Always early, a terrible habit. She decided she would try to break it. Since college she’d always been early; for class, appointments, dates. Making her appear extremely anal or pathetic or both. She walked aimlessly, unsure and unfamiliar with the neighborhood. All her life she‘d suffered through bunion pain. Even on the rare occasions, she was in flat sneakers. Over the past year the pain had severely increased, not just the throbbing around the balls of her feet below the big toe, but the whole full-blown pins and needles sensation along the top of her right foot. Most likely caused by a pinched nerve. She was avoiding the surgery; buying all kinds of various creams and plastic toe spacers, all her favorite Fredricks of Hollywood and Loubution pumps were all stretched out to mold her feet perfectly.
As she walked, a slow burn came up from her feet, jammed into the smallest sample size; a five and a half. She was a perfect six, which in this case was not so perfect. A department store window stopped her cold. She shifted her weight uneasily in her gray suede platform Loubitons as she gazed at another pair; of patent leather pumps with a scalloped edge and laser cut-out detail. A dream, she thought to herself. She reminded herself she couldn’t blow any more cash since she’d have to make her savings last until she’d landed a role, any role. But today was different, she was about to audition for a part she was seemingly born to play. She knew she was perfect for the part, but would the casting director?
She would keep walking anyway. The pain was just when it was where she couldn’t really ignore it anymore. She thought a painful scowl on her face would communicate a dark brooding artist type. In her head, she rationalized the lifelong choice of fashionable classic silhouettes on her feet. Besides, the fact that they made her legs look great and her knees and ankles ache, she was a New Yorker born and bred. We all walk, everywhere. She had a drivers license she rarely drove herself anywhere, now that she was in L.A. she figured she’d eventually have to get herself a little shit box just to get around.
A familiar coffee house chain caught her eye on the opposite corner. At least she could still get her ‘usual’ just about anywhere on the planet she choose to wander. She earned her iced Macchiato with the extra shot and sat for a few moments in the corner, looking out the window at the other aspiring actresses, the homeless, the ‘boho chic’ and stuffy suits.
It’s not every day there’s such a specific casting call for women with bunions. She’s been working on these bunions since she was 4 years old playing in her grandmother'sFrench closet. Extra fun when your grandmother is a french snob. Her earliest memory; coming across a pair of kitten-heeled vintage Chanel. Actually bought brand new, still in the box from the 1940s. Though the heel wasn’t sky-high, it was high enough for a toddler to fall out of them. When she was twelve, she wore her mother’s favorite pair of pumps to her first day of junior high; Carolina Herrera crème and brown two-tone leather with ankle straps. Needless to say she was grounded for weeks. Her first job was off the books part-time, riding around with her neighbor to yard sales and flea markets buying up used clothes and reselling them as “vintage” back in the early 1990s. She opted to be paid in gently worn Prada and Dior sample sizes.
Every important event in her life revolved around two things; what shoes she wore and how intense the throbbing in her shoes was. Morning runs weren’t terribly painful, she got her run in early mornings before the heels went on. Lately, the pain from the bunions was beginning to make her seriously consider surgery. The large protrusions made her avoid any type of sandals, even a peep toe or a toe-capped cut-out detail made her cringe.
She recalls the last kiss she and her ex exchanged in the pouring rain before she walked into Penn Station for the last time. The shoe choice was not a wise one; Fredericks of Hollywood's five-inch heel with a built-in platform in teal suede with purple piping detail. They got wet but not completely ruined, but they did shrink. Or her feet swelled, which often happens after three in the afternoon. She remembers getting out her numbing cream on the train, anticipating the swelling issues on the plane she took from La Guardia to LAX.
She remembers the day she got the job at Grey and Grey advertising; in her tweed re-worked menswear suit and her ivory patent leather pointed-toe was four-inch Jimmy Choos. From then on she had thought they would be her lucky pair but really; the job was not what she had planned for. She was the junior graphic designer. Basically the slave to any new client that came in the door. Less time spent at her desk like she was hoping to nurse her feet, from a gentle throbbing up to a searing sharp nerve pinching pain. More time spent running, literally sometimes, all around Manhattan; files hand-delivered to the printers, discussing direct mailers with clients on the day of the print run, lunches with new clients, and sketching out her ideas right there on the spot. She was always good on her feet, so to speak. The pay was decent for the position she was at. She had enough to move into her grandparents' old neighborhood in Woodside so she would be close enough to the city to get there fast but far enough so her rent was not unbelievably high.
