If the Shoes Fit

by Pauline Lawless

  She was determined to recruit as many representatives as she could, as quickly as possible, and she wanted to go for quality women. She’d received this advice from a very successful Avon manager that she knew. She preferred this to the party-plan way of selling. If she was having parties, she would have to work at night. This way, she could work while the children were at school. She didn’t want to give Bridget anything to complain about. She had considered using the landline phone for the business but her mother-in-law would certainly have made that difficult for her, not to mention sticking her nose in and knowing too much of what was going on. The company was paying her phone bills anyway so she bought a new mobile, specifically for the business, and put it down as an expense.

  She decided to start in her own area and work out in a circle from there. She wore her most comfortable shoes and set off on her bike. She returned to the house three times for more posters before it was time to collect the kids from school. Each time she had to put up with Bridget’s disapproving scowls. By this stage she was starving as she hadn’t eaten since breakfast so on the spur of the moment she took them to McDonald’s on the way home. This unexpected treat had the kids in an exuberant mood. When they had done their homework she allowed them to watch a DVD as she wanted to complete stamping the leaflets that she would use the following day. The kids thought it was their birthday. Bridget thought otherwise.

  “Is this how things are going to be from now on? McDonald’s after school and watching DVDs during the school week?” she whined, sniffing, as she always did when she was annoyed.

  “Today is special. Our lives are going to change and I want to get this up and running as soon as possible.”

  Just then, Rose came running in, making things even worse.

  “Can we watch a other DBD?,” she lisped.

  She never could pronounce her Vs, Niamh thought, scooping her little daughter up into her arms.

  “Indeed you cannot,” her grandmother snorted. “You’re a right little diva!”

  “I’m not a diba!” Rose’s lower lip trembled as she started to cry although she had absolutely no idea what a diva was. However, even at four, she knew from her grand-mother’s tone that it wasn’t good.

  Lily, hearing her twin cry, came running into the kitchen in support and naturally joined in the tears.

  “Now look what you’ve started!” Bridget spat the words out. “I really can’t take all of this.”

  Flabbergasted, Niamh took her two little daughters on her knee and tried to calm them, thinking: you won’t have to take it for too long more, you old bag!

  That night she finished stamping the leaflets and was delighted to receive six phone calls from women who had seen her posters already. She arranged to meet three of them the following morning and the others on Wednesday. They all seemed very interested, except for one who seemed only to be looking for free shoes. She fell into bed exhausted but with a gut feeling that this was going to be a huge success. Gavin was, as usual, out with his mates.

  Amber decided that dragging around door-to-door was not for her, so she decided that parties would be how she would start her business. God knows, she had enough friends and ex-colleagues who were shoe fanatics and besides she liked the idea of actually being the front woman herself. She’d often been told that she could sell snow to the Eskimos, or sand to the Arabs. Now was her chance to prove them right. Could she sell shoes to Irishwomen? That should be a piece of cake!

  She spent Monday working her way through her address book and contacting every woman in it. She scanned the shoe brochure and emailed it to everyone. She knew that they wouldn’t be able to resist them. Many of her friends emailed straight back, wanting to hold a party for her, as soon as possible. Susie was having a party for her on Wednesday. She bought a big diary for the wall, so that she could co-ordinate things at a glance. She was on a winner here. She just knew it.

  Rosie discussed her ideas with Gail. They decided that approaching ladies’ clubs would be a good strategy. That way she could target a lot of women in the one night and also get leads from them for representatives and parties. She would also try golf clubs, tennis clubs, bridge clubs and gyms. She knew a lot of women from all around south Dublin, through all her activities in these areas. So many of them had turned up to Jack’s funeral and offered to help her in any way they could. Now was their chance. She felt truly alive again.

  Gail was having a party for her on Thursday night and had invited all her friends and neighbours. Rosie was nervous but excited and was glad her first outing would be at Gail’s.

  As Tessa didn’t know all that many women in her area, she couldn’t rely on parties alone, although Kate assured her that some of the women she’d invited for Friday night would also throw a party for her. She sure hoped so.

  She was going to have to put out posters in her area. Like Amber, she didn’t fancy going door-to-door, but if push came to shove she’d do it. She hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. She had better ideas than that. She had contacted a friend in Dublin who designed websites and he was currently working on one for her. She had scanned the brochure to him and was busy putting the website address on her posters. She had squared this with Grace, who said it was okay, as long as she forwarded any replies from prospective representatives in other areas to the appropriate manager. She hoped she wouldn’t get any replies for Phoebe, Lesley or Val’s areas. She’d be delighted to help out the others.

  She had also contacted the local newspapers in her Dublin area and had placed adverts in them. Her good business sense and experience would see her through. She felt very confident.

  While the four friends were busy getting things underway, Phoebe was in the beauty salon, having her weekly manicure and pedicure. She was loudly telling one and all about the fabulous new shoes that she would be selling.

  “Well, I’m not selling, of course, I’m the sales director,” she preened, “but I’ll be running a team of representatives to sell them. Anyone interested?”

