“Bloody Hell, Jake, you’ll be drooling over the guy soon.”
“I’ll leave that to you, darling,” he said, winking cheekily at her.
Eleanor smiled over the rim of her coffee cup, but inwardly she frowned. First Muse had drawn comparisons with Cinderella, and now Jake had added his own.
Honestly, anyone would think this was a fairy tale, for crying out loud.
• • •
“Okay, Muse, you can stop sulking. I’m in a much better mood tonight,” said Eleanor as she entered her house. She hummed under her breath as she kicked off her shoes and headed to the fridge, unearthing a leftover bottle of wine from last week’s impromptu dinner party.
“At least you’re not diving into a vodka bottle,” said Muse with approval. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
“It is, isn’t it?” declared Eleanor happily.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” asked Muse suspiciously.
Eleanor, who by now realized that she liked having a talking cat, even if it meant that she was crazy, smiled at her feline friend and saluted her.
“I had my shoulders rubbed by Prince Charming this morning.”
“Excellent! You are making progress!”
“Progress at what?” asked Eleanor vaguely, having immersed herself firmly in the memory of that morning’s delightfully thrilling interlude.
“Why, the ‘Marry Prince Charming Plan’, of course!” said Muse. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“What?” spluttered Eleanor. Honestly, if people kept making her spit up her drinks, she was going to have to start wearing a bib. “What do you mean, the ‘Marry Prince Charming Plan’? I’m not marrying anyone!”
“Of course you aren’t, dear,” said Muse, who used her paw to pat Eleanor’s foot soothingly. “Not quite yet, at any rate.”
“Not at all, you mean.”
“Ella, dear, did you honestly think that I became your Fairy Godmother just so that you could have a fling with your new boss?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Eleanor. “This is not some medieval storybook romance, you know. This is the twenty-first century. People don’t have to get married to get it on.”
“Get it on? Get it on?”
“Yeah, get it on! Honestly, Muse, you need to bring yourself up to date. The divorce rate alone in this day and age is enough to put anyone off the idea of marriage.”
“Eleanor Gibson, you will marry your Prince Charming, or you won’t be getting anything ‘on’ apart from a chastity belt.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“I never kid,” said Muse darkly.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Muse, but I honestly don’t see a ‘happily ever after’ here.”
“That’s because you’re too narrow-minded.”
“I’m sitting here talking to my cat,” said Eleanor dryly. “I think I can safely say that narrow-mindedness is not one of my failings.”
“Stubborn, then,” amended Muse. “You can’t deny that you’re stubborn.”
“Well, no, I can’t deny that. But that doesn’t make much difference to the whole ‘happy ever after’ thing, does it?”
“Of course it does! You’ve thought of yourself as a less-than-attractive female for far too long. You need to embrace your Inner Princess.”
“Inner Princess? You really should get together with Jake, you know. You’d get on like a house on fire.”
“I don’t think so,” said Muse disdainfully.
“And you said I was stubborn,” muttered Eleanor.
“I’m not stubborn,” said Muse with dignity. “I just prefer to work alone.”
“Ha! You’re as stubborn as I am. Admit it!”
“Maybe I am,” said Muse with a hint of triumph. “But I got you to admit to your own stubbornness, so I don’t think that you have anything to crow about.”
“Crap.”
Muse stared at her.
“Er, I mean, oh dear.”
• • •
The burn on Eleanor’s hand felt much better the following morning, but she had a slight headache from the wine that she had consumed the previous evening.
“One of these days I’ll wake up feeling normal,” she muttered as she got out of bed.
“Perhaps you should consume your alcohol by the glass rather than the bottle,” suggested Muse, who very obviously felt perfectly fine, judging by the way she was leaping about the place.
“I’m not hung over,” said Eleanor in a bracing voice. To be truthful, she did feel a bit delicate, but she figured she needed to convince herself otherwise. After all, she wanted to arrive at work early enough to stage an ‘accidental’ meeting with Charming. She reckoned one of his massages would set her up nicely for the entire day.
She quickly showered and chose something a bit more exciting to wear than her usual jeans and T-shirt. She stuck with the denim, but picked out her favorite pair which she usually wore on nights out. They were the only pair in her wardrobe that actually fit her properly; they hugged her bottom and didn’t make her belly feel as if she had consumed far too many sweets.
Scanning her wardrobe, she selected a shirt that looked deceptively innocent on its hanger. Long-sleeved and V-necked, it was a perfectly respectable looking garment — until you put it on. The V-neck looked demure enough from the front, but anyone looking over her shoulder was greeted with a cleavage that would stop traffic.
“Perfect,” said Eleanor, grinning at the thought of Charming’s gaze being arrested by the sight that awaited him. After all, most men loved boobs, didn’t they?
Unfortunately, Eleanor’s plan backfired on here. Charming was out for the entire day at a conference. This would have been bad enough, but to add to her disappointment, Eleanor had to fend off Derek’s attentions, not to mention the bus driver’s leering gaze, and possibly illegal proposition.
Danny took pity on her at lunchtime and took her out for lunch. Jake was busy arranging his next big photo shoot, so he declined to join them.
