If the Shoe Fits

by Julie Murphy

  The crew staggers all of us on the steps of the château. This is the big elimination that will send home seven girls, and despite the moment Henry and I shared in the guesthouse and the walkie-talkie stuffed down my bra, I think I stand a fifty-fifty chance of going home. Maybe he thinks it would just be easier for us both if he sent me home and we didn’t have to pretend like we’ve never met. Or maybe he doesn’t care, and he’s really just here for his mom—whatever that means. Regardless, I know exactly what I’m here for, and if I stand any shot of taking home that prize money or at the very least making a big enough splash that might end in a job offer or two, I have to last beyond tonight.

  “Look alive, ladies!” Beck shouts.

  “Roll camera!” someone calls.

  “Rolling,” the camerawoman calls back.

  “Roll audio!”

  “Rolling!”

  Behind us the doors of the château open with a creak good enough to be a sound effect, and I can’t help but turn around. This could be the last time I see Henry.

  But it’s not Henry. Instead, Chad Winkle, the longtime host of Before Midnight, steps out in his signature tux with sparkling deep navy lapels and a matching bow tie. He’s a little more salt-and-pepper than I remember, but in general, Chad has aged well thanks to modern science. He lets out a chuckle as he waves to the contestants, and my stomach flip-flops as I recall the last time I saw him—a New Year’s Eve party hosted by Erica when I was just a freshman in high school. It was my first semifamous-people party after she and Dad got married. (Unless you count the wedding.) Surely, Chad doesn’t remember Anna, Drew, or me, and even if he does, I remind myself that he’s a professional television show host and is totally capable of keeping his cool.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he says as he takes his place in front of the line of Rolls-Royces prepared to whisk away the disqualified contestants. Beside him is a column that you’d normally expect to display a sculpture or flower arrangement, but instead there’s a perfectly stacked pyramid of scrolls. “It seems that some of you had some very real connections with Henry this evening. What a lucky man. Let’s bring Henry out!”

  Henry steps through the doors of the château, and as he makes his way down the steps, a ripple of giggles follows. He shakes hands with Chad and gives us all a smirk and a nod. “Ladies.”

  “You had some tough decisions to make tonight,” says Chad.

  “I did. I met a lot of really special people.”

  “Well, let’s get to it.”

  My stomach clenches into a knot. This is it.

  Henry clears his throat to call a name, but Wes shouts, “Cut! Hold your places!”

  Irina, Ginger, and Ash run out to Henry and quickly primp, tugging on his suit, tousling his hair, and powdering his forehead.

  “Talk about ruining the moment,” Stacy whispers behind me, and I snicker.

  After Ash, Irina, and Ginger scatter, we’re back and rolling.

  “Addison,” calls Henry, making her the first name to be called.

  Predictable. I try not to roll my eyes in case the camera is on me.

  He calls a few other names, including Jenny, which is a good look for him, because who wants to be the guy to send the girl who crash-landed on her face home? One by one, they each take a scroll and excitedly unroll it.

  “Anna,” he says.

  My stepsister squeals, but then doubles back to squeeze Drew’s hand.

  Anna gives Henry a hug and thanks him for the scroll.

  As she takes her place back on the steps, Henry calls Drew’s name, and I see the tension in her shoulders immediately melt.

  Name after name. Sara Claire. Stacy. Allison. Jen K. And then some I don’t know. Amelia. Genevieve. Felicity. Morgan.

  And then finally—“Cindy.”

  My sinking heart floats back up my chest like a drifting balloon. I make my way down the marble staircase, breath held. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.

  “Will you accept this scroll?” asks Henry as he hands me the final one.

  I nod so hard my head could fall off, and then I lean in for a hug, reaching up and sliding an arm around his neck as I casually kiss his cheek, feeling stupidly brave even though my heart is pounding so hard I’m scared he can hear it. “Thank you,” I whisper into his ear.

  When I turn back, I find Anna and Drew with wide eyes and slack jaws, while nearly everyone else is shooting mental daggers at my face. Including Addison, whose lips are pursed with irritation.

