Seven Minutes to Noon

the limo driver, the dream of forgetting and escape, even the girl.
    She would take another sleeping pill tonight, she decided. In the morning, with a clear mind, she would sort all this out.
    She arrived at Blue Shoes just before eleven and switched on the lights. The gorgeous colors Maggie had chosen for the store, the blues and silvers and palewoods, coaxed Alice away from the swallowing sensation that had grabbed her just now on the street. She opened the cash register and answered a few e-mails. Jason arrived soon after, more or less on time.
    With his wiry build in a T-shirt and jeans, pale gaze and close-cropped blond hair dusted with silver glitter, Jason reminded Alice of Peter Pan: young and sweet and ridiculously hopeful.
    “Morning, boss.” He smiled his most cocky, man-at-twenty smile and checked his watch. “Made it on time today!”
    If ten minutes late is on time, she thought. But what she said was, “Boy, am I glad you’re here.”
    He came around the counter and kissed Alice on both cheeks, taking her by surprise. He smelled sweet, cologny — thoroughly un-American. He must have been spending time with the local French transplants who had lately claimed the neighborhood. Little France, Maggie called it. She enjoyed the affectation of his perfumed kisses for a moment before her stomach reeled. Then she ran into the bathroom, slammed shut the door and threw up.
    She spent the rest of the morning hiding out in the peaceful, shabby back room, feeding herself toast and ice water and lying on the couch. She listened as Jason politely served a customer. Three times he came back for different shoes in the woman’s size. Then, without the sound of the cash register — no sale for all that fuss, though that wasn’t unusual — the customer left.
    It was quiet for a while before Maggie arrived. The welcome bell dinged immediately after, announcing another arrival, and the hum of business out front tightened to a buzz. Women’s voices spun furiously around quick punctuations of Jason’s quasi-sardonic laughter. The bubbling tone of Maggie’s enthusiasms was like boiled sugar to Jason’s quick stirs. Alice was sure she heard Pam Short’s voice. She had to find out what was happening out there.
    Pam was seated on the center bench, queenlike in aflowing magenta caftan with uneven green stripes. Her hair was tied up in a magenta and green polka-dotted ribbon.
    “Alice!” Pam opened her arms but didn’t rise. “Come here. Let me have a hug.”
    Alice leaned over and put her arms around Pam. She smelled like baby powder.
    “Did I miss an appointment?” Alice asked, wondering how badly her inner clock had been thrown off by her escalating nausea.
    “Nope,” Pam said. “We’ve just got the two o’clock. Can’t I visit my favorite shoe store? I’m taking an early lunch hour.”
    “Slow morning in real estate?” Maggie said.
    “You got it, honey.”
    Maggie was just then putting away the last customer’s try-ons, nestling a burnt orange autumn pump against its mate in a bed of pearl tissue paper. She placed the lid carefully on the box and handed it to Jason.
    “Hold it a minute,” Pam said. “I’ll take a look at those lovelies.”
    Maggie opened the box and presented it to Pam as if offering a selection of the most delectable chocolates.
    “Shall we find your size?”
    “Please,” Pam whispered. She lifted one of the shoes out of the box and ran her fingers along the suede toe.
    A minute later, Jason came out of the back room and announced, “We don’t have a nine.”
    “Can you order it?” Pam asked.
    “Of course we can,” Maggie answered.
    “Tell you what,” Alice said. “Find me the perfect house by the end of the week and the shoes are on me.”
    “You have got yourself a deal!” Pam stood up, flouncing the wrinkles out of her caftan. “How about throwing lunch into the bargain? Doesn’t look like they need you here.” She winked at Maggie, who gamely nodded.
    “You go on, darling,” Maggie said. “Jason and I can handle the hordes.”
    Alice collected her purse, said her good-byes and left her shift early to treat Pam to lunch. She was hungry, though skeptical of her ability just now to hold anything down.
    Walking arm in arm with Pam along Smith Street, Alice asked, “What do you feel like eating?”
    “Julius Pollack.” Pam stopped walking and pivoted to face Alice.
    “Excuse me?”
    “He just paid me a little visit at my office. I had to get out of