If the Shoe Fits

by Julie Murphy

  “Good evening, ladies,” says Chad as he steps out into the center of the courtyard. “If you’ll follow me to the front of the house, it’s time for elimination.”

  “What?” asks Jenny. “We’ve barely even seen Henry tonight.”

  “Henry has made his decision. He’s ready for the elimination ceremony.”

  As we walk through the house to the front, where lights and cameras are already set, Drew takes my hand. “Something’s up with Anna,” she whispers. “Doesn’t she seem off to you?”

  “What? No. I haven’t noticed.” But then again, I wouldn’t notice after being so wrapped up in myself. “If anything, I’m the one who’s off.”

  Drew shakes her head. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  As we step out onto the marble staircase, we’re directed in opposite directions.

  Our hands drift, but Drew links her pinkie to mine. “Good luck, babe.”

  My relationship with Anna and Drew was so difficult to navigate in high school. Imagine living with the older, most popular girls in school and trying to just be yourself around them. Things shifted their senior year when they became the ultimate queen bees, but I was still always their oddball stepsister whose fashion sense was a little offbeat and who found her solace in the drama costuming department. But after Dad died, they were there for me in a way any other friend just couldn’t be, because they loved Dad like he was their own father. The pain I felt was different from theirs, but it was a pain we bonded over. Just getting to see their warm smiles while I’m here in isolation with seventeen other women and a television crew is a comfort I don’t take for granted.

  Tonight, Mallory lines me up in the front row between Chloe and Addison with Anna directly behind me.

  “Welcome to the Midnight Ceremony. This evening is our last big elimination,” Chad announces with a line of Rolls-Royces at his back and the huge Before Midnight clock towering over us all. “Tonight this group will go from seventeen to ten. As the group grows smaller, it will be more important to make an impression on Henry. True love is on the line. And the clock is ticking.” He turns to Henry. “Let’s get to it.”

  Henry’s stance is broad with his hands clasped in front of him. For someone who thinks clothing only serves a utilitarian purpose, he looks painfully handsome in a flawlessly cut deep blue suit. His dark eyes flit up toward us. “I’ve had a great few days getting to know each of you, and it’s given me the chance to decide who I need to spend more time with and whose journey here ends tonight.” He pauses for a beat. “Sara Claire, will you accept this scroll?”

  I glance behind me and watch as she floats down the stairs, her cheeks flushed. “Of course,” she says, and when she reaches him, she stands there as they share a silent moment together. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  I get a sick feeling in my stomach as it hits me. She’s really falling for him. She really is. And I want to hate her for it, but isn’t that what we’re all here to do? Fall for this guy. I remember when we first got here and how she said this felt like her last chance. I know that can’t be true…but what if it is? And what if I’m just standing in the way?

  Addison, Jenny, Chloe, Anna, Gretchen, Samantha, Stacy, Valerie…Until only one scroll remains.

  “Cindy,” he says.

  I bite down on my lip to stop my smile from turning goofy. “Thank you.” I hold the scroll to my chest as I stand off to the side.

  Chad steps forward. “If Henry didn’t call your name, then that means you’ll be leaving us tonight.”

  I look up to see Drew still standing there without a scroll, and suddenly, it feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under me.

  “No!” Anna says. “What about Drew?”

  Henry looks up to where my statuesque stepsister in her beautiful lavender silk gown stands, her expression hollow. I knew this would happen and that one of us would have to be the first to go home, but I was absolutely certain it would be me and that I wouldn’t have to watch one of my sisters go.

  Drew glances to Anna and then me, and shakes her head, trying to smile through her disappointment.

  The rejected girls make their way down the steps to say goodbye to Henry, and Drew bypasses him altogether, heading straight for Anna.

  “One less girl in your way,” she says to Anna with a wink as she pulls her in for a hug.

  My chest tightens, and I can feel tears brimming for the second time tonight.

  A cameraman pulls in tight on the two of them, and I have to remind myself that we’re technically not supposed to be sisters. “We’ll miss you,” I say quietly, my voice cracking.

