Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes Read Online Free PDF

could each use a day off from work. Come on, just one day. Nobody says we have to buy anything…”
    â€œIf I say yes, can I go back to sleep?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYes.”
    Five minutes later…
    â€œAnd turn off that computer!”
    â€œSorry.”
    Still, for good measure and so that I’d have something to remind her with should she change her mind, I printed pictures of our three favorites: the Asha, the Ghost and the Parson Flats.
    â€œAnd stop using my printer!”
    â€œSorry.”
    Then I went to sleep, too.
    And all night long, I dreamt of the faceless Yo-Yo Man. I was in his arms, on my feet a pair of Ashas.
    I was dancing in my Jimmy Choos.

4
    B ut getting a day off from Squeaky Qlean was not as easy as I thought.
    â€œIf you absolutely need to be sick,” Stella said when I called her up with my lie, “then be sick tomorrow. We’ve got four jobs today and I need all squeegees on deck. Tomorrow there’s only one.”
    This turned out to be not such a bad thing because, while eating my cold Amy’s Cheese Pizza Pocket in the van after I’d finished the inside of the second job, I was struck by inspiration.
    On the bench between the driver’s seat and where I was sitting, feet propped up on the dash, lay Stella’s bible: her scheduling book. In it, were listed the names, addresses and phone numbers of the jobs for each day we worked. She usually left the prices out, perhaps for fear that if we ever actually knew how much she was bringing in, The Girls From Brazil and I—The Golden Squeegee, I might add!—would demand a higher hourly wage.
    Quickly, feeling very Nancy Drew, I flipped through Stella’s bible. She always tore off the corner of the page once the day was done, so it was easy work for me to find the page from the day before, on which was listed Elizabeth Hepburn’s name, her address and her no-doubt unlisted phone number.
    I found a pen on the seat and grabbed a parking ticket Stella was never going to pay anyway out of the glove compartment, and was just shoving the piece of paper into the pocket of my khakis when Rivera sauntered up.
    â€œYo, chica, ” she said.
    From time to time, I wondered if chica was actually a Portuguese word or if they just liked to play with me. A part of me was tempted to sneak onto Hillary’s computer that night and look it up on Babel Fish but then I decided I really did not want to know.
    â€œWhat’s The Golden Squeegee doing now,” Rivera asked, “looking through Stella’s book to see what time we might get off today? Damn, it’s a hot one.”
    â€œHeh,” I nervously laughed. “That’s exactly what I was doing. Heh.”
    Five hours later, home, grimy, exhausted, I picked up the phone, punched in the number on the parking ticket.
    It didn’t take more than a brief description, certainly there was no persuading required on my part, and Elizabeth Hepburn was on board.
    â€œAre you sure?” I said. “We’ll be taking the train and no one said we’re actually going to buy anything.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” she laughed. “I’ve been waiting for an offer like this for years —road trip!”

    â€œTell me again why we’re taking Elizabeth Hepburn to Jimmy Choo’s with us?” Hillary asked the next day just prior to pulling her red Jeep into Elizabeth Hepburn’s circular driveway.
    â€œBecause she’s old,” I said, “and we’ll be old one day, if we’re lucky, and we’ll hope to be invited out. Because she’s lonely and she’s fun.”
    â€œGood enough.”
    But, apparently, there was something about me that was no longer good enough for Elizabeth Hepburn.
    â€œTsk, tsk, tsk.” She tsked as I got out of the car.
    It would have been annoying but it had been a long time since anyone had cared enough to tsk-tsk me. My late mother had been a