“I haven’t asked for a discount.”
“I haven’t asked you to hold it.”
“I haven’t asked for anything unusual.”
“I asked to try on a pair of shoes.”
Lauren crossed her arms.
“And I explained our process.”
“No.”
Naomi said.
“You explained your assumption.”
The younger employee lowered her eyes.
Lauren’s face hardened.
“I’m not making assumptions.”
“You decided I am unlikely to buy the shoes before checking whether you have my size.”
“I’m trying to manage inventory.”
“Then check the inventory.”
Lauren stared at her.
A few seconds passed.
Then she picked up a tablet.
Naomi watched her tap the screen.
The inventory system loaded.
Lauren’s eyes moved.
Then she lowered the device.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have an eight and a half.”
The younger employee looked up immediately.
Naomi noticed.
“So there isn’t one in the store?”
“No.”
Naomi looked toward the younger woman.
The woman quickly looked away.
Naomi returned her attention to Lauren.
“What sizes do you have?”
Lauren’s patience disappeared.
“Seven.”
“Nine.”
“Ten.”
Naomi nodded.
“All right.”
She should have left.
That would have been the simplest thing.
Walk across Michigan Avenue.
Spend her money somewhere else.
Return to work.
Then she noticed the younger employee again.
The woman was staring at Lauren.
Not angrily.
Nervously.
That changed Naomi’s mind.
“What’s your name?”
Naomi asked her.
The employee froze.
Lauren answered first.
“She’s busy.”
Naomi looked at the younger woman.
“I asked her.”
The employee swallowed.
“Maya.”
Her name tag said MAYA BROOKS.
“Hi, Maya.”
“Hi.”
Naomi pointed toward the burgundy pumps.
“Do you know whether there’s an eight and a half?”
Lauren turned.
“Maya.”
One word.
Warning.
Maya looked at her manager.
Then Naomi.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Lauren’s face changed.
Maya continued carefully.
“There are two.”
“One in the stockroom.”
“One in reserve storage.”
Lauren said:
“Maya, go finish inventory.”
Maya did not move.
Naomi looked at Lauren.
“You just told me there weren’t any.”
Lauren’s jaw tightened.
“One pair is allocated.”
“What about the other?”
“It’s not prepared for sale.”
Naomi almost smiled.
“What does that mean?”
Lauren turned toward the front desk.
“Elaine?”
A woman in a tailored beige suit emerged from an office near the back.
Mid-forties.
Perfectly arranged blond hair.
A gold store-manager badge.
ELAINE MERCER
BOUTIQUE DIRECTOR
She approached with the expression of a person who had already decided the customer was the problem.
“What seems to be going on?”
Lauren answered before Naomi could.
“She wants the Bellissima Eight in eight and a half.”
“I explained that the private collection is appointment priority.”
“She keeps insisting.”
Elaine looked at Naomi.
Not the shoes.
Not Maya.
Naomi.
The assessment was quick.