  Drew pulls me into their hug. “Watch out for her,” she whispers into my ear.

  “Hug Mom for us,” Anna begs her just quietly enough for only us to hear. “And Gus, Jack, and Mary.”

  Our tearful goodbye triggers more tears from the other women, like it’s contagious. I guess we’re all tired and a little bit drunk.

  After the cars with the eliminated women pull away, Beck emerges from the cluster of crew members and yanks me aside as all the other women trickle back into the house.

  “Follow me,” she grunts. “Stay quiet.”

  I follow Beck around the side of the house. “Where are you going?” I whisper.

  She doesn’t turn around but just waves me up a metal ramp into an eighteen-wheeler full of sound equipment.

  She peers out the trailer once more before grinning maniacally and shaking me by the shoulders. “Cindy! They freaking love you!”

  “They? Who’s they?”

  “The audience! The American people! You’re a hit! And what you said tonight to Henry about your love for fashion—pure gold!”

  Slowly, it dawns on me. It’s impossible to forget the cameras, but being so secluded, all the way up here, it is somehow possible to forget about the rest of the world. “I—I—How?” is all I can manage to stutter.

  “And thank goodness you weaseled in on some Henry time tonight. You were on the maybe list, and we pull most of the strings here, but Henry has the final say on eliminations. Sort of.”

  My heart sinks. “What? The maybe list?”

  She waves her hand. “Forget that. He kept you! That’s all that matters. Well, that and the fact that you’re a damn American sweetheart!”

  “But there’s a list? And I wasn’t on the right one?”

  She sighs loudly before rattling off a response. “Before each elimination, the suitor starts making a list—sometimes even before the group date—and the production staff has a girl or two they’re really championing, and we might have a teensy bit of sway. But really, it’s his choice, so all we can do is control the things that might help him decide.”

  I lean back against the inside of the trailer, remembering the conversation I heard between her and Wes about “wifey.” I want to ask her, but I also don’t want to lose my walkie-talkie privileges. “And that’s why you were asking me those questions during my interview?”

  She nods. “Exactly. After seeing the response to you online, I couldn’t risk you going home so soon.”

  “Online? What response? Wait. Go back. You called me an American sweetheart?” Thanks to the no-phone rule, my brain is receiving a higher influx of information than it has in days, and I’m already feeling a little overwhelmed.

  She grits her teeth, thinking for a moment. “Oh, screw it.” She pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Erica would actually kill me if she knew I was doing this.”

  It’s been barely a week since I last held a cell phone, and when she hands it to me, I almost don’t know what to do with it, so she reaches over and starts scrolling through screenshots for me.

  @melodydiaz648

  Yes, honey! Finally, a plus-size queen on this show! #BeforeMidnight

  @notyourgirlfriend202

  Is it just me or is the curvy girl the most interesting one this season? I’m calling it! I’ve found wifey! #BeforeMidnight

  @messyfeminist359

 
This Cindy girl is FIERCE! Where can I get those shoes? And that dress? #BeforeMidnight

  @RealMelanieGoodwin

  Who do I get in touch with about these feather dream shoes? I NEED THEM. #BeforeMidnight

  @THEalexismartin

  Honestly, I was about to tune out of this season of #BeforeMidnight and then Cindy showed up.

  I keep scrolling. There is an endless supply of screenshots. “Some of these people are f-famous,” I manage to stutter. “Like blue-checkmark famous. Melanie Goodwin is tweeting about me?” Every single one of the famous model’s tweets becomes an instant viral sensation. Seeing my name next to hers is surreal.

  “Uh, yeah,” says Beck. “Everyone is hyped on you! There are GIFs, hashtags, and People even published a piece with their picks for the top five and you’re in it, baby!”

  My jaw drops and my eyes widen as I slide down the wall, no mind for my dress. “People? As in the magazine?”

