Happy Feet
by Nolan Vancey

There was never a dull moment at Alphonse Shoes, thought Gregory Grandjany as he opened the cage that covered the storefront, signifying that the boutique was open for business. The bakery next door had been open for hours, but the nine o'clock opening of Alphonse signaled the beginning of the slow mid-morning for the bakery. As soon as the cage was locked into position and the sign on the door had been turned from CLOSED to OPEN, the first customer of the day arrived. She was a pretty young thing, with blonde curls peeking from beneath her fashionable cloche hat. In an instant, Grandjany took in her off-the-rack skirt and jacket; a silk bow belonging to the blouse beneath emerged from the top. Her shoes were flats with a dull finish, unfashionable and unflattering, and the plain brown shopping bag she carried was evidence of errands she had already run that morning. She might have had a nicer pair to slip on at her workplace, but she didn't look like money to him. Too young to be a librarian, but a secretary perhaps. He didn't let his glance linger too long: shoe salesmen had an unsavory reputation, he had found, and Alphonse was high-end. Nothing must smirch its image, upon which its whole reputation as a purveyor of luxury shoes depended.

"May I help you, Miss?" Grandjany adopted the haughty manner his customers expected.

The young lady blushed. "Oh, I, er, need a pair of shoes. . . ." Grandjany felt a little bad for her: it was likely that most of his product would be out of her price range, and while hauteur was expected by his regular clientele, he knew how intimidating it could be to newcomers.

"That is evident. I doubt we have any suitable . . . working shoes. Perhaps Gimbel's . . . ?"

The girl withered beneath his glance. Grandjany was doing her a favor by laying it on so thick, but he was interrupted by Randall, his sales assistant, who said, "Why don't you let me handle this one, Mr. G? I think I've got just the thing."

Grandjany raised an eyebrow. Randall was young, in his early twenties, and while he was industrious and keen to learn the business, he was still a red-blooded man, and Grandjany had lectured him multiple times about being overly familiar with the customers. He already seemed to be flirting with the young lady, making eyes at her, but rather than being offended, she seemed grateful for his appearance and said, "Oh, could you? I promise I won't be any trouble." She giggled nervously; had Grandjany affected her that much? "Thank you, sir," she added to him as Randall led her toward the fitting area, a small room stocked with elegant chairs and mirrors on every wall. Grandjany followed them with his gaze, still doubtful that they had anything for her in stock, but he shrugged and returned to his own tasks. If Randall came on too strong, she likely wasn't in the social circles that would spread gossip about it. And, truthfully, he couldn't blame Randall: hadn't he himself entered the shoe trade because of his interest in the clientele? Ah, to be young and carefree!

These thoughts occupied him while he straightened his displays and picked dust motes off the otherwise spotless carpet, until he heard muffled giggles replace Randall's sales patter. He was about to put it down to Randall's rakish charm, which the younger generation seemed to find more endearing than Grandjany's own had, when he heard a distinctly feminine gasp, a gasp that sent him racing toward the fitting room. There were limits, after all. What he saw shocked him.

Randall knelt before the young lady; her left foot, on the floor, was still in the flat she had worn in, but a generous amount of creamy custard squeezed out of the top, onto her ankles and the top of her foot. Its presence was explained by the right shoe in Randall's hands, filled to the top with the selfsame custard. Before either of them noticed Grandjany watching them, Randall slipped the custard-filled shoe onto her foot, her bare toes sliding into the liquid before her arch and heel followed suit, pushing most of the liquid out. She gasped again, more softly this time, and it was evident that both she and Randall were enjoying themselves.

Grandjany exploded. "What is going on!? Have you gone insane!?"

The pair looked up at him, both caught in frozen expressions of surprise and fear. Randall was the first to find his voice; he stood and said, "Wait, Mr. G, I can explain. . . . It's not what it looks like. . . . I need this job--" He babbled one excuse after another, but Grandjany could hardly find his own words once his initial shock had been voiced.

