Secrets of a Shoe Addict (21 page)

S
o,” Sandra said, after having a shot of vodka at Tiffany’s insistence, and nibbling at the cheese and crackers Tiffany had set out. “You’ve told me about Kate hating her ballet class, Andy wanting a bike, your neighbor killing her azaleas with too much Miracle-Gro. . . .” She looked at her sister, frowning. “Is this really what you needed to talk about?”

Tiffany sliced off a big chunk of Brie—highly unlike her—and popped it into her mouth. “Mmmn.” She shrugged, then swallowed. “It’s just been a while since we got caught up.”

“Okay.” Sandra wasn’t buying it. “So what’s really going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is Mom or Dad sick or something?” Though that didn’t make sense. They probably would have told Sandra first, knowing she could handle it better than Tiffany. “Just tell me straight.”

“Mom and Dad are fine,” Tiffany said, then looked uncertain. “Why, do
you
know something?”

“Tiffany!” Sandra said, exasperated. “You called me up, sounding like the world was about to end, asked me to come over right away, and so far you’ve had three shots of vodka, more fat than I’ve ever seen you consume in one sitting, and you’ve told me absolutely nothing of import.
What
is going
on
?”

“Charlie’s having an affair.”

Sandra opened her mouth to speak, then clapped it shut. Had Tiffany really just said that? “Are you sure?”

Tiffany nodded solemly. “And he’s a jerk.” Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, fast and furious. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

“They certainly go hand in hand.” Sandra shook her head. “Did you talk to Mom?”

“No!” Tiffany looked stricken. “You can’t tell her. Promise me.”

“Sure, okay, I promise. I just thought, you know, she might have a suggestion.”

“Mom would tell Daddy, and Daddy would
kill
Charlie first and ask questions later.”

“True.” Sandra wasn’t sure what to do. Tiffany had entrusted her with the most important news of her life, but she was totally unprepared to deal with it. This might be the first time anyone had ever fully counted on Sandra. She had to do the right thing. Even if the right thing was to first make sure that asshole Charlie wasn’t getting blamed for something he didn’t do. “Now back up. Tell me everything that led up to this. That way we can figure out what to do next.”

So Tiffany talked. She told Sandra about the call from Cleveland, which sounded a lot more like a call from the islands, she told her
about the late nights and the scant explanations for them, and she told her about his wanting to divide their accounts.

“That definitely sounds like he’s up to
something
,” Sandra said when Tiffany finished.

“I know,” Tiffany agreed. She sounded thoughtful now, not miserable like she had at first. “He is. I think I knew it even before he gave me all the evidence.”

“So what do you want to do next?” Sandra asked carefully. This marked the first time in her life she didn’t envy Tiffany’s life over her own. Not that she ever coveted a life with Charlie—far from it—but it had looked, from the outside, like Tiffany was blissfully happy and secure.

Sandra should have looked a little deeper.

“I’m not sure.” Tiffany sighed. “I know I can’t stay with him. I’m just not sure how to proceed. You always hear stories about women who get totally screwed in divorces, and I don’t want that to be me.”

“So cover your financial bases first,” Sandra said. “Buy your credit report online and make sure he hasn’t put your name on anything that can get you into trouble. Real estate, credit cards you don’t know about, and so on.”

Tiffany looked grateful. “Good idea.”

“And get your name off of anything you can that has both your names on it.”

Tiffany nodded. “Except the house. That could be tricky.”

“If it gets tricky, you hire a lawyer.”

Tiffany took a long breath. “I don’t want to let him know I know anything until I’ve got all my ducks in a row.”

“Good thinking.”

“It’s going to be hard. I’m afraid he’ll see it all over my face.”

Sandra shook her head. “You’ve had some practice acting lately,” she said with a smile. “Just . . . act.”