“For God’s sake, though, cover that cleavage up, Ella,” begged Danny. “It’s enough to distract a comatose octogenarian, never mind Cardiff’s general population of sex-starved men.”
Eleanor glared at Danny and grabbed the cardigan that she kept for emergencies from Jake’s bottom drawer. It was chunky and long, and far too warm for the current weather, but it covered up the offending cleavage and made Danny nod with approval.
“I thought you wanted me to be a little more glamorous,” said Eleanor half an hour later. They were sat at a table in the local pub waiting for their orders to arrive, with Eleanor sipping a mineral water and Danny sampling a new cocktail.
“I do, darling, but cleavage explosions just aren’t suitable in some situations.”
“Cleavage explosions?” repeated Eleanor, raising her eyebrow.
“Darling, you need to manage your cleavage to fit the situation. Explosions are fine for evening entertainment, but you need to aim for teasing cleavages during daylight hours. What made you decide to bombard everyone with your boobs today, anyway?”
“No reason,” said Eleanor shiftily. “Just an experiment of sorts.”
“What kind of experiment?”
“It doesn’t matter now. I won’t be doing it again, that’s for sure. Do you know, Derek practically tripped over his own tongue earlier? And that was from a distance. When he was standing right next to me, his eyes glazed over.”
Danny snorted.
“It’s not funny. Honestly, I’ve been looking over my shoulder all morning. It’s pathetic. I’m the same person that I was yesterday, but show a bit of flesh and suddenly everyone thinks I’m a prostitute.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Danny reasonably.
“That’s what I said to Derek,” she replied darkly.
• • •
Lunch restored some of Eleanor’s spirits; bangers and mash always did that, especially when it led to jokes about wobbly sausages. She returned to work feeling slightly happier, and decided to keep the cardigan on for the rest of the day. It was uncomfortably warm, but infinitely better than holding on to her knickers whenever Derek appeared.
Jenni and Heather were seated in Jake’s office when Eleanor returned. They were all busy going over the schedule for the next day’s shoot, so Eleanor merely waved a quick greeting and left them to it.
The afternoon passed in a blur of memos, emails, and boiling kettles. The cardigan worked very well, and Eleanor wasn’t bothered by innuendo-filled comments for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, by the time she left the building she was redder than a beetroot due to feeling so warm. On the plus side, the bus driver, who had so blatantly gawked at her that morning, seemed to have an aversion to beetroot and stuck to the less disturbing greeting of “tickets please.”
By the time she got home, she was ready to consign her shirt to the charity shop. Or at least to the depths of her wardrobe, where past fashion disasters lurked, and mocked her frequently. Eleanor shuddered as she recalled the sparkly leggings that were so hot two years ago, but which were now something that she avoided at all costs.
Eleanor stripped off her clothes and threw on some pajamas. On a whim, she decided to pull out all of her scary clothes items from the wardrobe. It was time she gave them a wash and then passed them on to the local used clothing shop. Happy that she was doing something constructive, she opened her wardrobe door and promptly screamed.
“Muse, what the hell are you doing?”
Muse’s bright green eyes blinked up at her in surprise.
“It’s time for your lessons to begin in earnest, dear,” said her feline friend.
“You almost gave me a heart attack! What on earth are you doing buried in my shoes?”
“You need to learn how to walk in heels, dear.”
“I do?” she replied doubtfully.
Eleanor had been wearing heels for almost ten years now, and thought she had walking in them pretty much covered.
“Yes, dear, you do. Walking in heels is an art form.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is. You work for a modeling agency; I thought you would understand this. Clearly you don’t, though, or you wouldn’t be questioning my expertise.”
Eleanor was having trouble accepting the fact that a cat would know anything about wearing heels, but Muse was so earnest that she kept her mouth shut.
“Now, you obviously need to take a little more care when you are walking in heels. Tiny, graceful steps are required if you don’t wish to fall flat on your face.”
Eleanor looked at her cat suspiciously. She was sure Muse was referencing the coffee tray trip from a few weeks ago.
“The style of the heel is important, too. High heels can be difficult if they are stilettos.”
Muse pushed Eleanor’s spiky-heeled boots towards her to demonstrate.
“However,” continued the cat, pushing a boxy-heeled pair of shoes next to the stilettos, “Chunky heels are much easier to navigate.”
Eleanor flopped down on her bed and kicked off her slippers. It was very odd listening to a cat lecture her on ‘fashion dos and don’ts’, but it was entertaining nevertheless.
“Of course, a smart girl opts for flat shoes, but they aren’t nearly as glamorous, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh yes, definitely.”
“Exactly. Flats are practical, to be sure, but they aren’t going to give you any points for fashion sense.”
“So what do I do?” asked Eleanor thoughtfully.
“We need to strike a balance, my dear. Much as I’d love to see you in a pair of gorgeous high heels, there’s no denying the fact that you are likely to totter more than a drunken sailor if you do so.”
Images of sailors in stilettos immediately entered Eleanor’s brain, and she stifled a chuckle.