The customer stood and approached the baffled manager: he could hardly take his eyes from the spectacle of her taking one step after another, the custard squelching out and dripping on the carpet, leaving a trail of little blobs behind her. With great effort he turned his eyes to her face, which bore a pleading expression. "Please, Mr. G, it's my fault, I convinced Randy to do it. Please don't punish him, it was just a bit of fun." She leaned into Randall's body, and the familiarity between the two of them made the situation obvious: Randall knew the young lady, and her appearance in his store was hardly by chance.

Grandjany calmed himself; his heart still pounded in his chest, but whether it was from the shock of seeing professional decorum breached so profoundly or the sight of the young lady's shapely feet encased in custard-filled shoes, he couldn't say. She did have very dainty toes; Randall had good taste. "Very well. Explain yourselves."

Randall blushed like a school boy who had been caught. With one finger he pulled at a collar that was suddenly constricting. "Louise is my girl," he finally said, "and sometimes we like to do this when we're alone. It's just for fun, and it doesn't harm anyone. . . . Well, we were talking, and . . ."

"I convinced him to do it," Louise interrupted. "I told him it would be a gas to do it here, you know, the whole shoe salesman bit, and I teased him until he gave in."

"I didn't think there would be any customers," Randall added. "It's usually so slow in the mornings."

Louise cast her face down, her blushing cheeks still apparent. She looked as embarrassed as if Grandjany were her own father. "We didn't mean to cause any trouble, and I'll leave right now. Please, just don't take it out on Randy."

Grandjany had his temper under control now, but there was still no excusing this. "Yes," he said to Louise, "I think you had better go. You're lucky I don't call the police. As for you," he said, turning to his sheepish salesman, "there is no excusing this lapse in judgment. It just so happens that I am expecting the Delano sisters for a fitting at any moment, so your shenanigans could not have occurred at a worse time. There will be no further warning. You're f--"

He was interrupted by the appearance of two women at the doorway to the showroom. "Oh, there you are! We were beginning to think you'd forgotten our appointment!" Helen and Hattie Delano weren't twins, but they looked enough alike that they often teased each other about which one was older. Both were slender, willowy beauties with the same auburn hair and elegant cheekbones. Grandjany, though, could always tell them apart: their shoes were the same size, but Hattie needed a wide.

Grandjany, jolted by the sisters' sudden appearance, turned and swiftly adopted his most unctuous customer-service voice, his undisciplined assistant forgotten for the moment. "Forgotten? Ah, perish the thought! Just taking care of a little in-house business. Please forgive me for not greeting you at the door. My, but you're looking lovely today, Miss Delano."

"Thank you," they both said at once, and then looked askance at each other. Now that Grandjany's services had been properly engaged, they were ready to be pampered and waited upon. "We simply must have something new to wear to the 400 Ball this weekend," said Helen grandly. "Yes," said the other, "something bold! Something striking! Something--"

"What is that?" said the first sister, lifting one bejeweled finger. She was looking behind Grandjany in open mystification.

"Hmm?" Grandjany said, then swiveled his gaze: Randall and Louise were still there, rooted to the spot by the sisters' arrival. Helen's eyes and finger were fixed upon the poor shopgirl's shoes, still visibly overflowing with custard.

How could he explain this? How could he excuse it? "Why, er, that's, er. . . ." He fumbled, the words coming uncharacteristically slowly to him. It was probably only a few seconds, but in that gap Grandjany sensed his entire career coming undone.

Randall came to his rescue, jumping into the breach with his own sales patter. "Why, this is the latest thing, a liquid cushion guaranteed to soothe tired feet, ease tight fits, and please the eye!" He pointed out each feature as he enumerated it, Louise modeling. Who knew, maybe that was part of their routine together, but in any case the words flowed smoothly and Randall gave no indication that there was anything strange about them. Grandjany smiled tightly, hoping that he could at least contain the scene when the sisters inevitably stormed out in disgust.