The garage door sounded then, and Tiffany said, “He’s home!” Then, in a very casual voice she said, “You know, I love those shoes you’re wearing.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Sandra said. “Where’s my bag?” She reached for her oversize hobo bag and produced a pair of simple black satin ballet pumps, with leather soles and comfort pads at the heel and toe. “
These
are for you. You always say you can’t wear heels without towering over Charlie, so I thought these were perfect for you. They’re the Carfagni Bowen models. Size ten.”

Tiffany took the shoes. “Wow, they’re so cool. Like something Audrey Hepburn would wear.” She kicked off her shoes and slipped the new ones on.

Sandra nodded. “They’ll go with just about everything, too.”

Tiffany took a few steps. “Comfy.”

“I’ll get you hooked yet.” Sandra smiled.

“Hooked on what?” a gruff voice asked.

Sandra noticed Tiffany stiffen.

“Hey, Charlie,” she said drily, before she even turned around. “How are you doing?”

“Excellent,” he said. “Excellent.”

Tiffany looked . . . It was hard to say just what that expression was. It was like every negative feeling she could have rose into her face and she was trying to cover it up. “What are you doing here? I thought you were working late.”

“Game’s on tonight. A few of the guys are coming over to watch. Make some of those little hamburger things you do, okay? Gliders?”

Andy, who had been playing quietly with his blocks, got up and toddled over to Charlie, saying, “Dada!”

Charlie gave him a dismissive brush on the head. “Hey, bud.”

“Sliders,” Tiffany said, reaching for the child. “I can’t, Charlie. I’m having people over, too.”

He barely glanced at Sandra. “It’s just your sister.”

Lord, Sandra wanted to slap that smug, condescending look right off his face.

But she and Tiffany were raised to be polite.

Hence, Tiffany’s response, “No, I’m having other people over, too. Maybe I could order a pizza or something for you and the guys.” Andy played with Tiffany’s hair, pulling and tugging, but she continued to talk to Charlie and work in the kitchen
and
hold the child without missing a beat.

Did Charlie know he was married to a superwoman? Or did he just take that for granted?

“Gah.” He waved the notion away as if Tiffany had suggested she could just sneeze on toast for him instead. “Come on, babe. Those burgers don’t take long. And since when do you have people over anyway?”

Tiffany’s glance flitted toward Sandra, who immediately took the cue to give them some privacy. “You know, Tif, we could just go to my place so Charlie can crank the game.”

“Now
that’s
thinking.” Charlie pointed at Sandra like she was the model wife. “You and your girls can clear on out of here after you make the burgers.”

“If you two will excuse me a moment, I’m going to get some fresh air.” Sandra took Andy from Tiffany’s arms, gave her sister a
give him hell
look, and carried the boy away, thinking about how Charlie’s bullshit wasn’t about burgers at all, but about power.

She hated to see Tiffany bow to it.

Leaving Tiffany’s and Charlie’s rising voices behind her, she
stepped outside and let Andy down. “See if you can find Aunt Sandra a dandelion,” she told him. “Can you find one? A little yellow flower?”

“Dandlon!” Andy ran off into the yard, looking for weeds in the dusky light.

Sandra, watching him, opened her phone. She had Loreen’s number but not Abbey’s, so she called Loreen.

“Are you on your way to Tiffany’s?”

“I’m about three blocks away,” Loreen said. “Why?”

“Charlie showed up and he’s being . . .” She swallowed a bunch of expletives. “Difficult.”

Andy ran over to her and handed her a dandelion, then said, “I get more!”

Loreen hesitated, then said, “Difficult. That’s code for Charlie’s being an asshole, right?”

Sandra nearly bit her tongue. There was a fine line between betraying family and trying to help by talking to Tiffany’s closest friend. “You’ve seen him like this before?”

Loreen gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Like, every time I see him at all. He treats Tiffany like dirt. I don’t know why she puts up with it.”

Neither did Sandra.

In high school, Tiffany had been the belle of every ball. She’d had many,
many
wealthy, attractive guys after her. And it had continued on through college. Sons of senators and pro football players, who had gone on to be senators and pro football players themselves—all of them had vied for her attentions.

