If the Shoe Fits

by Julie Murphy

  I clear my throat. My mind knows he just said smart things that will undoubtedly sink in over the coming days, but my heart and my body are in total overdrive from just being in the same room with such an icon. “I—I really appreciate you taking the time to share that with me.”

  He snaps the portfolio shut, and my heart drops to my gut. He didn’t like it. No one can tell anything about a designer with that brief of a glance at their portfolio. “I, uh, have some other things I could show you if—”

  “Renée will reach out soon.” He stands and pulls an olive-colored bomber off the back of his chair before tossing it over his arm. “Darla? Darla?”

  I nearly tell him my name isn’t Darla, but then the woman who took our orders appears behind him, as though she materialized at the sound of her name.

  “I’ll be in the car. Please have my meal wrapped up to-go for me.”

  “Uh, I think they just plated—” She stops short. “I’ll meet you down at the car.”

  “De-lightful.” Crow turns back to me. “You’re interesting. I like interesting. Is your passport up-to-date?”

  “Uh, yes,” I say, sounding more unsure than someone who was just in another country with a legal passport should.

  He’s gone before I can say anything else.

  I throw my hands up, not entirely certain of what exactly just happened. “What was that?” I mutter to myself.

  “He let you order lunch, didn’t he?” a voice asks.

  I turn around, and Darla is standing there with a brown bag in her hand and her nose in her phone.

  “Um, yes,” I say. “I can pay for that if I—”

  “That means it went well,” she says without looking up. “Did they put you in the St. Regis? The late-night room service menu is surprisingly good. Try the sweet potato fries and ask for a side of vanilla glaze.”

  “Got it…” It takes a minute for what she just said to really sink in. She’s nearly gone when I say, “I’m—I’m sorry, did you just say this went well?”

  She slides her cat-eye sunglasses on and glances over her shoulder. “And it so rarely does. Stay and finish your lunch. We have the room for another hour.”

  As I sit back down in my seat, a waiter brings out my first course. I don’t actually know what it is, but it’s orange and I’m starving, so I scarf it down in one bite. The only time my lunch has had multiple courses is when I’ve gone back for a second grilled cheese.

  I scoop my cell phone out of my bag to face the music. Normally, in a restaurant like this, I’d be embarrassed to even reach for my phone, but considering I have a whole banquet hall to myself, my etiquette is flexible.

  My finger hovers between Erica and Beck in my missed call list. Both of them are going to kill me, but I just can’t decide whose wrath will be less.

  It doesn’t matter, though, because right that moment, my phone vibrates, choosing for me.

  “Hi,” I say after the second ring.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re alive,” Beck says. “But could you please explain to me why I’m standing here with an empty limousine.”

  In the background, I can hear people asking her questions. “I’ve got her,” Beck calls out. “She finally answered.”

  A distinct voice definitely belonging to Erica barks, “For Christ’s sake, where is she? Is she okay?”

  “Where are you?” Beck asks me, her voice slightly nicer than Erica’s. “I’m sending a car.”

  “I don’t think it would get here in time…” I say quietly.

  “The helicopter, then. Whatever. We’re live in five hours.”

  Honestly, I couldn’t even get there by plane if I wanted to. “I’m in New York,” I finally blurt.

  “As in the state on the exact opposite side of the country?”

  “The one and only.”

  “You’re kidding. This is a joke. Ha-ha, Cindy. So funny.”

  “I’m not. I’m sorry.”

  “I need you to get your ass to the airport. Pronto. We’ll stall. I’ll helicopter you in from LAX. It’ll be great. The drama of it—”

  “Beck, no. I’m not coming. I’m done.”

  “But you—But what about Henry?”

  “He got his wifey,” I say, my voice more venomous than I wish. “You said yourself that he wasn’t picking me. Why should I show up just to come in second place?”

  “Cindy,” she says quietly.

  “Beck, I have to go. I’m sorry I let you down. Tell Erica that I love her and I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything later.”