Of course, high school she would drop dead first before she’d become one of those ‘old ladies’ that changed into walking sneakers to get to the train station at quitting time. The shoes she put on in the morning didn’t come off until she got home at night. No matter how much pain she was in at the end of the day you could never tell her anything different. She was thankful that she lived in an old row house with a weighted elevator.
In highschool and throughout college while earning her degree in visual merchandising she had a propensity for storytelling. In every instance, she wrote characters who reflected the facets of her many moods. Often making herself the star of her own story; she tried writing plays but too many times couldn’t allow another to take the lead role. She began to save up some money for acting lessons at a small theater group on Long Island. By day; advertising artist, by night; aspiring actress, writer and poetess. After a few months, she’d been offered a shot at a full scholarship to the most prestigious actors' studio in Manhattan. She went in with her pink and dark green paisley printed fabric platform espadrilles with the heart cut out of the wedge heel. She nailed it. Getting accepted was a dream since she wasn’t the typical build; 5’4 tan brunette. As opposed to the tall blond or the fiery red head. It was her delivery; bold, witty, a little rude, and clear. Wasn’t exactly popular but it got attention, and when she read her own works she reflected the power she felt back into the room. She grew up being a shy and quiet little girl but if you were friends with her it was hard to get her to be quiet.
It generally pleased her that people often asked her about her shoes, knowing that they were mostly one-of-a-kind pairs. She liked being the first, getting something exclusively. One of the only joys of working as an ad artist was getting to go behind the stages during fashion week. She did invites and small projects as a freelancer for a few small designers, and always managed to swipe at least one sample size from a trendy new design house no one heard of yet.
It also gave her great satisfaction to make people wonder about her; she would hardly talk to other students in her classes unless she had to. There were people who thought her to be an heiress to an obscure family or an exotic dancer with a big shoe collection. Either way, she’d be happy to be either. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of where she had come up from; a lower-middle-class European family of immigrants living in a historical town on Long Island. Her father and mother both had Frenchmen as their fathers but her mother’s mother was an Italian who converted over to French fashion when she married. This woman never wore a pair of pants in her entire life, amazing that women like that still existed. Her father’s mother was an Asian woman with her own style; more bohemian true to the timelessness of long tunics, oversized sweaters cigarette pants, and tribal-styled and chunky jewelry.
This european sensibility carried over in her reflection of the women in her family. Though her parents did everything on their own, she remembered her father would always give her mother a small bottle of Chanel No. 5 every year for their anniversary and a small piece of jewelry from Dior or Tiffanys for Christmas. He’d gotten his little daughter many small charms to add to her bracelet over the years, so many she hardly wore it anymore because she thought it to be ‘too much’ on one wrist.
Her parents would have been overjoyed if she pursued a career as a doctor or an accountant. When she told them she wanted to be an artist they did encourage her at first but her father pushed her into a trade. She tried an apprenticeship with a general contractor and his wife, a carpenter, who together created an interior decorating firm. But she refused to change her style, and she did climb ladders with gothic-inspiredfour-inch engineer boots with a chunky four inch heel. That was her version of ‘work boots’.
It was mostly her mother who supported her decisions. For instance, ‘Just buy the shoes already’ was the best advice ever from Mom.
She gathered her thoughts and came back to the now; made her way back to the office where she was still the first, even after all the time she had thought she’d wasted already. She just resigned herself to being,newcomer the early bird after all. No matter the change in location she’d always remain the same quirky and punctual new-comer.
It wasn’t an open casting call so there weren’t women clamoring over her. The line behind her didn’t get particularly long, she guesses since there weren’t exactly many women who’d jump at the chance to expose their foot problems on the big screen. Also, it boosted her attitude that she just may actually get the part. When she was called in she tossed the coffee and went in ready for the usual; Her name, her age, where she was from,off-Broadway, and what her last project was. Lisa Cross, 22, Manhattan and an off Broadway play she co-wrote. They got her profile shot and asked her to read from the script. She read it through fast in her head first and delivered rather enthusiastically. They asked her if she prepared anything, off the top of her head she recited every line of Annabelle Lee. To her surprise, they didn’t stop her two lines in, which was what she was used to. They said thank you and that they’d call. After she left she had a million thoughts racing through her head; I should have worn the shorter dress, maybe a pair of glasses would have been good, this hipster thing isn’t going away anytime soon, and so on and so on.
She would schlep back to her rented room with a shared bathroom, and change into her waitress uniform for the night. Of course, the heels stayed on.