  Girls like Addison have never been threatened by girls like me, and I can’t help it. I love watching these tables turn.

  “Well, ladies,” Chad says in his most official host voice. “I’m sorry to say that if you did not receive a scroll tonight, you have been eliminated. Thank you so much for joining us this evening and taking a shot at true love. Please make your way to the front to say your goodbyes to Henry.”

  I clutch my paper scroll in my hand as I watch seven women, including Juggling Judith and Brenda the Spanish teacher, say goodbye to Henry and slide into the back seat of a Rolls-Royce.

  Beside me, Jenny frowns. “I really liked Judith.”

  Behind me, a tall woman with luscious brown curls who I believe is named Amelia says, “Me too. She was my roommate.”

  “Well, don’t get too sad, Amelia,” Addison counters. “The sooner other women go home, the longer we stay. Besides, now you have one less person to share a room with.”

  Amelia shrugs.

  “Okay,” Wes says through the bullhorn like we’re all cattle again, “let’s get all the ladies who are left to make their way down the steps and mingle with Chad and Henry. Music will be playing over your conversation, so no need to be interesting. I know we’re all way past due for some sleep.”

  I stifle a yawn and follow down the steps.

  “Read your scrolls! Camera two, get me some over-the-shoulder shots of the scrolls,” calls Wes. “Grab a glass of champagne from the trays!”

  “Do we have to?” Drew says under her breath. She waits for me at the bottom of the stairs while Anna shimmies her way through the crowd to Henry.

  I chuckle, and we make our way to Mallory, who is quickly pouring glass after glass of cheap champagne.

  “Maybe I’m still on New York time,” I say with a yawn.

  “Do you think Mom even realizes how much they try to get people to drink on set?” Drew asks quietly.

  “I doubt it.” But the truth is, I bet the booze mandate comes straight from Erica. She’s the brains behind this whole thing. She’s been lubricating reality television contestants with alcohol since Anna and Drew were in diapers. Even the scrolls were her idea. She said in high school a boy asked her out by pretending to read from a scroll like it was an official decree, and ever since then, she’d found the idea of this funny, a little inside joke to herself. In fact, they even sent out scrolls as the invitation to her and Dad’s wedding. It was a very elaborate affair.

  Drew pours her glass on the pavement and turns to me with a fake laugh, as a camera creeps past us.

  I want to just give her a hug and walk arm in arm back into the house with her and Anna. I hate that we’re not all in the same room, even though I know it’s for the best.

  I open my scroll to read.

  HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

  You have been invited to stay at the château, where you will compete for a chance at true love at the request of Henry Mackenzie. Congratulations, and good luck in your pursuit. Henry asks for the pleasure of your company later this week. More details to come.

  I roll up the scroll for safekeeping. I know it’s just a silly prop, but I feel weirdly sentimental for it already, like it’s the one little souvenir of my time here. At least I’ll always be able to say I made it past the first round. Drew reaches up and pushes a wisp of hair out of my face. “Anna’s got it bad for this guy.”

  I cringe a little. “Oof, really?”

  Drew laughs. “Anna’s got it bad for every guy we’
ve ever met. But don’t worry. As soon as she sees how much you like him, she’ll back off.”

  I smile down into my glass of champagne. I’d never admit to having a favorite between the two of my stepsisters, but Drew’s always been just a little more intuitive and easier to talk to than Anna. I love Anna, but she’s a little airy and just a teensy bit self-involved. Her moods and feelings are as fickle as an afternoon rain shower, but even though she can be a little hard to pin down, she’s always been good to me.

  I mean, mostly good. Except for those few times back in high school when I was a freshman and Anna and Drew were sophomores. The two of them were busy trying to impress the older popular girls ahead of us. And then one day they were the older popular girls and suddenly, when they had no one to answer to but themselves, having their chubby half sister tag along wasn’t such a social crime.

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask. “That I like him?” It’s the first time I’m really admitting it, even to myself.