Helen and Hattie stared dumbly at the demonstration until Randall seemed to run out of things to say. Then they looked at each other, reached a silent agreement, and said to Grandjany, "How daring! We simply must try it for ourselves!" They took two seats next to each other and one of them said, "Of course, I must have more of a heel than that," gesturing to Louise's flats, "is it available in pumps?"

Grandjany was shocked into speechlessness, but Randall said, "Yes, of course," looking warily to his boss for permission to continue, still convinced he might be thrown out at any moment.

"I haven't heard of this before, it must be very new," said the other sister. "No one else in town has this?"

Grandjany finally cleared his throat and found his voice. "I can assure you of that." He sent Randall to retrieve two pairs of gold heels. When the young salesman returned, he made a show of setting the shoes before the Delano sisters and pouring a dollop of custard from a glass bottle into each one. It pooled in the toe end. Then Randall nodded to his boss, standing back: it was, after all, the manager's perquisite to handle the fitting. Grandjany knelt down, his face mere inches from the graceful foot that Helen Delano had slipped from the shoes she wore in. He was close enough to hear the soft squish of her painted toes entering the custard bath and feel the sudden tightening of every nerve in her body, the abrupt gasp and shuddering release of tension as she settled in. Grandjany's heart pounded, horror at the shoes' desecration mingled with the sensuality of the custard caressing Helen's foot. He released her and repeated the operation with the other shoe.

All the time, Hattie Delano watched her sister closely, anticipating the same treatment. "Well?" she said after Grandjany had finished his work.

A voluptuous smile spread across Helen Delano's face; her eyelids fluttered as if she were entering a dream. "It's heavenly," she finally said. She pressed her feet against the floor, pushing a little more of the custard out; it spilled over the side in layered bands like high water marks at the seashore. "Gregory, you're a genius."

Hattie could wait no longer and eagerly allowed Grandjany to shoe her as well; she sighed in contentment as if settling into a warm bath and agreed with her sister's assessment. "Wait until Bruce sees this!" she said, holding up one dripping slipper.

"Bruce nothing, I can't wait to see the look on Kitty Marston's face," said Helen. "She'll be so jealous!" Both women laughed at the thought. "We'll take them, of course, but how about this 'liquid cushion'? Does it need to be changed out? We'll want to freshen up before the Ball, you know."

Grandjany bowed slightly. "It can be arranged." He hadn't quite shaken the lingering fear that the sisters would realize at any moment how ridiculous this was, but he needn't have worried. Just as they finished putting the shoes (and an extra charge for the "liquid cushion") on their accounts, they were greeted by another customer entering the store.

"Kitty! What a pleasant surprise!" Helen's smile was brittle, artfully forced just enough to tell her rival what she really thought of her.

Kitty Marston air-kissed Helen and Hattie, agreeing that it was indeed a surprise to run into them, but it didn't take her long to notice the sisters' striking new footwear: "The latest thing, you say? Well, of course it is! That's why I've had this appointment with Gregory set since last week. Isn't that right?" She looked meaningfully at Grandjany, who knew exactly how to satisfy his customers. "We're all ready for you," he said, leading her to one of the chairs. At the same time Randall moved to take her mink, Grandjany noticed more customers entering the store--the walk-in traffic was beginning to pick up, and every single one of them noticed the trendsetting Delano sisters proudly showing off their new "liquid cushioned" pumps.

Kitty was just as thrilled as the Delano sisters had been with the pair of mesh slippers that Randall filled with custard until it squeezed out of the minute holes in the sides, and like the sisters she sang Gregory's praises as a sales associate who really knew how to treat lady customers. He smiled obsequiously. Randall held up the custard bottle that had been in Louise's shopping bag: empty. Seeing the line of curious women filling the store, each eager to experience the "liquid cushion" for themselves, Grandjany asked Louise, who had been standing by in surprise, to go next door to the bakery and replenish their supply. "Discreetly," of course. The girl nodded and headed for the door while Randall, sensing the reprieve his innovations had brought, prepared for the next wave of customers.

