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Back The Shoe Queen Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. “And may I say, those shoes are adorable.”
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. ( I )
  7. ( one )
  8. ( two )
  9. ( three )
  10. ( four )
  11. ( five )
  12. ( six )
  13. ( seven )
  14. ( eight )
  15. ( nine )
  16. ( ten )
  17. ( II )
  18. ( eleven )
  19. ( twelve )
  20. ( thirteen )
  21. ( fourteen )
  22. ( fifteen )
  23. ( III )
  24. ( sixteen )
  25. ( seventeen )
  26. ( eighteen )
  27. ( nineteen )
  28. ( IV )
  29. ( twenty )
  30. ( twenty-one )
  31. ( twenty-two )
  32. ( twenty-three )
  33. ( twenty-four )
  34. ( V )
  35. ( twenty-five )
  36. ( twenty-six )
  37. ( twenty-seven )
  38. ( twenty-eight )
  39. ( twenty-nine )
  40. VI
  41. ( thirty )
  42. ( thirty-one )
  43. ( thirty-two )
  44. ( thirty-three )
  45. ( thirty-four )
  46. ( VII )
  47. ( thirty-five )
  48. ( thirty-six )
  49. ( thirty-seven )
  50. ( thirty-eight )
  51. ( thirty-nine )
  52. ( forty )
  53. ( forty-one )
  54. ( forty-two )
  55. ( VIII )
  56. ( forty-three )
  57. ( forty-four )
  58. ( forty-five )
  59. ( forty-six )
  60. ( forty-seven )
  61. ( forty-eight )
  62. ( forty-nine )
  63. ( fifty )
  64. ( fifty-one )
  65. Acknowledgments
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. Questions for Discussion

“I’ll have to settle on a suitable venue, of course.”

“Of course.” Lulu looked quite restored now. “You could commission some special works. Something by Braque or Derain. Oh, and Sonia Delaunay. Have you seen her latest fashion designs? Very Cubist. She’s going to be the star of the Exposition, you know.”

“Excellent. Would you help me, Lulu? You know all the artists, after all.”

But Lulu was distracted again. Her gaze darted about before she seized Genevieve’s arm and whispered in her ear.

“Don’t look now, chérie, but that damn penguin just walked in.”

( four )

ROBERT CAME UP WITH the idea at the end of one of his poker nights. These were regular, monthly jaunts with Harry Mortimer and his pals at a tiny club in Montmartre. They ate supper and had a few drinks and played a little poker. Robert wasn’t a cards man. He’d never played until he’d come to Paris and met Harry. The evenings at the club—all that drinking, the great haze of smoke, the chips pushed back and forth over the green baize and a certain kind of talk—these things were a form of holiday decadence, as far as he was concerned. Permissible during the extended sojourn in Paris, but due to end forever with the inevitable (though not scheduled, as yet) return home to his family and the factory and his Boston way of life.

Harry was at least ten years older than Robert—a stout, balding newspaperman with quick wits, a quicker temper and sufficient experience held under that straining belt of his to justify those strong opinions. He was a dissolute version of Robert’s own father, and this made him attractive company. The poker was a challenge. Robert played too cautiously and knew it. Sometimes, when he’d folded again and yet again, he’d catch Harry raising an eyebrow just ever-so-slightly, egging him on. Go on, Robert. Get in the game. Be a devil. But he didn’t seem to have it in him—that devilish streak. That was real money on the table. If his two cards weren’t obviously good, he just wouldn’t play. Sometimes the flop would be laid out and he’d see he could have had a straight, after all, and taken the hand. But other times his cards turned out to be worthless, and he’d sip his drink with the quiet satisfaction that he’d been right to stay the hell out.