Secrets of a Shoe Addict by Beth Harbison Page A

note for the others that she had the kids, and headed downstairs to Finola Pims.
    It was only three kids, but trying to keep track of them in the chaos of the hotel proved harder than Tiffany had anticipated. The lights and noise seemed to hypnotize them into all sorts of wild behavior.
    It was
“Jacob! Kate! Stop playing tag, you’re running into people!”
    Or
“Where’s Parker?”
    And
“Jacob and Parker, that is not funny. Stop it now!”
    The five minutes down the elevator and out to the storefront seemed to last a lifetime. When they got to the Finola Pims shop, Tiffany rounded the children up outside the store entrance.
    “Listen to me,” she said in a harsh whisper, bending down before them. “You guys
have
to be
silent
in here, do you understand? Stand like statues, don’t make a single
peep
. If you do, I
swear to you
, I will go to the board of education meeting and suggest they abolish summer vacations
completely
.” She looked at the blank faces for signs of terror and acquiescence.
    “What’s
abolish
?” Jacob asked.
    “It means they’d
end
it,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “School would go year-round with
no
summer vacation.” She gave a nod to emphasize her point.
    That did it. There was the white-faced fear she’d been looking for: the straight backs, the closed mouths. That was more like it.
    “Good.” She stood up. “Now, let’s go.”
    They marched into the store like the von Trapp children, in a quiet line, straight to the sales counter. Tiffany waited behind a mature woman who was dripping with jewels so big, she couldn’t imagine they were real. Then again, the total of her sale indicated she might actually be able to afford the real thing.
    Of course, someone might have said the same thing about Tiffany’s purchase.
    “Can I help you?” asked the salesgirl, a slip of a thing who looked about nineteen. She glanced at the bags Tiffany was holding and the unmistakable hope of large sales commissions glinted in her eye.
    “Yes.” Tiffany hefted the bags onto the counter. “I need to return these.”
    For a moment it looked like the salesgirl, whose name tag announced her as RAYANNE , thought Tiffany was speaking another language.
    “They’re beautiful,” Tiffany hastened to add, in case she hadsomehow insulted the girl. “But”—she wasn’t going to admit she couldn’t afford them—“they just don’t quite suit me.”
    “Wow, that’s too bad.” Rayanne nodded.
    Tiffany smiled. “Well, with all the kids”—she gestured—“I figured it would be more merciful to the other shoppers for me to try them on in my room and see what works.” She took the receipt out and held it out to the girl, who just looked at it with vague sympathy.
    “And they don’t fit?” she asked, making no move to take the receipt from Tiffany.
    “They’re just not quite right for me.” Tiffany set the receipt on the counter and pushed it toward Rayanne, like it was a silent bid auction. “So, if you could just . . . do the return.”
    “I wish I could.” She shook her head and let the words plunk down without further explanation.
    “Okay, well, can you get someone who can?” Tiffany asked, losing patience. The kids were starting to shuffle their feet and get antsy. She shot them a warning look and mouthed the words
summer vacation
.
    “No one can.” Rayanne pointed to a sign Tiffany had managed to overlook when making the purchase. It said, in the kind of thin, elaborate script that was harder to notice than to miss: ALL SALES FINAL. NO RETURNS OR EXCHANGES. NO EXCEPTIONS.
    “I didn’t see that before,” Tiffany murmured, as if it would make a difference.
    “It’s the store policy.”
    “But . . . why? I mean, Nordstrom doesn’t do that.”
    Rayanne shrugged. “This isn’t Nordstrom.”
    It was undeniable. “Is there a manager I could speak with? Not that I’m saying you’re not competent.”
    “He won’t let you return the stuff.”
    “Why don’t you