All morning, and then working through lunch, Grandjany and Randall applied the liquid cushion treatment to a succession of heiresses, society matrons, debutantes, and leading ladies: at first filling pumps, mules, slippers and even sandals with the plain vanilla custard Randall and Louise had started with, but as each woman demanded something more exclusive than the last and their supplies ran low, branching out to chocolate, butterscotch, whipped cream, and cake frosting. Grandjany layered caramel syrup and fudge on the slim ankles and strong calves of a prima ballerina, and then drizzled icing over the open toes of the city's leading lingerie model. All the time, Louise ran back and forth between the boutique and the bakery, her own custard-filled flats attracting attention and drawing further commerce.

By early afternoon, both men had loosened their collars and rolled up their sleeves; their fingers were sticky even after using the hand towels Louise had supplied; and they had cleared out six months' worth of unsold inventory, last season's fashions suddenly glamorous with a filling of marshmallow fluff or drizzle of chocolate syrup. "I feel like I'm walking on a cloud!" exclaimed the editor of a high-class ladies' magazine, gliding back and forth in her newly sweetened footwear. The Mayor's wife wiggled her glistening toes and proclaimed that it took her back to her childhood playing on the muddy banks of the Pee Dee river. "What an aroma! It reminds me of Christmas in my grandmother's kitchen!" said the leading soprano of the Metropolitan Opera.

Willa Wagman, the gossip columnist and radio personality, was so pleased by her knee-high boots, filled to the brim with custard, that she borrowed the store's telephone to call in a story for her newspaper then and there: "It wasn't so long ago that swains sipped champagne from their ladies' slippers, but now they'll have to bring a spoon for their canoodling! The latest inspiration from Alphonse Shoes and its manager, Gregory Grandjany, has gotten attention and adoration from flappers and finale hoppers all over the city. Their 'liquid cushion' may be available in vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, but it's not Neapolitan, it's a home-grown American invention! This columnist has just been treated to it herself and declares it perfect for new dances like the Slip and Slide, the Wet Willy, and the Wammy. Look for it at all the finest parties this season!"

"I hope Mr. Alphonse doesn't mind all this," Randall said as the last of the ladies took their leave. The three of them had been put through the ringer, and the try-on room would need a thorough cleaning, but Grandjany estimated it was the best day of sales the boutique had experienced in years. It would be a "success du scandal."

"My boy, Alphonse understands the value of publicity. When Willa Wagman's endorsement hits the stands, everyone's going to want your 'liquid cushion'!" Grandjany chuckled at the unpredictability of fashion; he couldn't deny that he had enjoyed himself immensely today, and was even being paid handsomely for the pleasure. "And don't worry; I'll make sure Alphonse knows who the young idea man is. Mark my words: you'll go far in this business!" Louise squealed in delight and the two youngsters embraced one another.

Five minutes before the store's posted closing time, the windows were rattled by the engine of a roadster pulling up to the curb; Grandjany knew the sound of that car, and his heart rose into his throat. Abjectly throwing the door open, he welcomed Mrs. Oscar VanDerVane--the second Mrs. VanDerVane, whom Grandjany himself had helped dress for her coming out just a few years before, when she was plain Vanessa Honeybags. Not that there had ever been anything plain about the past Miss Empire State, Miss Garden State, Miss Albany, Miss Atlantic City, and two-time Miss Boardwalk and Miss Park Place, to name just a few of her many titles. "Wait for me, Tyrone," she said to the roadster's driver as she handed him the rein attached to her poodle. "Stay, Sheba," she said to the dog in the same tone.

"How marvelous of you to fit me in, Gregory," she said airily as he held the door for her. "Hattie Delano telephoned me earlier today and said she had experienced the most wonderful novelty in the field of footwear here today."

"That's most gracious of her," Gregory said.

She continued to look around the sales floor as if the conversation were merely an afterthought. "And then that awful Willa Wagman was on the radio saying that, and I quote, 'anybody who is anybody' is at Alphonse this afternoon."

"She has always been a great supporter of ours, it's true."