  I hang up before she has a chance to say anything else. Guilt racks me completely. I knew this would hurt. I knew giving up the possibility of Henry would be excruciating, but I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to Beck and Erica.

  “We don’t have to watch this,” Sierra tells me for the fifty-seventh time.

  “If I don’t watch it now, I’ll just watch it later. And if I’m going to watch it at all, I’d rather it be with you.”

  “Aw, babe,” she says, rocking back against the leather headboard as she touches a hand to her chest. “I’m honored to witness your pain.”

  After crying through one of most delicious meals I’ve ever eaten, I showed up on Sierra’s doorstep with six pieces of pie and my lucky baby-blue Louboutins that Erica gave me for my high school graduation dangling from my fingers. It takes a certain kind of desperate to walk through a New York City apartment building barefoot, but I did not need to add climbing four flights of stairs in the tallest heels I own to my growing list of struggles today.

  After we devoured the pie and I had given Sierra every awful and wonderful juicy detail about my meeting, I explained I had a room booked at the St. Regis for one more night. (I had yet to tell her I would be crashing with her in her bedroom after tonight until further notice, but surely that was implied…right?)

  Sierra quickly packed an overnight bag and we splurged on a cab to take us back uptown. I don’t, by any means, consider myself to be famous, but after the brief airport run-in with the paparazzi and the live finale airing tonight, I didn’t want to take my chances with public transit.

  At eight o’clock on the dot, the opening credits begin to play, and I see Chad’s familiar face. “Tonight is a very exciting night for our Before Midnight family,” he says with that fake charm. “Tonight we learn which of these lucky ladies will have won Henry’s heart…and a hundred thousand dollars. But first, let’s get a recap of the villa dates to see who sank and who swam.”

  “Is this, like, the weirdest thing ever?” Sierra asks as a montage of Henry on different dates with each of us begins to roll.

  It’s so bizarre to see him with Addison and Sara Claire and even Stacy, but then I see Henry and me, the wind gusting on that sailboat, and my heart stops. My wild hair ripples behind me as I laugh, tossing my head back against his chest. That was just last week, and somehow, it feels like a distant memory that I can barely hold on to.

  “It feels like I’m at my own funeral, honestly.”

  Sierra snorts. “For what it’s worth, I can’t imagine that Addison chick at your funeral.”

  “Oh, you don’t even know. She’d be there with her fake tears and telling everyone we were best friends.”

  “Ugh, what a leech.”

  “Yes, thank you!” I loop my arm through hers, and if nothing else, I’m glad I get to endure this with my best friend at my side.

  After a commercial break, Chad returns with Henry as they both stand on the steps of the château. Henry wears a deep navy three-piece suit with a matte black tie and matching wing tips. Somehow, television doesn’t do him justice, which is probably some sort of crime against nature, because who looks better in real life than they do on camera?

  “Was he a good kisser?” Sierra asks. “He’s, like, daytime-soap hot.”

  I frown. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

  She squeezes my hand. “There will be other tongues in the sea.”

  I smile at her. “Gross, but thank you
.”

  On the screen, a Rolls-Royce pulls up, and after a dramatic pause, Chad opens the door as Sara Claire emerges.

  “How are they going to play this?” Sierra asks.

  “I hadn’t thought that far.”

  Henry greets Sara Claire with a kiss on the cheek and a long hug. “Is this hug unusually long?” I ask.

  Sierra pours a Pixy Stix down her throat. “Do we hate her?”

  I sigh. “That would make things much easier. But she’s actually really great.”

  “Boo. Hiss.”

  Chad congratulates Sara Claire on making it this far and directs her to the house. “Now I think it’s time we let the audience see who’s in our second car. What do you say, Henry?”

  Henry nods as another Rolls-Royce pulls up the hill. This time it’s Addison. She slinks out of the car in a black gown with strategically placed cutouts so that she’s showing just a hint of under-boob.

