Far From Perfect: A Cinderella Story
The exterior window of the Glass Slipper Shoe Emporium was covered in running streams of clear water. The streams formed elaborate patterns, similar to those on the little shoe painted on the swinging sign outside. It was a cold night, rather windy, come to think of it. No one would come anywhere near the little store that night. Not that people came anywhere near it when the sky wasn't crying her heart out. There were only a few regulars that managed to keep the shop open, but other than that….
"Sales down since October! Want to guess the percentage?"
That was Oliver's voice. Oliver, the freckled, curly haired boy that Nora was blessed and cursed to work with.
"No thanks, Oliver," murmured Nora, closing her eyes to prevent her from visibly rolling them.
Nora was a pessimist. A glass-half-empty sort of person. She guessed she liked working in the Emporium, but she couldn't be completely sure. It was doubtful.
"Ten percent!" declared Oliver, a huge, beaming grin spreading across his pinkish face.
Nora glared at him and leaned heavily on the glossy counter. "You're happy about that?"
"Of course!" Oliver said proudly. "Last month we were down fifteen percent!"
That was it. Nora couldn't take it. Her small reserve of 'Tolerance for Oliver's Infinite Ignorance' was spent. She felt a scream attempting to claw its way up her throat. She knew she was on the verge of tears.
Patience was not one of her virtues.
So she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on each inhale and exhale until she calmed.
"Nora?" Oliver whispered gently. "You okay?"
"It was five percent last month, Oliver," Nora muttered under her breath.
"Oh…."
"Watch your numbers, dork," Nora groaned, lowering her voice to barely a whisper at 'dork'. She opened her eyes to scan the dimly lit shop with its flashing old light. She could hear a buzzing electrical sound from the storeroom, where most of the shoes were kept. From the small kitchen in the back, she heard the faint sound of a kettle.
Then there was a laugh. Oliver, ever the optimistic young male, was laughing at Nora's words as if they were a joke.
So she just glared up at him again, hoping it wouldn't encourage him to continue his loud, breathless laugh.
It encouraged him. So Nora went back to her thoughts.
She's thought a lot since…'the Accident'. Her thoughts and daydreams were her safe haven. The one place where she could get away and just…exist. Not feel pressure. She could be herself, just be Nora.
"Oliver!" Mrs. Hoffman called from the back. "Nora! Do you want some tea?"
At that, Oliver ceased his laughing and smiles. "Might as well," he said, shrugging. Nora nodded and wheeled herself to the kitchen door, which Oliver politely opened.
Inside, the scent of freshly baked bread filled the air. This was the best-lit room in the shop. On slow days (which were the bulk of the store's days now), Mrs. Hoffman would spend most of the business hours in the kitchen, baking and cooking. Mrs. Hoffman was like that.
She was a petite German woman in her early seventies. Her face, though, was barely wrinkled. She had high cheekbones and clear, blue eyes. Her jaw paralleled her cheeks and a long, thin nose sat above her thin lips that were always curled up in a beaming smile.
Especially now. In each of her hands was a plum-colored mug with white Celtic-looking patterns on the top. On the counter to her right sat two loaves of bread (probably banana, knowing Mrs. Hoffman) perfectly wrapped in bright green plastic.
Oliver took his mug with a grateful smile and Nora followed. They both thanked Mrs. Hoffman in turn and began sipping their smooth chamomile.
"Another slow day?" Mrs. Hoffman said in her soft, motherly way. She reached over to pick up her mug (filled with black tea and one sugar, thank you very much)/
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but Nora cut him off.
"Mostly. Just Ms. Smith and Sherry Anderson."
"No Eliza?" Mrs. Hoffman questioned in a confused tone of voice.
Eliza…Elizabeth Finnegan to Nora. Maybe even 'Miss Finnegan' or simply 'miss'. She was one of the regulars. She came nearly every day to boss Nora and Oliver around the storeroom, looking for shoes small enough for her 'dainty' feet.
She was the daughter of Nora's landlady, which made her believe that she had authority over her. So during each of their meetings, Eliza found something to tell Nora to do. And after the Accident, Nora was, in effect, defenseless to Eliza's cruel treatment.
"Yeah, she was here around five," Oliver mumbles. He didn't care much for Eliza either, and hadn't since she'd started making fun of his hair and freckles.
Mrs. Hoffman glanced quietly at Nora before reminding them, "It's her money that keeps us open."
She was, sadly, correct. Mrs. Hoffman didn't like Eliza because of how she treated Nora and Oliver with no respect. She was loud too. Mrs. Hoffman always knew Eliza by the sound of high heels and her shrill voice.
"All right!" exclaimed Mrs. Hoffman suddenly, standing and collecting mugs. "We have been delaying closing time too long! It's already eight!"
Nora's eyes widened as she looked over at the old grandfather clack that had somehow managed to fit in the tiny kitchen. It was, indeed, eight o'clock. How had it gotten so late? Time sure does fly….
"Right!" agreed Oliver, helping Mrs. Hoffman with the mugs. "Nora, will you need any help getting to the bus stop?"
"Nah," Nora whispered, moving herself through the doorway and into the long hall. She quickly grabbed her back, jacked and umbrella and waited for Oliver to open the door far her, which luckily, did not take long.
"Mrs. Hoffman told me to give this to you, Nora," Oliver said as he closed the door. He handed Nora a loaf of Mrs. Hoffman's bread and opened his ridiculous neon orange umbrella to hold above their heads.
"You really don't have to help, Oliver," Nora mumbled. She didn't like being fussed over by people, and Oliver was one of those people that sometimes help too much.
"You sure?" Oliver said hesitantly. "Seriously, this is a busy city, and you never know who-"
"I'll be fine, Oliver, really," Nora interrupted. "Don't worry about me. Plus, the driver doesn't mind me at all. Even gives me a discount."
Oliver sighed. "Fine," he mumbles. "But I'm waiting at the stop with you."
"You sound like a kid!" Nora laughed, trying to distract him so he wouldn't worry so much. She glanced up at Oliver and saw him shrug.
"Call me when you get home, okay?" he whispered.
"Whatever…" Nora stopped, arriving at her destination. "So…how'd it go with Sherry today?"
Oliver blushed a little and Nora laughed.
"That bad, eh?" Nora said, trying to stop her smile form getting any bigger, but failing horribly.
"Five pairs of shoes today," Oliver shuddered. "She bought five pairs of shoes."
Nora gave up the fight against her face. "Wow, she's really trying to get your attention now, isn't she?"
"That's one hundred dollars!" Oliver exclaimed. "No…more than that. At least one hundred fifty!"
Nora shook her head and noticed lights nearing the stop. "There's the bus, Oliver," she muttered, trying to hide the disappointment and annoyance. Home-or, to be more correct, 'house' or 'apartment'- was not a place that she wanted to be now.
"All right," Oliver said quietly. The enclosed white bus came to a stop in front of them and the driver began to step out. "Have a good night."
"You too," Nora whispered.