Mrs. VanDerVane pinned Grandjany with her gaze. "You're not holding out on me, are you, Gregory? Haven't I always been a great supporter? You know how I hate to be late when fashions are changing."

Grandjany expected this, and gave a little bow. "Of course, Madam. One would expect nothing less."

Having made her point, she resumed smiling. "I'm glad we understand one another, Gregory. I've always been able to depend on you." The manager bowed again, speechless with gratitude. "So I'm confident that you've got something for me that will keep Hattie . . . on her toes?" She giggled at her little joke; Gregory chuckled politely, his mind racing beneath the facade of serene professionalism.

"Of course, Madam, I know how . . . discriminating you are. I believe I have something extra-special for you. Would you like a glass of champagne while you wait?"

Mrs. VanDerVane agreed that would be delightful and continued to inspect the wares in the front room, no doubt wondering what about these shoes could have excited the whole city. While Grandjany found the bottle and glasses he reserved for his most important customers, he gave instructions to Randall and Louise.

Not much later, Grandjany led Mrs. VanDerVane into the fitting lounge, scattering apologies for the wait before her like rose petals. Louise had removed the more obvious puddles of custard, but Mrs. VanDerVane wasn't looking at the carpet. Her eyes widened when she saw how much Randall had been able to bring over from the bakery. Tins and jugs of various colors stood around one of the chairs, which had been set alone in the center of the room like a throne. On the other chairs, now pushed against the mirrored walls, were white boxes, their contents unknown. "Hattie didn't give me a lot of detail," she said, still sipping champagne, "I thought you had a special new kind of shoe? This looks to be more like a spa treatment."

"The liquid cushion approach is very adaptable," Grandjany reassured her. "Won't you sit down?"

"The bakery was thrilled to get rid of this stuff," Randall whispered to Grandjany. "It's usually half-price after four, but they gave me a bulk discount. Did I do good?"

Grandjany nodded, shushing the boy: it was gauche to discuss sale prices in the presence of such a high roller. The more expensive and exclusive, the better.

Louise took Mrs. VanDerVane's jewel-lined silken wrap, revealing a brilliantly-sequined gown that conformed marvelously to her curvaceous figure. The former beauty queen had never been in step with the vogue for boyish slenderness; any attempt to downplay her fronts was doomed to failure anyway. Equally famous for her small feet as for her tremendous assets, she allowed Randall to remove her tiny silk heels after she sat.

Affecting the boredom of her class, Mrs. VanDerVane said, "So, what's Alphonse got everyone so excited about? Alphonse is a dear, of course, but between you and me, it's been an age since he was able to surprise me."

Grandjany equivocated. "Alphonse is making room for some new talent in his shop," he said. "This new innovation comes from a young protege, a real up-and-comer."

"Is that so? Well, good for you, Gregory, I daresay Alphonse has kept you champing at the bit long enough!"

Hesitant to correct a patron, Grandjany merely chuckled and bade Randall fetch a pair of size 2 pumps. He contemplated the amber-colored silk with brown topaz trim and decided chocolate would make the perfect filling. "There is nothing more luxurious, Madam," he said as he poured the glistening liquid into the shoes. Her lips opened slightly, almost imperceptibly, when he slid her stocking-clad foot into the right shoe, and he savored the shudder of pleasure she was unable to suppress when he put the other one on. He leaned back, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh, that does feel nice," she said. "Hattie wasn't exaggerating! But come now, Gregory, to hear Willa Wagman describe it, half the women in the city are walking about with this cushioning their shoes. I thought you would have something really special for me." She leaned forward, pouting. "I do so hate to be disappointed, Gregory. Be a dear and surprise me." She leaned back again.

Inwardly, Grandjany was a bit let down by her reaction, but he knew from experience that this was just Mrs. VanDerVane's way of making sure that she got the very best: she wasn't one of the hoi polloi who accepted the first option they were offered. "Of course," he said smoothly, "that was just a sample, so you can experience the liquid cushion for yourself with a pair of . . . ordinary shoes." He snapped his fingers and said, "Louise--towel! Randall, bring me box number one!"

