Free Best Foot Forward by Joan Bauer Page A

Hen.
    â€œOkay, so . . . we’ll talk again.” He smiled. Doughnut people are refreshingly straightforward.
    â€œSure,” I said casually, tossing my hair and getting some of it in my mouth.
    He handed me four Duran’s Doughnuts coupons and left.
    I called Opal.
    â€œOkay, Jenna, you’re doing pretty well, but your voice sounds like you’re having trouble breathing.”
    â€œI am a little. . . .” I mentioned the coupons.
    â€œDon’t use those coupons,” she said. “Let him come to you.”
    â€œYou’re kidding? These are two for the price of one, Opal!”
    â€œYou’ve got to be casual and distant, Jenna. It’s the only way these days.”
    â€œWhat about you and Jacques?”
    â€œ He comes to the Fotomat booth to talk, Jenna. And he’s getting ready to ask me out.”
    â€œHow can you tell?”
    â€œHe asked me when I got off work in French. ”
    I put the doughnut coupons in my pocket and sighed.
    I can’t tell you how much I wanted a raspberry cream.

Chapter 12
    The puffy foot costume arrived at Gladstone Shoes. I took it out of the box; it was tan colored with prominent toes. It had a head hole and came with tan tights. On the front of it was written, PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD.
    It’s amazing how an advertising agency can destroy a good idea.
    â€œI’m not wearing it.” I said this firmly, embracing Al-Anon boundary-setting principles.
    Murray pushed back the two head hairs he had left. “I’m sure not wearing it.”
    Tanner was rushing through the front door, late again. He stared at the costume, felt the puffy material. “You’d get shot wearing this in my neighborhood.”
    The puffy foot costume was part of a big Labor Day Blowout Sales Extravaganza we were going to have at the Shoe Warehouse Corporation’s 498 stores across America: 498 puffy feet were going to march into malls and streets to wave, pass out coupons, and overwhelm America. Getting ready for a big sale wasn’t easy. We’d lugged hundreds of shoes from the stockroom and put them on shelves. We’d hung the Best Foot Forward banner across the ceiling.
    â€œWe could say it didn’t come,” Murray offered.
    I put the costume down. “I signed for the package with UPS.”
    â€œWe could maybe pay my nephew Lyle to wear it,” Murray offered, “but if it’s not hypoallergenic, in ten minutes he’d be spitting up phlegm.”
    â€œThere’s a bonus for whoever wears it,” Mrs. Gladstone added, coming up from behind.
    Tanner stepped forward. “What would my bonus be?”
    Mrs. Gladstone cleared her throat. “A watch—which, young man, you could sorely use—and overtime pay.”
    â€œI got to wear the tights?”
    â€œI’m afraid so.”
    â€œCan I wear my shades?” Tanner put on his mirrored sunglasses, raised his hands like a dancer, and froze.
    Mrs. Gladstone’s smile broke wide open. “I think they would greatly add to the depth of your characterization.”
    Â 
    Tanner put his best foot forward and stood on Wabash Street outside Gladstone Shoes and almost caused a riot. He was bowing to people, blowing kisses to women, patting little kids on the head, and handing out the coupons.
    20% OFF
STOREWIDE EXTRAVAGANZA SALE
THE SHOE WAREHOUSE COMPANIES
PUTTING OUR BEST FOOT FORWARD FOR YOU
    â€œWhat are you, man?” a teenage guy asked Tanner.
    â€œI’m a foot fetish,” Tanner explained.
    â€œNo!” I shouted. “He’s just kidding.” I glared at Tanner’s face poking from the head hole; saw myself mirrored back. I hate mirrored sunglasses.
    â€œI’m the Best Foot Forward,” Tanner said obediently and handed the guy a coupon. “And this is your lucky day.”
    â€œAre you a right foot or a left foot?” a little girl asked him.
    Tanner looked at the toes protruding out