Anne loved New York this time of year, when maple trees began to sprout emerald leaves but it was still cool enough to bundle up. If only she could stay here forever with Sergio and not go back to San Francisco.
A black-and-white-striped awning graced the storefront of Timely Treasures, listed as a “top ten New York City best bargain shop.” A bell jingled as she stepped inside. She closed the door behind her, blocking out the city noise, and was greeted by the scent of beeswax and lemon. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Perhaps the owners kept them low to save money.
She pulled off her knit cap and put it in her backpack. Ducking her five-foot-eight frame to see into the nearest mirror, she squinted at her sorrel-colored hair. What a frizzy mess! She fluffed it upside down and secured it atop her head with a scrunchie.
She wandered the aisles stuffed with buffed antique furniture, Erté sculptures, knickknacks, and gewgaws. This shop was too upscale for thrifting, the wares too high-end. She’d only come in search of found-object inspiration for her artwork.
Turning to leave, she caught sparkly reflections from a back table—as if lit by a spotlight on a stage, pulling her toward them. As she drew closer to the satin-clothed table, an interesting display revealed itself: a pair of silver shoes rested atop a box, surrounded by a rope of pearls, a pair of cream-colored gloves, an enameled cigarette case, and a white marabou-feather boa.
She ran her fingers over the shimmery rhinestones that graced the shoe’s two-inch heels. In vintage times, women didn’t wear the soaring stilt heels of today. She picked them up. These shoes were made for dancing and might even fit her. The woman who had owned them must have had big feet, too.
Ha! Maybe a Rockette had even owned them. After all, they were in New York. Anne searched for the size but couldn’t find one.
Sergio would get a kick out of them. Since he worked in the shoe business and was very generous with samples, the last thing she needed was another pair, but these really spoke to her. And Sergio might think they were sexy. He loved it when she wore sensuous footwear. They were so fancy, though. Where would she ever wear them?
All of a sudden the shoes grew warm, as if kissed by the sun, tempting her to try them on. A salesperson still hadn’t appeared, so Anne pulled off her boots, slid her feet inside the shoes, and clasped the T-straps. Shifting her feet side to side, she admired how the leather moved, soft and supple. The best thing about buying used shoes was that someone else had worn them in for you. As she stepped along the aisle, a warm glow ran from the soles of her feet up to her heart and swirled there. Maybe they were magic!
She closed her eyes and clicked her heels three times, chanting, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”
“Are you planning to buy those?” A man stood before her.
“Oh!” She jumped. “You scared me!” She bent to unclasp the T-straps and slipped off the shoes, waiting for her racing heartbeat to subside. “How much are they?”
He took them from her and spoke dramatically. “They’re in perfect condition. I’d say seventy-five smackeroos.” In his suspenders, bow tie, and slicked-back hair, he reminded her of the emcee character in the Cabaret revival Sergio had taken her to last year.
She sighed and shook her head. “That’s too much.”
The man’s sad eyes penetrated hers. “Make me an offer.”
She glanced at the shoes again. She shouldn’t buy them, but she had to follow her instincts—they’d been right before. From the wallet in her backpack she offered him a bill. “How about twenty dollars?”
He paused for a moment and studied her. “Thirty and they’re yours.”
“Deal.” She took out a ten, picked up her boots, and started toward the counter. There went the rest of her bus money.
“I have more things from the same estate if you’re interested.” His hand swept over the other items on the table.
“No, thanks.” She shook her head, tugging her boots back on.
He wrapped the shoes in tissue and placed them carefully in the vintage box.
“May I have a bag instead?” she asked, placing the money on the counter.
“You must store them in the original box. The shoes are very valuable.”
If they were so valuable, why did he take thirty bucks for them? “I’m traveling and the box will be in the way.”
“Even so, I insist.” He held up the box. “Promise to never throw away the box.”
It didn’t look like much—a shoebox with barely legible Italian words handwritten on its side. Sergio could translate it this evening. She loved when he spoke Italian to her.
“Okay. I promise.” She shrugged and opened her backpack.
The man gently laid the box inside. “You’ll be glad to have it.” He eked out a thin smile and escorted her to the door. “Are you going on a trip?”
“No, heading home.”
“Where’s that?”
The man nodded and put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s a stunning coat. Dior, correct?”
“Yes.” She stepped back.
“Lovely brooch, too. How much for both?”
The breath caught in her throat, and she clasped her hand over the rhinestone snowflake pin. It had been the connection between her and her dear friend Sylvia. When Anne wore the brooch and coat, she could still sense Sylvia’s presence.
“I’ll give you a good price.”
“They’re not for sale. Goodbye.” She fingered the key in the pocket of her black velvet coat and stepped out onto the sidewalk, relieved to get away.
She’d better hurry or she’d be late to meet Sergio. She skirted a construction barrier. A he-man type with bulging muscles threw debris out a top window and she had to duck. Dust particles flew into her hair as the mess fell into a dumpster on the sidewalk. Since she started visiting Sergio two years before, the economy had surged and New York developers were investing in renovations like mad. Housing costs had skyrocketed. She could never afford to rent an apartment here.
San Francisco was expensive enough. Without rent control, she’d never have been able to stay in her studio apartment the six years since she’d moved there. Hopefully, Sergio would invite her to move in with him. After all, this bicoastal romance had been going on for two years, and things were still hot and heavy. The lease on her San Francisco apartment had almost expired, and the landlady wanted her to sign another.
If Sergio didn’t ask Anne soon, she would need to broach the subject herself. They couldn’t keep up this long-distance relationship forever. If he told her no, she’d be mortified, and it might push her to break up with him. But she couldn’t imagine living without him.