Randall blanched as Louise knelt to wipe the "liquid cushion" from Mrs. VanDerVane's feet. "Box number one, boss?" Unspoken was the question: are you sure? Grandjany nodded.

"What's in box number one?" the customer asked innocently.

Eighteen months earlier, Petra Scarlett, star of stage and screen, had announced her engagement to ace pilot and radium tycoon Carey O'Marlbourne, and had approached Alphonse for a pair of heels to match her wedding gown. After months of labor, it had turned out that O'Marlbourne's aviation achievements were exaggerated and his fortune mostly paper, and the wedding had been called off. Even though the events had been no fault of Alphonse's, he was temperamental and sensitive to even the perception of having his creation rejected. The shoes had never been worn or even shown in public, and Alphonse's masterpiece sat languishing in the stock room, unused and unpaid for, its existence a closely-guarded secret. It was Grandjany's good fortune that the Hollywood actress Miss Scarlett had miniscule feet, wearing the same size as Mrs. VanDerVane. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"Alphonse made these specially, just for you," Grandjany said, an ego-flattering white lie. "I think you'll find them very compatible with the liquid cushion."

In the back room, Randall had taken the initiative to transfer the magnificent heels from their box to a velvet cushion, the better to display their radiance: Mrs. VanDerVane oohed in delight when she saw how the light played off the many small diamonds that encrusted the tops and the mother-of-pearl inlay on the tall platforms that elevated both toe and heel; spiraling straps for the calves completed the appearance of decadent grandeur. "Oh, aren't they a bit . . . tall?" she said. Like all movie stars, Petra Scarlett was shorter than she appeared onscreen, and her would-be groom had topped six feet in height; Alphonse and the other wedding designers had sought to avoid a comical contrast.

"Between you and me, Madam, platforms are going to be all the rage next season," Grandjany said with a conspiratorial wink. The promise of being ahead of the game satisfied her and she invited him to put them on her.

First came the "liquid cushion": a day's worth of practice had given Grandjany a sense of the theatrical, so he poured a healthy serving of golden syrup from two feet above, allowing the sight to build the customer's sense of anticipation. He couldn't help but notice her slowed breathing, the gasp catching in her throat as she imagined what it would feel like to insert her own toes into the thick, sticky pool. All eyes were on her delicate, pale right foot as it was the first to be submerged. The syrup surged up around her ankles, over the top of her foot; she sighed contentedly. Then came the left, and after giving her a moment to savor the feeling, Grandjany wrapped her calves and buckled the delicate straps that balanced out the tall base of the shoes.

After her initial wave of delight passed, Mrs. VanDerVane seemed unsure again. "It feels a little tight in the straps," she said. "Are they adjustable?" Of course, they could be altered, but they had been made to fit Petra Scarlett's ever-so-slightly narrower calves. But of course Grandjany couldn't tell her that.

"That is where, er, the next stage of the liquid cushion comes in," he said smoothly. Among the boxes and jugs lining the walls was a bucket, not glamorous, but large. What was in it? There was no time to check. Grandjany directed Randall to bring it over and set it in front of the lady customer. Gently raising both of Mrs. VanDerVane's shod feet to extend over the bucket, Grandjany said, "Now, I invite you to experience the full, toe-to-calf liquid cushion experience. Nothing is more glamorous, more sensual, more comfortable than . . ." He looked down and saw the bucket's contents. Where had Louise gotten this!? Without skipping a beat, he went on, ". . . our high-fiber, skin-conditioning scrub." Slowly, with the careful solicitude of a lover, he lowered both of her feet, platform heels and all, into the bucket of thick, warm oatmeal. With resistance it gave way and covered the shoes all the way up to the straps and halfway up Mrs. VanDerVane's shapely shins. Her reaction was all he could have hoped for, a groan of satisfaction that seemed to be pulled from the pit of her stomach, released seemingly without her volition. She was in the palm of his hand now. As a salesman, there was nothing more gratifying than a customer who could be made to want to buy.