  Drew rolls her eyes. “You were the last to get a scroll and you strutted yourself up there, gave him a long hug, a kiss on the cheek, and whispered in his ear. You basically marked your territory. It was super hot, but trust me—if you didn’t have a target on your back, you do now.”

  The next morning the house is buzzing with eighteen women doing their very specific morning routines. Smoothies, detox tea, avocado toast, yoga, Pilates, meditation. I settle for eggs with hot sauce, sliced avocado, orange juice, and a patio lounger. Last night, I tried to stay awake and flip through a few channels on the walkie-talkie, but after a marathon of filming, I hid my contraband gadget in one of my shoes and passed out.

  As I’m eating my breakfast, I can’t help but overhear Addison holding court with a small group of women on the other side of the pool.

  “Yeah, his mom was iconic, but the whole brand needs a major face-lift,” Addison whispers.

  What? I run through the mental catalog of designers who I consider iconic for anyone who would have a son around Henry’s age. After all the excitement of last night, I completely forgot about Henry’s mysterious fashion empire roots.

  “I just think it’s so precious that he’s staying in the family business,” a small redhead with corkscrew curls says in a dreamy voice.

  Addison rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s precious, Chloe. More like a last-ditch effort to save a sinking ship.”

  Jenny frowns. “I wore a LuMac dress to homecoming in tenth grade. I still have it. I love that dress.”

  I gasp loudly. LuMac. Lucy freaking Mackenzie. Oh my God. Henry Mackenzie. How could I possibly have missed this?

  From the small patch of grass where a few women are doing yoga, Anna stretches downward and waves at me from between her spread legs.

  I snort. Classy. I beckon her with one hand, and she not-so-discreetly extracts herself from the group.

  “Isn’t this kind of great?” she asks as she plops down on the lounger next to me and takes a swig of my orange juice. “Is this what college was like? I would have been, like, really good at sorority stuff. Kappa Gamma Boo-Hoo or whatever.”

  I laugh. “No, definitely not. Especially not design school. Um, did I miss something this morning?”

  She taps a finger to her lips and thinks for a moment before letting out a soft gasp. “One of the junior producers dropped off these little packets in the kitchen called the Henry Bible, and it’s—”

  I stand up quickly and run back into the kitchen, where—sure enough!—there on the second kitchen island is a small stack of papers stapled together—much less ostentatious than last night’s scrolls.

  I grab a Henry Bible for myself and return to the pool, where I find Anna polishing off the rest of my breakfast. “Anna!”

  “What?” she asks with her mouth full of my eggs. “You know I can’t cook.”

  It’s true. She’s like a little raccoon, always eating everyone else’s scraps. “It’s fine. I’ll make some more in a bit.”

  She lies back and rubs her now-full belly as I study the Henry Bible. The first page is all about his mom and the business, but I probably could have written a better version myself.

  Lucy Mackenzie is a Parsons alumna, so I am plenty familiar with her. The faculty talks about successful alumni on a loop, like it’s some kind of infomercial even though we’ve already agreed to sink an ungodly amount of money into our education. Lucy Mackenzie was a favorite of several of my professors. She’s best known for her slip dress, which was a ’90s phenomenon where everyone started wearing lingerie as clothing. Everyone always credits Calvin Klein or John Galliano as the creators of the slip dress that started it all. But Lucy Mackenzie (maiden name Mercado), a young, recently married half–Puerto Rican designer from Queens fresh out of design school actually debuted her version of the slip dress at her senior show in 1994, which was actually based off a design in her admissions portfolio from 1989. She worked under Isaac Mizrahi on and off for a little while before striking out on her own, and by 1997, her slip dress was being worn by pop stars and the teens who loved them. She managed to evolve through the early 2000s and expand into streetwear and footwear. Now her dresses have become a staple in department store formal sections, which is not so good for a luxury brand. I think I remember my textiles professor saying the company had recently filed for bankruptcy.

  As for Henry, the packet tells us he’s just about to take over all of LuMac’s business dealings and has high hopes of expanding the brand, but as much as I can’t stand Addison, she’s not entirely wrong. LuMac is in desperate need of a face-lift.