  The staff of the salon, who dreaded her Monday morning visits, pretended not to hear.

  “Who wants to start the week, after a hectic weekend of partying, listening to that one?” the manicurist muttered to the junior. “I swear she makes me feel like staying in on Sunday nights. Imagine facing her with a hangover? Total nightmare!”

  Phoebe, secure in her self-confidence, was totally unaware of how they felt about her. She figured she must be their most popular customer. After all, she always tipped well. She couldn’t understand why none of them were interested in selling her shoes.

  “If it was anyone else, I’d be mad keen to do it, but I wouldn’t risk having to deal with her on a day-to-day basis,” the beautician confided to the others after Phoebe had left.

  “Imagine it!” the manicurist shuddered.

  One of the other clients, who didn’t know Phoebe very well, had said she’d like to learn more about it.

  “Fantastic! Can you come around to my house now and I’ll fill you in?”

  The poor woman did as she was asked and, completely railroaded by Phoebe, found herself, twenty minutes later, a representative for If the Shoes Fit. She didn’t know quite know how it had happened.

  Phoebe, delighted with her first conquest, rang Val to share her good news. There was no reply. She must be busy working, Phoebe thought, leaving a message.

  Val wasn’t working. She was still in bed, although it was almost noon. While all the others were busy getting their businesses under way, Val had other things on her mind.

  She’d had a dreadful row with her boyfriend, Keith, on Sunday evening. He’d stormed out of the house and hadn’t returned home that night. She guessed that he was hanging out with one of the groupies who followed his rock band. These girls were always there, willing to drop their knickers for any one of the guys in the band, or indeed all of them, if necessary. The guys regularly took them up on it. (Val conveniently forgot that that was how she had met Keith herself.) Not that it bothered her if h
e was with someone else. It wasn’t as if she was in love with him but still, he was her boyfriend and they’d been living together for over a year. He owed her.

  In the beginning it had been exciting. Sex, drugs and rock-and-roll – what a potent mix! She’d loved going to his gigs and the crazy parties afterwards, where cocaine was as plentiful as booze and everyone got as high as kites. It still happened, of course, but she’d tired of it. Well, that wasn’t strictly true – the fact was that Keith didn’t want her there any more. She knew he was screwing around and that was another problem. He refused to use condoms and she was terrified of catching something. God only knew what slapper he’d been with. They fought about it a lot and now their sex life was non-existent. Fine for him, he was getting it elsewhere. What about her needs?

  She’d had really had high hopes of getting Pete into bed the previous Friday night. She’d seen the way he’d been looking down her cleavage all night and had thought that things would heat up in the nightclub. They’d heated up all right – but for Lesley – not for Val! Not that she blamed him. Lesley was fabulous. She was so hot. Val really admired her. The way they were groping each other on the dance floor – it was almost pornographic! She sighed. She really wouldn’t have minded a threesome but she wasn’t invited to join in.

  Bringing her thoughts back to Keith, she knew it was the beginning of the end, which was why she’d gone for this job. It was all very well for Mam to say she shouldn’t have. Where would she go, if Keith threw her out – which she knew he would, any day now. Her mother, who’d always been her rock, wasn’t talking to her, so she couldn’t go back there. She didn’t get on with her older sisters and Niamh’s was out of the question. They were cramped enough in Bridget’s little house as it was. Niamh was forever going on about getting a place of her own. If she did, Val knew she’d be welcome there. But could she bear to live in the same house as Gavin, knowing he wasn’t hers? Seeing him every day with Niamh would be too much for her. She couldn’t bear it.

  If only he’d fallen in love with her and not Niamh, everything would have been perfect. Lying beside him every night, feeling his gorgeous body next to hers – what bliss it would be! She started to get aroused, as she did every time she thought of him and touching herself, imagining it was Gavin, she brought herself to orgasm.

  Afterwards, crying softly to herself, she thought how unfair life was. The only two men she’d ever loved, Dad and Gavin, had both preferred Niamh. Was it any wonder Mam called her a jealous bitch? Anyone would be, in the circumstances. Her very handsome father used to take her on his knee and call her his little princess. Then Niamh arrived and spoilt it all. He called Niamh his “little twinkle”. Somehow it had sounded more important than princess.

  Val was twenty when she fell in love with Gavin Byrne. She fell hard. She wanted to make love to him more than anything else in the world. She did everything she could think of to catch his attention but although he was friendly and sweet to her, he never even asked her out. When he fell for her kid sister, he broke her heart.

  Their wedding day was the worst day of her life. She still didn’t know how she’d got through it. It was all so unfair. She could barely look at Niamh who had been glowing with happiness and pregnancy. Val had wanted to die and the only thing that stopped her was the hope that one day Gavin might change his mind and realise that he’d married the wrong sister. Six years down the road, she still loved him and still hoped it would happen.

  The Angelus bell, ringing from the nearby church, roused her from her thoughts and she crawled out of bed, knowing that she should get down to work but somehow she couldn’t face it today. She had too much on her mind.