After a luxurious moment, Grandjany guided her feet up and out of the bucket, now weighted down with sticky globs of oatmeal, her calves bathed in white, starchy liquid and her stockings clinging like a second skin. "Would you look at that!" she marveled, turning them this way or that to catch the light on the few diamonds that poked through their oatmeal coating like stars glimpsed on a cloudy night.

Finally, for the first time standing on the newly cushioned heels, Mrs. VanDerVane cooed over the delightful effect they made and how comfortable they were. Grandjany stood back in pride at having saved the sale (and the boutique's reputation for cutting-edge fashion). "It's wonderful, Gregory!" she exclaimed. "I've made up my mind--I simply must have this liquid cushion adapted for my entire wardrobe!"

Grandjany started. "I--I beg your pardon?"

Mrs. VanDerVane smiled indulgently, as if Grandjany were teasing her. "Oh, don't pretend you haven't thought of it--you said yourself the liquid cushion was very adaptable! It feels so heavenly on my feet, I'm sure you could apply it to . . . to my gloves, for example!" She pulled a pair of folded elbow-length opera gloves, matching her elegant dress, from her clutch and held them out. "Come now, Gregory, don't dawdle--Oscar is expecting me at the Ritz in an hour." She sat back down, the order as good as carried out in her mind.

"But--" Grandjany started to protest, but then Mrs. VanDerVane assumed the expression that he had seen before, the look of a snit preparing to erupt. "Of course," he said, signaling to Randall to assist him.

A moment later, and both gloves were full of thick butterscotch, the fingers as plump as sausages. With Louise's help, Mrs. VanDerVane pulled on first one and then the other, the excess squeezing out over her slender forearms and seeping through the fine weave of the gloves' fabric, dripping freely onto her dress. She held them up, impressed, and then posed, resting her chin on her tented fingers coyly. "What do you think, my dear? Do I make a picture?" Stunned to be addressed by the lady, Louise could only nod.

Mrs. VanDerVane seemed not to notice the sticky spot left on her chin by the butterscotch as she replaced her hands in her lap. She continued speaking to Louise in a conspiratorial you-know-how-it-is tone: "Between you and me, sister, brassieres chafe me something awful, but I can't very well go around without support"--she indicated her ample bosom and the deep cleavage her dress exposed--"Do you think . . . ?" She left the thought unfinished, but it was clear Louise took her meaning by the flush of red that bloomed on her cheeks.

Finally, Louise found her voice and said, "Yes, I understand." She looked to Randall and Mr. Grandjany, who appeared equally shocked, and guided the younger sales assistant until he found just the right type of padding for Mrs. VanDerVane's delicate skin. With an effort, Randall hefted a large tub of something smooth, glistening and fluid, a pale yellow batter that flowed easily into the customer's decolletage, filling the cups of her brassiere until it overflowed and running down the sides of her dress, inside and out, until she was sitting in a pool of the stuff; she seemed so satisfied by the experience that she might as well have been a frog on a lily pad. Without undue hurry she invited the young couple to complete the job by drizzling syrups and oils down her stockings in zig-zag patterns until they met the oatmeal still clinging to her lower legs.

"Mirror," she said, holding up one hand expectantly. Grandjany, usually so proud of his handiwork, reluctantly gave her a hand mirror, which she gazed into, moving it this way and that to take in her entire body, from the yellow batter covering her exposed cleavage to the oatmeal globs on her feet. "Perfect," she declared. ". . . Almost. Gregory, I should require something for my hair before Oscar shall see me."

"Your hair?" Grandjany said in disbelief. "But Madam did not enter wearing a hat. . . . To what should we apply the, er, liquid cushion?" Lord, after the whole day of this he still felt ridiculous repeating the phrase Randall had come up with, and he could still hardly avoid the feeling that he was being pranked. He spread his hands to indicate his helplessness.

"Nonsense," she said, primping herself in the mirror. "It feels so heavenly, I see no reason why you should have qualms about applying it directly."