  Beck sits down next to me. “Yes! They even called you an up-and-coming designer with an eye for exquisite footwear!”

  My heart pounds frantically. An up-and-coming designer? I’m flattered, and yet I feel like a fraud. “What! How did they—”

  She nudges me with her elbow. “I might have fed them a quote or two.”

  I lean my head on her shoulder. “Thank you.” After a moment I add, “I feel bad about Drew.”

  She pats my head. “Drew is going to be just fine. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning with an extra hundred thousand Instagram followers and some brand deals in waiting.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “The magic of television.”

  Her walkie-talkie beeps. “Beck? Does anyone have eyes on Beck?” Wes asks.

  I sit up, and she talks into her walkie-talkie. “Beck here.”

  “Oh good,” he says. “I was about to put an AMBER Alert out on you.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  Beck stands and then holds out a hand to help me to my feet, which is no easy thing to do in a minidress and platforms.

  “Do you think he even likes me?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Enough to keep you. That’s what matters.”

  But is that enough? Is that all I want? For him to like me just enough so that I get my full fifteen minutes in the spotlight?

  We walk out of the trailer, and Beck points me to a side entrance where I can easily sneak in.

  “Good night, up-and-coming designer!” she quietly calls to me.

  When I make it back to my room, I’m exhausted, and I guess so was everyone else, because my three roommates are sound asleep. The room is definitely more lived-in than it was when we first got here. Shoes and makeup on every surface and bras hanging from doorknobs and headboards.

  After I get out of my dress and put on some shorts and my holey sleep shirt, my hand hovers over the radio hidden in my suitcase. For a moment there tonight, it really felt like Henry and I got lost in each other. The cameras and other women sort of just faded away…but in that moment, he didn’t even know if he was going to send me home or keep me here.

  I grab the radio and sneak out to the balcony after slipping on my hoodie. I have questions. Questions I would like Henry to answer.

  When I walk outside, Henry’s light is already out. Deflated, I sink down to the ground with my back to the railing.

  I hold the walkie-talkie up. “Hello?”

  I wait. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

  “Hello?” I ask again.

  Nothing.

  “Henry?”

  Nothing.

  “Is this place making you as nuts as it’s making me?” I ask into the void. Maybe if I just talk, he’ll hear me eventually. “It’s…It’s like being so far away from everyone and then dropped into this social blender…It, like, strips everything away, and all that’s left is the wors—”

  “Cabbage Patch, is that you?” a semigroggy voice asks.

  I gasp and hold the walkie-talkie to my chest as I scream in delight with my mouth closed. I press the talk button. “Cabbage Patch, over.”

  “I guess I should confess that I’ve never used a walkie-talkie, and so I hadn’t really thought through any of the logistics when I handed you one.”

  I grin as I maneuver around so that I’ve got a view of his guesthouse. “Ahhhh, yes. There are, apparently, channels.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve heard way too much about what yogurt does to Wes’s intestines.”

  “Well, that sounds…like a personal medical issue.”

  “Yeah, you and the whole crew would agree.”

  It’s silent for a moment. Left as we are without chaperones, it’s hard to know where to start or what to say.

  “Where are you?” he asks, his voice raspy, and I can hear the rustle of sheets in the background.

  “Out on the balcony at the back of the house…I can see you, by the way. Well, I can see your guesthouse.”

  The light in the distance flicks on, and something shifts—just a slight movement. “That’s better,” he says. “Now I can see you too. But whoa, you didn’t tell me it was cold out here.”

  I laugh. “You’re from New York. This is not cold.”

  “What do you know about my city?”

  “Excuse me, but did you so quickly forget where our flight was departing from when we first met? And, oh my God, you’re the worst kind of New Yorker.”

  “Well, excuse me, but your profile said you were from Los Angeles. There’s no such thing as a quintessential New Yorker.”

  “My profile?” I ask. Of course, they’d give him those little questionnaires we filled out. “What else do you know about me?”