  All I know about Henry is what I’ve heard around Parsons and read on Page Six. He went to Harvard Business School and has been seen all over town with other children of famous people. Though I never actually committed his name to memory, because he was just another designer’s kid. Plenty of celebrity kids went to Parsons, so I know the exact type of crowd he might have hung out with. Half-assing their way through school because they’ve already got a job or a golden opportunity waiting for them on the other end. And charming as he might be, I’m sure Henry is no different.

  When I head back upstairs to toy with my walkie-talkie some more, I find Sara Claire in a towel on her bed. “Did you know that girl Chloe has a whole room to herself now?” she asks. “All of her roomies got sent home last night.”

  “That’s some incredible luck,” I say, and then eyeing Addison’s bed, I add, “Maybe we’ll manage to get just as lucky.”

  “Fingers crossed!” She points to the papers rolled up under my arm. “Well, I was sort of right,” she says. “He’s here for redemption. I just didn’t think it would be Mommy’s company on the line. You’re in fashion. You heard anything about him?”

  I sink into the armchair in the corner. “His mom went to Parsons, like me, and she’s a big deal there. I haven’t heard much about him other than the usual Page Six stuff.” I shrug. “New arm candy every night. Bad-boy antics in the Hamptons. Et cetera, et cetera.”

  He was so witty on the plane…and then again last night, but now it’s hard to imagine him as anything more than just another rich boy.

  “Where’d you go last night?” she asks. “During the blackout? I kept meaning to ask you.”

  “Nowhere,” I say too quickly. My throat feels like sandpaper all of a sudden. I hate lying, especially to people I like.

  “You were there one minute and gone the next, and then when the lights came up, I didn’t see you.”

  I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “I guess we just got split up in the dark. What do you think, I’m some Navy SEAL?”

  Sara Claire snorts. “Yeah, I can just see you slinking around the château in that super-sexy dress with some serious night vision goggles on. Not at all suspicious.”

  “Da-dum, da-dum,” I sing.

  “All right, Pink Panther Elite, I’m going to get dressed and then I guess we just go downstairs and wait around for a group-date invitation.”

  “Oh, yay, more waiting a
round for men to do something.”

  “Cue the confetti cannon,” she says.

  “This place reeks,” Addison mumbles.

  Sara Claire snickers. “Welcome to a farm, babe.”

  We all sit on our yoga mats, miked up and ready to go. It’s our first group date, and while I’m not opposed to yoga or goats, this isn’t exactly my ideal first date. The invitation didn’t come for a whole two days. A few of the others were about to go absolutely feral, begging the producers for details and hints. But they held firm while keeping us busy with confessionals and interviews. I took every possible moment I could to sneak away and play with my walkie-talkie radio thing like I was twelve years old, but all I heard was a few crew members asking why there aren’t enough gluten-free options for lunch.

  The group date invitation came at the exact right time, though, because I thought I was about to witness an all-out war when Stacy discovered Chloe had put a completely empty container of soy milk back in the refrigerator.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Henry says as he emerges from the barn with a tall, thin guy wearing a one-piece Lycra outfit and a slouchy cropped sweater over the top.

  “Good afternoon, Henry,” we all say back to him in a singsong voice that makes us sound like Charlie’s Angels and actually makes me a little bit queasy.

  Cameras weave in and out of the group, catching everyone’s reactions to Henry’s muscled thighs in black athletic shorts and the sight of his bare arms on display thanks to his tank.

  “When I was in college, I got injured pretty badly on the lacrosse field, and one thing that really helped me rebound was yoga, so my pal Corbin here is going to lead us all in a class with some help from our little friends.”

  “Cue the goats!” Zeke calls.

  Behind Henry and Corbin, the barn doors open again and a dozen goats trickle out.

  Catching myself off guard, I let out a delighted shriek. I don’t know if I’ve just never spent enough quality time with goats or if I’m just caught up in the moment, but these little guys are so damn cute it makes my ovaries hurt.