  Sierra twists her head to the side. “Is that, like, a swimsuit evening gown? Like, a Sports Illustrated evening gown? And do you ever wonder how God decided whose bodies would require bras and whose wouldn’t?”

  “I don’t think God had anything to do with those boobs,” I say.

  She nods. “Fair.”

  The final car pulls up. My Rolls-Royce—the one that should be carrying me. I wonder if they went with one of the other girls from Mexico or if they scrambled and brought in a previously eliminated girl. Maybe even Drew or Anna.

  The driver stops and Chad steps forward to open the door.

  But nothing. No one. Dramatic music plays as the camera lingers on the empty back seat.

  Confusion knits Henry’s brows as he leans down to look inside the limo. “Wha-what’s going on? Where is she?”

  Chad turns to Henry, a solemn expression on his face. “Henry, I’m sorry to break the news to you like this, but Cindy isn’t here. When we invited her to this evening’s ball…she declined.”

  Confusion slowly turns to pain as Henry pieces the words together. “Why would she—Where is she? I just need to talk to her. I just—just us—I…”

  Chad claps a hand to Henry’s shoulder. “Everything happens for a reason, Henry. And I think one of those reasons might be waiting inside for you.”

  I hate seeing this unguarded version of Henry exposed on television. All I want is to shield him from the pain, but he’s there and I’m here. I chose to be here. I chose this.

  “That was intensely agonizing to watch,” Sierra says. “Are you okay?”

  “Why would they do that to him?” My chest tightens and tears begin to well. “They knew since this morning. They didn’t have to tell him on live TV.”

  “Talk about brutal.”

  After the commercial break, Chad returns. He sits in an armchair in the middle of the courtyard with Sara Claire and Addison sitting across from him.

  “We’re back with Sara Claire to talk about her emotional and deeply meaningful time with Henry at the villa last week. But first, Sara Claire, I’m sure you’ve now heard about Cindy standing Henry up this evening.”

  Sara Claire gives a measured nod, and I can see that she’s trying her best not to look too excited. She wears a beautiful ivory gown that has just a touch of a train to it. It’s very sexy while also very clearly saying Marry me. “Poor Henry.”

  I bristle at that, even if I do share the sentiment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Sara Claire is a perfectly good option for Henry, and she’s supposed to be the one he chooses anyway. I chose to be here. I chose myself. They’ll be happy together, and all I’ll have to do is ignore all pop culture news for the next year—maybe two so that I don’t have to see any evidence of their love ever again. That’s all. Simple, right?

  Chad and Sara Claire talk for a while, reminiscing over the villa and her first big date earlier in the season.

  “Are you okay?” Sierra asks. “You look like you’re way in your head. Like you could be in a Stephen King novel kind of in-your-head moment.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell her.

  “Famous last words.”

  “Well, before we bring Henry back out,” Chad says, “let’s check in with Addison.”

  Addison preens and sits up, pushing her shoulders back and her chest out.

  “Addison,” Chad says. “How are you?”

  She flips her long hair over her shoulder as she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m just so heartbroken for Henry. I know that he’s got some healing to do, and that he and I have had our share of trials and tribulations, but true love is worth fighting for. So I’m here, Chad, and I’m fighting. I’m fighting a hell of a lot harder than Cindy ever did, because she was never here for Henry to begin with. We all know it. All Cindy cared about was getting her name out there. But I’m not here for fame, Chad. I’m here for Henry.”

  “Turn it off,” I say as I jump out of bed, scrambling to search for the remote. Red-hot anger pulses through my veins. How dare she say that? “I can’t afford to replace this TV if I break it. We have to turn it off.”

  “I’m on it! I’m on it!” Sierra springs to action and runs right for the outlet, pulling the plug completely. “It’s off,” she says, holding the plug up in her fist.

  I let out a shaky sigh. “Okay, okay, I’m fine.”

  We both fling ourselves back onto the bed. “What now?” I ask.

  “Room service?” Sierra offers.

  “I hear the sweet potato fries are good. And ask for a side of vanilla glaze.”

