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Madison?” Hillary and I mouthed at one another behind her back.
    It suddenly occurred to me that maybe Elizabeth Hepburn had never slept with Ernie Hemingway after all.
    â€œBesides,” Elizabeth Hepburn added, leading the way, “I never slept with anyone named Fifth, so what’d be the point of going there?”
    I would have fallen in love with the Jimmy Choo’s on Madison even if it weren’t for the shoes, because walking into that cool air-conditioning after the August heat of the New York streets was like walking into a peppermint breath of…
    Okay, really, it was the shoes.
    There they were, at last, in all of their architectural-marvel glory.
    And I’ll admit it: I was like a kid in a candy store or a chick in a Choo store.
    â€œAh,” said Elizabeth Hepburn, holding up the Momo Flat, its color matching her outfit, its latticed star cutouts lending elegance to an otherwise ordinary flat.
    â€œOoh,” Elizabeth Hepburn said, asking the salesgirl to get her a pair of Fayres to try on. They were gold evening sandals with a midsize curved heel that had ivory-colored oval stones set in the toe and ankle straps. “At the Academy Awards next year,” she said, admiring her feet in them, “I’ll finally outshine that Lauren Bacall. Who cares if I trip on the red carpet?”
    Having thought she wanted the Parson Flat most, the shoe Hillary really fell in love with was the Pilar Flat.
    â€œWhere will you wear it?” I asked. “If you try wearing it to work, your clients will think you’re too out-of-touch wealthy to understand their problems.”
    The Pilar Flat was a metallic aqua, with a spaghetti X-strap across the front and about a yard of strap wrapped a gazillion times around the ankle. It looked exactly like the sort of sandal shoe Cleopatra would have worn if she had a passion for aqua. Look out, Marc Antony!
    â€œWho cares?” Hillary said, transfixed by the sight of her own feet. “I’ll wear them while watching Jon Stewart if I have to. I’ll make places to wear them.”
    But then her attention was drawn back to the Parson Flat. It was a gold leather traditional thong sandal with a big red jewel at the center, surrounded by green stones with more jewels suspended from gold threads.
    â€œIt really is more me,” Hillary said.
    And, really, Cleopatra would have gladly worn that shoe, too.
    Elizabeth Hepburn and Hillary were so busy staring at their own feet, they almost forgot…
    â€œHey,” they both said at the same time, “I thought we came here for you. ”
    This had, of course, been the original plan. But now that we were here, I felt dwarfed into insignificance by the magical footwear around me. Sure, Elizabeth Hepburn and Hillary would be able to find places to wear their purchases, but what would I do with any of these shoes—start wearing Stella’s penguin suits with these on my feet as I wielded my golden squeegee? It was just too sad a picture and I said as much.
    â€œOh, come on,” Hillary said, “you took the day off from work to come here.”
    â€œYou’ve come this far,” Elizabeth Hepburn said. “How can you stop now?”
    â€œHere,” Hillary said, holding up a shoe. It was a green high-heeled evening sandal with a V of diamond-shaped gold and crystal jewels cascading down from the twin chain strap: the Asha.
    And yet, suddenly, I felt as though I could resist the Asha. After all, how many clothes did I own that would match with that green? It was way too impractical.
    I was just about to tell them that they should buy their shoes and enjoy them with my blessing, but that I was going to pass, when I saw the salesgirl return a previously unseen floor model to the display.
    The shoe she placed down, as if it were just another shoe, was another high-heeled sandal, only this one was copper-colored, more pink than bronze, with diamond-shaped