  Chapter 17

  Amber’s party at Susie’s was a great success. She sold twenty pairs of shoes, arranged a party for the following Friday, and came home with promises of other future parties. She’d also found three women who were interested in becoming reps.

  She realised that this was the way to go – networking. It was all word of mouth and women were the specialists at that. No doubt about it, it was going to be a huge success. She loved it.

  Tessa was busy all week and was delighted to get calls from women who’d spotted her posters. She interviewed four of them on Thursday and signed them up. She had hoped that George would come around to accepting what she was doing but if anything, he was even more hostile.

  On Thursday night she had to sit through a boring dinner with three of his boring friends and their boring wives. She looked around the dinner table wondering what on earth she was doing there. She had absolutely nothing in common with any of these people. She was barely aware of the conversation drifting about her, as she planned her business for the next week. At one point she did start to tell the other women about If the Shoes Fit, but George’s scowl stopped her in her tracks. Obviously, he was embarrassed by it and didn’t want his friends to know what she was up to. She gave up and withdrew into herself.

  She was wearing a cashmere twinset and pearls with low-heeled ballet pumps. Her hair was up in a chignon. She felt like a fraud. This wasn’t her – it was someone else! She felt like a sixty-year-old matron and she reckoned she looked it too. She would love to have worn a pair of her new shoes but after George’s remarks she thought it was safer to leave them where they were. She wondered what his reaction would have been if she’d worn her beige suede suit and boots. God, he’d have had a seizure!

  She was beginning to understand that George didn’t want her – he wanted what he thought she represented. He’d been attracted to her because of her background, not for herself.

  The first time she had taken George home to meet her father and stepmother, she’d been surprised at his behaviour. He’d been so impressed by them and had spent the weekend fawning over them. Her father had hated this and she suspected that he hadn’t liked George very much either.

  She’d wondered why George had behaved so obsequiously towards her father and Claudia. She finally understood why when, months later, she met his mother, Doreen, a dear little woman who lived on a suburban estate in Dublin.

  “Oh, my dear, you’re very posh for our George,” she’d whispered to Tessa, as she’d flustered about the little kitchen, preparing tea for them.

  Tessa had laughed and hugged her. “I’m not at all posh,” she’d assured her. “I’m really very ordinary.”

  “Well, you’re a very nice girl anyway. George always wanted to be posh, you know.” Doreen gave a little sigh. “He thinks he is now, but people can always tell,” she said sadly.

  Tessa had become very fond of Doreen and visited her regularly. George never accompanied her. It was obvious that he was ashamed of his mother and where he’d come from. He was an out and out snob.

  Tessa rang Kate the following day and told her about the awful evening she’d had with George’s friends and how she felt her relationship with him was deteriorating faster by the day.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Kate. “I really thought it would improve things for you if you had an interest of your own.”

  “Sadly not,” Tessa replied, her voice dejected. “If anything things are getting worse.”

  “How about bringing George over for supper tomorrow night?” Kate suggested brightly. “The Smithsons are coming and I know George thinks very highly of Jonathan.”

  “That’s because Jonathan is a successful barrister and what George considers upper-class,” Tessa retorted. “But thanks, Kate. You’re right. It might help. I’ll tell him. Gosh, I’m quite nervous about this party tonight,” she added, sucking in her breath.

  “Don’t be daft. It’ll be great,” Kate reassured her. “All the girls who are coming are friends of mine and believe me, they’re big into shoes.”

  Kate could not understand Tessa’s lack of self-confidence. She was bright and funny and beautiful into the bargain. It’s all bloody George’s fault, she thought angrily as she put the phone down. He saps her self-confidence.

  Tessa’s nerves melt
ed away quickly after meeting Kate’s friends that evening. They were a terrific group of women. Kate had pulled out all the stops and the house was looking beautiful. There were candles everywhere, sixties music playing in the background and a Cosmopolitan cocktail handed to each woman as she came in. They’d come from everywhere: Kildare, Meath and as far away as Dublin. The atmosphere was electric and they were all drooling over the shoes.

  “They are divine,” Marcia, a friend of Kate’s from Dublin, remarked. “I pay six times the price for similar shoes in Dublin and London.” She laughed. “This means I can afford to buy all six pairs for the price of one!”

  She wasn’t joking. She ordered all six pairs. Tessa was exhilarated. There were eighteen women there and some of the others also ordered more than one pair.

  “They’re all so gorgeous I can’t make up my mind. I’ll have to take both pairs,” she heard, over and over again.

  This was fantastic. What a start to her business! Not only that, but Marcia wanted to host a party for her in Killiney. This was too good to be true. In all, she sold thirty-two pairs of shoes – in one night – wow!

  Kate had prepared a lovely selection of hors d’oeuvres and, after the Cosmopolitans, numerous bottles of Chablis were consumed. It was a brilliant night. At the end of it, Kate’s best friends, Lauren, Tara and Jenny, remained for one last drink. They were such fun and Tessa felt at home with them straight away.

  “It’s wonderful to feel the bond between you all,” she told them, a little enviously.

  “Well, we’ve been through a lot together,” Kate said.