How she’d ended up with domineering Charlie, Sandra couldn’t figure out.

“I don’t either.” She gave a heavy sigh. “And I hate it.”

“Me, too.”

“So we need to go someplace else tonight. We can go to my apartment, but that’s in Adams Morgan, and I know you’ve got Jacob with you and he needs some sleep. Would you rather we go to your place?”

“Sure. Absolutely. I don’t mind either way. Did you talk to Abbey?”

Andy returned, breathlessly, with another dandelion.

“No, I don’t have her number. I was hoping you could—” Sandra stopped as a light-colored sedan pulled up in front of the house. “Never mind, I think she’s here. Look, I’ll send her your way, and Tiffany and I will be along soon, okay?”

“Great,” Loreen said firmly. “See you in a few.”

Sandra flipped her phone shut and walked over to Abbey’s car, keeping an eye on Andy the whole time.

Abbey rolled the window down as she approached, like she was already ready for trouble.

“What’s wrong?” Abbey asked.

“Tiffany’s husband came home unexpectedly.”

“And he doesn’t want a bunch of women in the house, right?” Abbey laughed.

“You’ve met him.”

“Yes, but more than that, I’ve met his type. Time and again. So is the meeting off or are we going someplace else?”

“Loreen’s.”

“Yay!” a child cried from Abbey’s backseat. “Jacob has
the coolest
Transformers.”

Abbey glanced toward the backseat and then gave Sandra a smile. “Hard to argue with that. Is Loreen already there?”

“Probably, by now.”

“Okay.” Abbey put her car in gear. “Get Tiffany out, and we’ll see you over there.”

Sandra watched her drive away and took a moment to appreciate the fact that both Abbey and Loreen had been quick to understand and quick to change plans without a lot of awkward explanation.

Sandra got Andy, and went back in the house to tell Tiffany their plans had changed and they were going to Loreen’s.

She found her at the stove, frying up little square hamburgers. On the counter there was a platter of sliced buns, with a bowl of chopped onions, a bowl of relish, and bottles of ketchup, mustard, and mayo.

Just like Charlie wanted it, Sandra had no doubt.

“And the burger wars have a winner,” Sandra said, sitting down on a stool beside the counter.

“It’s easier than arguing,” Tiffany said. But her face had lost some of its glow. She looked stressed.

And, for the first time, Sandra noticed she looked older.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Sandra said. “You can stop right now and we can leave and order a pizza on the way out. That might send a powerful signal.”

Tiffany flipped the burgers on the skillet. “This will just take a few more minutes.”

“Why are you so cowed by him?” Sandra asked quietly.

“I’m not.” Tiffany met Sandra’s eyes. “It’s just easier than arguing.”

“Why?”

“Because if I argue, there’s always some sort of retribution, and I’m not in the mood for that today.”

A cold chill ran through Sandra. “Like what kind of retribution?”

“Stony silences, being short with the kids. Just big, impossible-to-ignore
unpleasantness. You know, it doesn’t matter how big your house is, the strongest mood
always
wins. And if I piss him off”—she peeled the plastic off American cheese slices—“it’s going to put him in a pretty crappy mood.” She finished with the cheese and looked back at Sandra. “And I just don’t want to deal with it.”

“I get that.” It was clear that Tiffany knew she was dealing with a jerk. Sandra decided there was no point in hammering her about the injustice of it now. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” Tiffany smiled, then picked up Andy, who had come to tug on her shirt. She picked him up, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said to Sandra, “But it means a lot that you would ask.”

Two days later, despite the fact that she was half-ready to spend the rest of her life alone on the couch eating Ben & Jerry’s, Sandra had another blind date. One she’d screened as carefully as possible for any signs of bossiness or domination, like Charlie. It was hard to tell from an online profile, but she was at least aware of it from the word
go
.

From what she could tell, Zach was a normal beta male, more sensitive than bossy.