#notdancer

She was buzzing with excitement as they wait at the reception desk for the shoemaker. Her costume designer and two other crew members were waiting with her, boredom on their faces.

Finally, a prim lady and a dashing gentleman entertains them.

“We have an appointment for Libby Marron,” her costume designer tells the newcomers.

“Which one of you is Ms. Libby?” Asks the receptionist with a smile. Her costume designer gently pushes her forward and her smile widens.

“Please follow me,” the lady tells the party, and they all walk to what looks like a stockroom or a fitting room with a small table in a corner.

“Please wait for the shoemaker here,” the receptionist says before leaving them to sit in the corner. Libby knows it looks silly that she’s losing her mind over shoes since she’s somewhat considered a successful actress anyway, but they don’t understand–this is to her like a culmination of her career, where something she absolutely loves will be given to her for free as part of her character, or just the glamorous side of her industry altogether. Her inner monologue was interrupted by a voice.

“Good day, guys. Shall we start designing?”

Libby looked up at the man who spoke, sitting with them at the small corner table. Her excitement intensifies and she felt the way she did the first time she got her first big role.

“So… dance shoes?”

“Ye.”

She’s grinning so widely. She decides not to wait for further probing.

“I like it brown. And leather, hand-sewn if possible because I have such iron feet that easily break normal shoes,” she begins, her inner excitement slowly but obviously pouring out, “and if you could help me choose, I’d appreciate it. You see, I like several designs: Oxfords, Brogues, Derby, and Mary Janes. I love them all. But you’re the designer, so you have the genius of coming up with a design that fits all those criteria while still suiting my overall look. I don’t wanna look like a pair of shoes was wearing me, right?”

The shoemaker finishes scribbling her preferences and they begin discussing more specifications–except payment, of course, because this pair of shoes will be paid for by production!

Shoemaker looks at Libby.

“Anything else?”

“Can you make the tap metals removable?”

She hears a sort of noise from the costume designer and she somehow feels embarrassed, but she’s determined to take this opportunity.

“I’d just love it so much if I could use it on other occasions when I’m not dancing,” she quickly glances at the costume designer, “I’m willing to pay for that extra-charge, though!”

Shoemaker nods and scribbles one last time and alas, they finally finish. They finish up on some finalizations in schedules and exchange a few cordialities, and just before they stand, with some hesitation, she speaks up almost in a whisper:

“So, these shoes… they’re gonna be mine, right?” She asks almost breathlessly, with eyes sparkling as if viewing a reverent object. The shoemaker glances at the costume designer uncomfortably, while the costume designer coolly looks at her and says,

“No.”

Her dreamy mood was shattered.

“No? But–why not?” She asks with confusion, but quickly gauging that no one’s budging, she reasons, “I mean–what else is it gonna be used for??”

Costume designer gives a slight chuckle before turning to the shoemaker and bidding final farewell. Everyone leaves and Libby had no choice but to follow the party.

“Hey–no one else’s gonna benefit from it so why can’t I have it?” Libby is not giving these shoes up.

“After production, we have to return it to this shop,”

“For?”

“For bidding.” Costume designer faces Libby squarely, “they’re gonna auction it. They’re a business, Lib.”

A beat, then Libby:

“That’s a thing??” *********************************

Libby had been waiting for that auction. It hadn’t been very long since she had to surrender the shoes back, but long enough for someone like her who is so eager to have HER shoes back.

Yes, hers. It’s hers and she won’t let anyone say otherwise.

The encounter on that shoe shop actually put her spirits down during the production, but of course she won’t let it show–maybe she can change their minds, give her the shoes when they see how dedicated she was. Besides, she’s an actress, and acting is a natural part of life.

It didn’t happen though, and she had to give her shoes back after production was finished. She remembers staring at the shoes the night before, feeling actual loneliness that she’d have to give these shoes away–shoes that were made exactly for her, to her liking. She knew how stupid she looked for actually being close to tears as she said goodbye to the shoes, but they don’t understand–this has a symbolic meaning to her.

The auction season finally came around and she wasn’t even sure if she needed to be formally invited or have an invitation. If her shoes were gonna be featured in there, shouldn’t she be invited?

Libby shrugs. Libby doesn’t care.

She prepares for auction night with comfortable and appropriate attire, wore another pair of (not as beloved) shoes. She arrives in the venue which isn’t as crowded as one may expect–it’s just adequately full of people, exactly as much as the venue can accommodate comfortably. She settles, silently watching the auction, waiting for her shoes.