"But--"

Mrs. VanDerVane's eyes flashed in anger. "Now, Gregory, you know my Oscar is very well acquainted with Alphonse, and he is sure to hear about this. Don't you want me to have a good report to give my husband? Don't you want me to be satisfied?"

"No, Madam, I mean, yes, Madam--" Of course, just as Randall answered to Grandjany, ultimately Grandjany would answer to Alphonse. What would he tell him about this?

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other. I haven't much time--Oscar is undoubtedly waiting for me at the Ritz at this very moment--so let me have it!"

Imperceptibly, Grandjany nodded to his young assistants, who held bowls of custard, Randall chocolate and Louise vanilla, and at his signal they began pouring them over the top of Mrs. VanDerVane's head, first slowly and then more rapidly as gravity took over. The socialite's blonde curls sagged under the custard coating, and then it ran down the sides of her face and down her neck until it joined the batter that filled her dress. Throughout the process, Mrs. VanDerVane sat as solemnly as a queen receiving her due; whatever pleasure she experienced, this time she kept it to herself.

Perhaps emboldened by the customer's demand for excellence, Louise took it upon herself to ask, "Would Madam like a facial to complete her ensemble?" Such pretentious words! Randall had undoubtedly rubbed off on her.

Mrs. VanDerVane nodded and closed her shadowed eyes, and again sat very still while the girl lifted a whole pie from the bakery and pushed it--not roughly, but not too gently, either--into the lady's face, smearing it in a circular motion for good measure: white and amber cream flowed around Mrs. VanDerVane's face and onto her hair, and purple berry filling, thick and syrupy, colored her face and ran onto her neck. Louise removed the pan, leaving islands of broken crust clinging to the dazzling purple map she had made of her face. Only the slightest opening of the lady's mouth, perhaps to breath freely, indicated the depth of feeling hidden beneath.

Randall started to move, but Grandjany stopped him with a gesture: a customer like this, one did not rush, even if closing time had passed long ago. Finally, satisfied with the liquid cushion that surrounded and bathed her entire body, she opened her eyes, wiped them just enough to see, and stood, allowing much of the liquid to cascade from her onto the floor.

"Wonderful as always, Gregory," she said with a bright--if berry-smeared--smile. "Won't Oscar be surprised to see me!" Grandjany agreed that he was sure that was so.

Mrs. VanDerVane turned to look at the young couple who had assisted and said, as if the thought had just come to her, "I'm sure I will need help at home with this marvelous treatment. Would the two of you be available as live-in help? If Gregory can spare you, that is. . . ."

Grandjany saw the expectant hope bloom on the two young people's faces; it was a step up for both of them, he knew. He bowed deeply as if the honor were his. "Of course." Louise and Randall nearly squealed with excitement; Mrs. VanDerVane signaled for them to follow. Randall pumped Grandjany's hand in gratitude as he left and Louise stood on her tiptoes to give the older man a kiss on the cheek. The future shone brightly in their eyes and they held hands as they stepped out.

Grandjany watched them leave the store. The driver's eyes widened slightly when he saw his employer's wife, coated head to toe in slippery custard and batter, but her regal bearing had changed not an iota, and he held the door for her without comment, just as he always did. Sheba, the poodle, licked curiously at the food coating her mistress, but dogs have no eye for fashion, only noses. The two kids piled in with their new lady and waved goodbye eagerly to Grandjany. Then the car was gone.

Grandjany sighed. There would be a great deal to clean up, but if the "liquid cushion" was really here to stay instead of the panic of a moment, perhaps it would be better to tear up the carpet and install tile; there could even be a drain in the center of the room. But only time would tell. Of course, hiring a new assistant was the most pressing concern. Randall, for all his quirks, had been a hard worker. Grandjany hoped the young man and his girl would be happy in their new positions. That's how it always was: the hardest part of his job as manager was saying goodbye to the younger employees who moved on to bigger and better things. Truly, there was never a dull moment at Alphonse Shoes.

E N D