these shoes on my next date with Ethan. He wouldn’t be able to resist me. I could already see how the date would go: everything would be perfect, with absolutely no weirdness; we’d go back to his place, drink that bottle of wine, and then I might have the first sex I’d had in longer than I cared to think—since my last serious college boyfriend.



But I couldn’t use that reasoning on Mom, who still thought her little girl was a virgin. I might as well have been, considering I’d been with only one guy a couple of times more than five years ago. It was almost embarrassing how inexperienced I was for someone my age. Part of it was that I couldn’t bring myself to treat sex as casually as most people my age seemed to. Part of it was that most men acted as though they thought touching me would be like defiling their baby sister.