The moment comes.

“And now these tap shoes, which actress Libby Marron wore in the movie ‘Shirley Temple’,” two showgirls wheel in a table to the stage, and there atop lie her most prized possession–her beloved shoes, “Marron herself co-designed these shoes, every detail specific to her liking. It features classic menswear-inspired design such as minimal broguing detail and an overall appearance of a Mary Jane. And–watch this–”

The presenter picks up a shoe and with a click, the metal at the sole is removed-

“The metal is removable, so you can wear it even when you’re not in the mood to groove!”

There wasn’t as much enthusiasm in the response among the crowd and though it would usually make Libby feel sad for the presenter who’s doing his best to hype the audience, she was actually pumped because it means that no one’s as interested in the shoes, and it’s definitely gonna be hers.

“The bidding price begins at 500 dollars.” Libby freezes. Whoever thinks that people would be willing to pay $500 for shoes neither vintage nor brand new? The announcement was met with silence. Libby decides to take the opportunity.

“500 dollars,” she repeats, and the presenter somewhat looks at her weirdly. What, actresses can’t be cheap? There’s nothing cheap about $500 for a pair of shoes!

The presenter looks among the crowd, searching for another interested bidder. Not that it’s his loss or anything, but he takes it personally somehow when people aren’t fighting over pieces he presents. A victorious smile slowly creeps on Libby’s face as the shoes slowly become hers, when a male voice–a male!!–interrupts to bid higher.

“How about 550?”

Libby almost snaps her neck as she faces the devi–the man, and sees a rich kid who just seems to want to pull her leg. Man!! She wasn’t even willing to pay 500, and now the price shot to 550! She doesn’t give up.

“I…” she starts hesitantly. It may not be allowed, but she decides to take the chance,

“…I bid 551.”

Now that got the crowd’s attention. A few chuckles and an incredulous look from the presenter.

“551, eh?” The presenter seems jolly but unsure.

“552.”

Libby wonders what the hell is wrong with the rich man that is Nate Wagner, a showbiz personality who suddenly decided it would be fun to tease her like this. This isn’t even a man’s shoe!!

“552 and 99 cents!” Libby declares, and she shoots a glare at Nate who is grinning widely while she hears (in her head or for real, no one can know) maniacal laughter. The presenter is beginning to feel humiliated that this auction has turned into a joke.

“555,” Libby was about to strongly retort when another male voice declares, “a thousand dollars.”

Everybody looks at the man who’s willing to pay a thousand dollars for a used pair of shoes. What is wrong with these people? Libby stands searching for the man and finds him standing at the back of the auction room, looking at the presenter and just briefly glancing at her. She realizes that it was Kit, her co-star, who surely has even the vaguest idea of how much she wants the shoes, so what the hell is he doing?

Her subconscious puzzles and tells her that they were linked by fans and paparazzis during production. It was ignored by her conscious.

Libby has now lost hope. She loves the shoes, but she just can’t spend that much on it, or on anything. She crosses her arms and plops on her seat with a huff and pout. The shoes are now Kit’s. Nate Wagner’s interest is piqued, however, and with a smile says, “A thousand and hundred dollars?”

Libby’s mouth opens and she faces Nate. Whether with indignance or awe, she’s not sure, and she cannot know–for the bidding had become a ping-pong match.

“$1,200.”

“$1,300!!”

“$1,400,”

“$1,5–”

“STOP!” A voice loudly interrupts, and everyone turns to see that it’s Libby.

“Are you really willing to pay that much for a pair of used shoes that you cannot even use??”

Silence.

“Nate, I think you’re only pushing my buttons,” she tried to sound playfully serious, “you can stop now. I really wanted those shoes.”

She faces Kit. “You–what are you doing??”

“I was bidding them for you.”

She froze. The presenter froze. Everybody froze.

She stares dumbstruck until she recovers.

“but why” she asks like a dumb meme.

“Nate was testing you and you really like those shoes. I plan to buy them so you can buy them from me,” Libby didn’t know what to feel, or think, but she was more used to saying no than to saying yes, so her mouth spoke.

“You don’t have to do that,” she smiles warmly at Kit, and decides to be touched by his gesture. They might have developed a friendship from that shoot after all.  

Now there was a very brief silence. As the presenter looks around at the three, Libby continues: “Your and Nate’s bids are invalid.” She then looks at the presenter.