Chasing Sunsets

Someone Else's Shoes

I shot a glance over my shoulder and watched as the Uber reversed over the white flagstone driveway and then back onto the private road. The little dented Prius seemed as out of place as I was, dwarfed by the imposing Floridian palaces with their imported tile roofs and landscaped lawns. An interloper amidst the Maseratis and Ferraris. My driver had dropped me off in a quiet cul-de-sac lined with tall palms, tidy hedgerows, and neat flower beds dressed in bright lantana.

I transferred my hand from the handle of my small roll-aboard and rang the doorbell, grimacing at my chipped nails. As I waited, I swept my gaze over the imperious double doors belonging to a white, Spanish-style edifice. My boss's house. The stucco archway sat on tall ionic pillars. Overhead hung a large, iron lantern that loomed threateningly. The towering Bougainvillea lay against the walls like purple drapes.

I plastered a smile on as the door swung open. Tara emerged, her radiant, platinum locks falling around her shoulders in chic chaos. "Darling, don't tell me that's all you're taking?" She eyed my luggage dubiously as I stepped into the marble foyer.

"What else do I need?" We were going to be in our bikinis most of the time anyway.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Her critical gaze had already dismissed my humble roll-aboard and was now assessing my dress.

"Um, yeah." I looked down at myself, frowning. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing if your name's Mabel and you play Bingo on Saturday nights." She gave my cheek an offhand peck. "Leave your bag in the foyer."

I gave my cotton dress a self-conscious tug. "Are Tiff and Dana here yet?"

"No," she said, leading me down a hallway and up a grand staircase bordered on one side by colossal panes of pristine glass.

My fingertips slid along the varnished handrail as I looked out through the glass. Beyond the infinity pool the waterway stretched like a turquoise road rippling with boat wakes and diving pelicans. Her father's yacht sat alongside the private dock, gleaming like a fat pearl.

"Do you want a glass of wine?" Tara glanced at me as we entered what looked to be her bedroom.

"Shouldn't we be going?" I asked, checking my watch. If Tiff and Dana didn't get here soon we'd be late.

"Soon." She glanced over her shoulder at my dress. "But first, darling, you're in desperate need of Gucci." She pulled me into her vast walk-in closet and began rifling through the hangers of her extensive wardrobe. Some of her dresses still had price tags dangling from them. I tried not to gape at the amount on the tag in full view. Arms folded, I headed over to survey her shoe shelves.

"Grab the blue Manolos," she instructed.

Which ones? There were about fifty blue shoes here! With a frown, I inspected the many shades of blue footwear that filled the shelves. Finally, I pulled a pair of royal blue pumps down from their perch. "Here you go," I said, holding them out to her.

Without looking back, she said, "Put those on."

"Tara..." I shot her a look of impatience, but it was wasted on her back, her head buried deep in the wardrobe. I sighed. "They won't fit me."

"You're a size eight, aren't you?"

I kicked my sandals off and slid my feet into the Manolo Blahniks. Five minutes in these things and I'd be limping out the door.

"Your legs look incredible in those!"

I looked up to see her nodding approval over her shoulder. Frowning, I hobbled toward the floor-length mirror to see for myself. My legs did look sleek, I supposed, but the heels were impractical considering we were going to be lying on the beach every day.