  She rolls over and reaches for the phone on the nightstand. “You got it.”

  As I’m lying there, listening to Sierra place her very detailed and extensive order, my phone rings.

  I let it go to voicemail. I can’t right now.

  Sierra hangs up and in her most serious voice says, “I really hope you don’t have to pay for all the food I just ordered.”

  “Gossamer is footing the bill. It can’t be more than the most expensive private lunch of all time I had earlier today.”

  “Is that a challenge?” she asks.

  My phone begins to ring again, and this time I sit up to answer. Maybe it’s an emergency. “Everyone I know is watching this show—”

  “Could be about the job,” Sierra says.

  “Yeah, at ten o’clock at night.”

  “Fashion never sleeps.”

  I look down to see Beck’s name lighting up my screen. “Hello?” I ask into the phone. “Beck?”

  “Where is he?” she asks. “Do you know where he is? Has he tried to call you?”

  “Has who? What’s going on?”

  “Are you literally the only American not watching this damn show right now? Henry is gone. He’s MIA. The suitor is missing. I repeat: The suitor is missing.”

  I gasp. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” Sierra asks.

  “Turn on the TV. Turn on the TV!”

  “Ugh, first you want it off. Then you want it on.” She forces herself out of bed and begins to fidget with the plug and then the remote. The TV screen is static, and clearly, we’ve somehow reset it after ripping the plug from the wall.

  “I don’t know where he is,” I tell Beck, but the line is already dead.

  “Ho-ly shit,” Sierra says as the TV comes back to life.

  On the television, Sara Claire is sobbing with her back to the camera, and Addison is on an absolute tirade, demanding to know where Henry is. Chad is arguing with Beck, and the whole thing is being televised.

  Chad crosses his arms. “So you’re telling me you don’t know where this guy is? Literally one of the most heavily guarded reality television stars, and he just up and disappears?”

  “Should I remind you that we’re live?” Beck asks.

  “We’re back from commercial,” Mallory snaps.

  Beck gives Chad a do something look.

  Chad turns to the camera, a crazed look in his eyes and hair disheveled. “Well, folks, it appears we’ve got a missing person to report. Anyone want to put an AMBER Alert ou
t on Henry Mackenzie?”

  “Maybe it’s not the best time to make jokes about abducted children,” Sara Claire says through her tears.

  “Does this mean no one wins the money?” Addison asks.

  Chad looks to Beck, and she shrugs and nods.

  “What a crock,” Addison says before storming off past the camera.

  Chad begins to laugh maniacally, going from American dad to American psycho in record time.

  Sierra turns to me. “I think you just broke Chad Winkle.”

  At first, Henry was on every tabloid and gossip website. #MIAsuitor was trending for three days with one particularly memorable Twitter account posed as a fake tip-line, tweeting Henry spottings everywhere from Mount Rushmore to a Sbarro’s in Iowa.

  Part of me thought he would turn up at the hotel or that I’d see him on the street somewhere, but every night when I go to bed, my hope that I might see him again diminishes a little bit more.

  I’m on a first-name basis with most of the staff at the St. Regis. Sierra offered to let me stay in her room with her, but as part of my Gossamer contract, Erica insisted that I push for them to cover moving expenses and housing for the first six weeks. When I haven’t been at work or apartment hunting, Sierra and I spend most nights at the pool or in the hot tub. Luckily, last week I found the perfect place in Park Slope. When I told Sierra I wouldn’t be in Manhattan, she acted like I’d just cut off one of her fingers, but she quickly decided that this just meant she had a place to crash in Brooklyn.

  I do a quick lap around my hotel room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Earlier, I found a shoe stashed under the bathroom sink, so there’s no telling what I’ve left behind. I touch my hand to my neck once more to make sure my necklace is still there. I found a heavy-duty corded gold chain to hold my parents’ rings. I wear both their wedding bands around my neck every day on a long chain along with my locket, and I left my mother’s engagement ring back at Erica’s for safekeeping.