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sapphire-colored stones encrusted with crystal stones across the toe strap and more sapphire and crystal bejeweling the intricate mesh of chain around the ankle with three straps of chain anchoring it to more copper leather at the back.
    It was the Ghost.
    And while I might have even resisted the draw of that most perfect of all shoes, sapphires had been my late mother’s favorite stone. If nothing else than to do it in her honor, I had to at least try on that shoe.
    â€œMay I?” I tentatively asked the salesgirl.
    She must have been a true professional, not like these rude people you sometimes read about in books, because she didn’t even flinch as she watched me remove my scuffed Nikes and workout socks, sliding the desired shoes on my feet and patiently helping me figure out the straps.
    â€œDo you have a job where you stand on your feet all day?” the salesgirl asked with a vaguely European accent.
    â€œHow could you tell?” I asked. “Are my feet that awful-looking?”
    â€œOn the contrary,” she said. “I think you have the most beautiful feet I’ve ever seen in here. They are ideally suited to this shoe.”
    It’s odd to think of a person’s life as being transformed by a shoe, but I swear I felt an electric shock, a magical shock, as the salesgirl slipped the Ghosts on my feet, as she strapped them on, as she stepped back so that she, along with everyone else, could appreciate the effect. And, oh, was there an effect. I swear, it was as though pixie dust was swirling all around my feet, spreading upward around my whole body.
    And it wasn’t just that the shoe was achingly beautiful, although it was certainly that; it was that I, for once, felt beautiful. With those shoes on, I could do anything, leap tall buildings with a single bound, balance the national budget, find my prince, you name it. I could be normal and special at the same time. I could be like other women, and then some.
    It was my Cinderella moment.
    I had to have that shoe.
    â€œHow much?” I blurted out.
    â€œYes,” Elizabeth Hepburn piped up. “How much for all of these? It looks like you’ll be making at least three sales today.”
    The salesgirl very coolly named prices for the Fayre that Elizabeth Hepburn had loved so much, the Parson Flat that Hillary coveted, my own beloved Ghost.
    â€œHuh?” was all I could say, as the sticker shock of fourteen hundred dollars before tax sank in. Really, the tax probably came to more than I’d ever spent on a single pair of shoes before.
    I suppose I must have realized in advance that the shoes would be expensive, but it had never occurred to me that for a few straps of leather and some fake jewels…
    Elizabeth Hepburn and Hillary already had their credit cards out.
    â€œSure, it’s a lot of money—” Elizabeth Hepburn shrugged “—but I’ve got it. What else am I going to spend it on?”
    â€œI’ll never find shoes that are more perfect for me,” Hillary agreed.
    Easy to say, since the shoes they coveted cost less than mine. Hell, the ones Hillary wanted rang in at a measly six hundred and thirty dollars in comparison.
    Reluctantly, I undid the straps and gave up the Ghost, handing them back to the salesgirl, who looked shocked.
    â€œBut you must buy these shoes,” she said, trying to hand them back to me.
    â€œBut I can’t buy those shoes,” I said, taking a defensive step back, hands up as though to ward off a vampire.
    â€œWhy ever not?” Elizabeth Hepburn asked. “Don’t you have a credit card?”
    â€œOh, she has a credit card,” Hillary said. Apparently, I was back to being “she” again. “But she never lets herself use it. I guess she must realize, with her obsessive nature, she’d charge herself into bankruptcy if she ever got started.”
    â€œSo what are you going to do,” Elizabeth Hepburn asked,