  “Well, Cindy Woods, I know that you went to fashion school at my mother’s alma mater and that your favorite movie is Sister Act 2 and you’re terrified of ladybugs and that you believe in aliens.”

  “I’ll have you know that ladybugs are very entitled, okay? And there’s no way we’re alone out here,” I tell him. “It’s just obnoxious to assume we’re the only intelligent life in the universe.”

  “Honestly, as long as you’re not a flat-Earther, I can live with the rest. And I guess when you look at it like that, you sound more logical and less Roswell, New Mexico, gift shop.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Roswell. Don’t tease me.”

  “We should go,” he says, and then quickly adds, “I mean, depending on how…”

  “Depending on if you pick me?” I ask. It’s so hard not to ask him outright why he’s here and if he sees himself with any of these other women. Without anyone else around, it’s hard not to feel like we’re playing by a silly set of made-up rules for no reason.

  “Wow, this is weird.”

  “You’re the one who chose to date twenty-plus women on a television show.”

  “Well, you are one of those twenty-plus women who chose to be here.”

  “Touché.”

  “So triplets, huh?” he asks. “Your little siblings. You said they were triplets, right?”

  “Yeah…you know, I thought seeing my stepmom raise triplets would make me never want to have kids…but now I just want a really big family.”

  “I always wanted siblings,” he says. “I was always the one kid in a room full of adults.”

  “Yes, this! I mean, I wasn’t in fancy rooms like you were, I’m sure, but it was always my dad and me for so long, and for a while there, I felt like I was more of a middle-aged man than I was a little girl.”

  “The rooms weren’t always fancy,” he says. “Mostly fancy, but not always.”

  “I knew it.”

  “So you and your dad were close?”

  I nod, even though he can’t see me. “We only had each other. We were best friends. Now that I’m older, I miss those days when it was just us. I always remember how quiet it always was with just us, and then after he got married, there was always noise. The house felt full. Quiet was nice, but the noise was…comforting in a different way.”<
br />
  “Like white noise,” he says softly. “Not in a bad way.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Kind of like New York City.”

  “Yes, I honestly have a hard time falling asleep if it’s not to the sound of sirens.”

  “God, yes, I need my city noise. Except on my block it’s the doorman across the street saying, ‘Hey, boss,’ on repeat followed by honking horns.”

  I chuckle. “Well, I didn’t have any doormen on my block, but I did have a bodega lady who communicated entirely in grunts. My roommate was fluent.”

  For a moment there’s a lull, but it’s enough to remind me that we’re almost strangers.

  “The family business,” I say. “Taking over must be stressful.”

  “It’s…It’s difficult. Mom’s not ready to move on…I’m not ready to step in, but I’ve got a great team in place. There’s just…a lot.”

  “Way to be vague,” I say with a laugh.

  “Sorry,” he says knowingly. “I just have to be careful. Certain things get out…LuMac loses value, and anyway…”

  “Is your mom okay? Can I ask that?”

  “She’s alive,” he says tentatively. “I guess just not in a way that brings her joy. She’s having to let go of the things that made her…her. So, anyway, enough about me.”

  No, I nearly say, more about you. If we were in the real world, I would want to unravel the inner workings of Henry Mackenzie slowly, savoring every layer.

  “Shit. I gotta go,” he says. “I think I just saw someone up by the trucks. Talk again soon?”

  “Promise?” I ask him.

  But there’s no answer. I sit there for a moment longer, waiting for a response, but nothing. I shove the walkie-talkie in the pocket of my hoodie and stand up. Just as I’m about to walk back inside, Henry’s light flickers off and on twice in quick succession, and I can only hope it’s his secret way of telling me yes.

  I close my eyes, and for just a moment I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to run my fingers along the edge of Henry’s jaw and kiss him good night.

  The ten of us are led into a small, crowded boxing gym. The members of the audience are mostly fans of the show who have answered casting calls for extras. It’s hard not to see them whisper and point as we all settle into the front row. We’ve been instructed to dress for a ringside date night. Whatever that means.