“And we really can’t have you wearing flats, can we?” continued Muse sensibly. “I believe I have the solution, though.”
Muse pushed a third pair of shoes towards Eleanor and smiled. At least, it looked like Muse was smiling, but with a cat one could never be sure.
“Oh, I’d forgotten all about these,” cried Eleanor excitedly, as she examined the silver strappy sandals that she had purchased several years previously.
“You should sort your wardrobe out, dear. It is a veritable Aladdin’s Cave in there. You have to sift through a lot of garbage, true, but I found several gems buried beneath all the clutter.”
“Actually, that’s what I was going to do tonight,” remarked Eleanor, as she strapped the silver sandals on to her feet.
“Excellent idea. However, I feel we should concentrate on the walking lessons this evening. You can do your wardrobe another night.”
Eleanor nodded distractedly as she fastened the last strap. The sandals had been a ridiculously extravagant impulse buy, something she usually avoided. Costing £150, she still had no idea what had made her blow almost a week’s wages on them. They were gorgeous, though.
“Walk to the door and back,” instructed Muse.
Eleanor did as she was told. The heels were three inches, not overly high in these days of impossibly high heels, but she wobbled slightly as she walked to the door and back again.
“Posture, dear,” chided Muse.
Eleanor glared.
“Heels aren’t really designed for walking on carpet, Muse. Cut me a little slack, would you?”
Muse put Eleanor through half an hour of pacing, offering words of wisdom every so often. Eleanor bit her lip, but did her best to comply.
“I think that’s enough for this evening,” declared Muse eventually.
“Thank goodness,” muttered Eleanor, who promptly sat on her bed and made to remove the sandals.
“Oh, don’t take them off, Ella.”
“Huh?”
“You will be wearing those sandals every evening from now until the party.”
“What?”
“Practice makes perfect, dear.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to respond, but Muse glared at her.
“I wasn’t going to swear,” said Eleanor sulkily.
“Of course you weren’t, dear.”
Bloody interfering cat. Swearing didn’t count if it’s only said in one’s head, after all.
• • •
It was a decidedly strange feeling wearing a pair of sexy stilettos with short pajamas. Eleanor felt the urge to giggle as she cooked herself a curry later that night, much to Muse’s annoyance.
“You really shouldn’t laugh, Ella, this is a serious business.”
Eleanor nodded sincerely, but it was hard to be serious while you were wearing a Betty Boop T-shirt, baggy shorts and a pair of heels. Plus, her legs needed shaving, which didn’t exactly match the sexiness of the shoes at all.
“When can I take them off?” asked Eleanor. “I mean, do I have to wear them at all times, or can I remove them now and again in the next week or so?”
“Sarcasm will get you nowhere, my dear.”
“I’m not being sarcastic,” said Eleanor innocently. “I’m just curious. I want to take a bath later, for example. I’m assuming I get to take them off then, right?”
Muse glared at her and left the kitchen. Eleanor grinned as she licked the spoon she had used to stir the curry.
“Perfect,” she said to herself, and she wasn’t only referring to the curry.
Eleanor did indeed remove the high heels when she ran her bath, though they were swiftly returned to her feet as soon as she’d dried herself afterwards.
This time they were accompanied by a lacy black bra and matching thong, and most importantly, fuzz-free legs. Eleanor had just started to detangle her hair when she heard the front door bell chiming. She quickly grabbed her dressing gown and ran down the stairs, almost breaking her neck in the process.
“Bloody heels,” she cursed, as she opened the door.
“Darling! You should have told me you were holding a swingers’ party tonight. I would have been here earlier.”
“Jake! What are you doing here? Quick, get in before half the street sees me in my underwear.”
Eleanor ushered her friend through the door and belted her dressing gown, which had somehow become loose during the mad dash to the door.
“Don’t cover up on my account. You look gorgeous!”
“Shut up, Jake,” said Eleanor fondly. “Why are you here? It’d better be something good, because I’m on my way to bed.”
“I do hope you have company. It’d be a shame to let the sexiness go to waste.”
“Alone. I’m going to bed alone.”
“Ah, well,” sighed Jake. “Still, I’m glad I’m not interrupting, because I need a favor.”
“I’m listening,” said Eleanor. She grabbed a hairbrush and resumed her attempts at detangling her mass of black frizz. “Spit it out, Jake, I haven’t got all night.”
“Heather’s let me down for tomorrow’s shoot. She twisted her ankle ice-skating a couple of hours ago, so she’ll be off work for a few days.”
“She’s all right, though, isn’t she?”
“Oh yes, she’s fine. Cursing at the loss of tomorrow’s pay check, but otherwise her usual self.”
“That’s good. So what can I do to help? I can’t think of anyone off-hand who could take her place at this short notice.”
“Well, that’s where you come in.”
“Me? Hang on — are you suggesting that I take over for Heather? Are you nuts?”
“It’s an underwear shoot, sweetie. If anything, you’re better suited for it than Heather is.”
“No way. Absolutely no bloody way.”
“We’re shooting the body shots tomorrow, Ella. Your face won’t even be seen, I swear.”
If the Shoe Fits Page 6