Ruby's Slippers (25 page)

“Abby.” I square off with her. “You were talking to that man.”

“What?” The noise of the crowd has grown too loud. People hustle past us, bumping against a shoulder, an elbow. Otto settles between my feet.

“That man! You were talking to him earlier.”

She glances at her watch. “We’re going to be late. We’ll miss our opportunity.” She grabs my arm again and jerks me forward. “Come on!”

We weave through the crowd, not breaking our connection, passing those walking in the same direction at a faster clip. Abby situates me in front of a table. Cameras surround us. Self-conscious, I brush the hair off my forehead. Just beyond the lights, I see Leo, Sophia, and Tim. They’re smiling. I try to signal them to come join me.

An elderly gentleman steps up to the table.

“Hello!” Abby shakes hands with him. “Abby Meyers.” Abby beams and tosses her hair off her shoulder. “I’ve been a fan of the
Roadshow
forever. I’m always amazed at the amount of history you guys know.”

He gives her a tolerant smile. “So you think you have a pair of ruby slippers?”

I narrow my eyes at this man who seems doubtful and a tiny bit on the cynical side.

“I’m sure they’re authentic!” Abby smiles for the camera. “They were given to my grandmother by Judy Garland herself.” She turns to me then. “This is my sister, Dottie.”

He holds out his hand, which I shake.

Otto races under the table.

“What was that?” he asks, taking a step back. “Was that a—”

“My dog. It’s okay. Here, boy. Come here, Otto.”

“Dogs aren’t allowed in here.” A man wearing jeans and a flannel shirt steps forward.

“He’ll be quiet,” Abby says, defending him.

I give her a smile of gratitude.

“As I was saying,” she turns her attention to the little man who will judge our shoes, “our mother had these hidden for years and years. You see, she had polio when she was a little girl, and it damaged one of her legs. She walked with a limp.”

“Abby,” I put a hand on her arm, “tell him about our grandmother. She’s the one who got them.”

“Oh, you’re right.” She takes a calming breath, placing a hand over her heart. “I’m a bit flustered. Anyway, our grandmother worked in the wardrobe department at MGM. She and Judy Garland became friends during the shooting of
The Wizard of Oz
. When the movie wrapped, Judy gave them to her.”

“Uh-huh.” The man looks dubious at best. “Interesting story. You know there’s not just one pair of shoes.”

“Of course.” Abby laughs, but her eyes shift toward me nervously.

“There’s never just one dress or suit or pair of shoes for a Hollywood star, especially in a musical. Multiple costumes are made. In fact, all the studios kept their old costumes, reused them. But in the case of
The Wizard of Oz
, the costumes were so unique, so recognizable, they weren’t reused, just pushed farther and farther into storage.”

Her face relaxes into a smile. “Of course.”

Sophia waves at me from the crowd. She’s holding a bag of popcorn.

“For
The Wizard of Oz
,” the host clears his throat, “one pair of shoes was used exclusively for the shot where Judy clicks her heels together. But other shoes were used and worn to a frazzle when Judy danced.”

“Well, yes, but these,” Abby pats the box, “have
J. G.
written on the soles.”

The host’s mouth quirks into a tight, disbelieving smile. “Yes, well, anyone could have placed that there.”

“But—”

“Abby, wait.”

The man raises a finger. “Don’t forget that there were also shoes made that were not used in the film. Different styles. Debbie Reynolds owns a pair known as the Arabian ruby slippers, as they’re in the style of an Arabian genie’s. Of course, there was also a larger pair used by the witch—the one the house lands on. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

I place the box on the table and pull off the lid. Then I notice the FBI agent and the exotic woman standing in the crowd, watching and waiting. A moment later the host cups
one shoe in his hand, turns it over carefully, examining not only the sequins but also the heel and sole. “See this?” He points with his index finger at the stitching. “The original ruby slippers were handcrafted by the Innes Shoe Company. They used the actual foot of Judy Garland to fashion the shoes. A lot of stories have been told about these shoes. One is that Dorothy’s dog, Toto, ate one of the slippers in her dressing room.”

I glance under the table at Otto who’s sitting quietly, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth as he pants. I’ll have to remember not to leave him alone with the shoes.

“One pair of shoes,” the host says, “was given away in a contest to promote the movie back in 1940.”

“Didn’t the owner sell those shoes?” Abby asks.

“Indeed. But we’ll get to that in a minute. Around 1960 some fake slippers were made and sold as the real deal. So that complicated matters in determining the authenticity of the actual ruby slippers used for the movie. Look inside,” he turns the shoe over, his hand trembling slightly, “at this label. Every authentic pair of ruby slippers has either a white label with red-and-black lettering …”

I stare at the silver label in our pair of shoes. My emotions twist. Would it be better if our shoes were a fake? They’d still be important to me.

“Or,” he continues, “an embossed stamp in either silver or gold.”

“We have that!” Abby exclaims.

“Yes. But so did the fake pairs that were made because someone photographed one of the original pairs. Now the shoe manufacturer started with a basic pump that was then covered with red satin and lined with a creamy kid leather. Fish-scale sequins were used. They were unique to that time
period. And you can tell by the thickness of the sequins. See!

No dimple in the middle.”

“Do ours have a dimple?” Abby leans closer.

“No dimple here.” He smiles, this time pure pleasure lighting his eyes.

My mouth goes dry as we inch closer to a verdict. I feel my problems doubling. What will we do with these shoes? Split them? Abby taking one, me taking the other? It could be a showdown of western cinematic proportions.

“Each shoe,” the host says, “was covered with anywhere from two to three thousand sequins. The shoes were dyed a deep crimson red. Since they used Technicolor film for this groundbreaking movie, the studio wanted to be sure the shoes didn’t fade to orange on film.”

He tenderly rubs his hand over the shoes. “Just imagine, Judy Garland might have worn these very shoes.” He looks straight at a camera that seems to be moving closer to us.

I brace my hands on the table and force my gaze off the dark lens and onto the host’s face which is tilted downward toward the shoes. “What’s the answer?”

Leo, Sophia, and Tim edge toward us. I wave them over. Then we’re all together, peering down at the shoes that brought us together. I can smell Sophia’s buttery popcorn. She takes a couple of kernels and tosses them under the table for Otto.

The host carefully sets the shoe on the table like a gavel. “So you came to us today to determine if this pair of slippers is one of the original pairs worn by the late and great Judy Garland for
The Wizard of Oz
?”

“Absolutely. So what’s the verdict?”

“What do you think so far?” he asks, like he’s baiting a hook.

I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could he be holding back a piece of the puzzle? Will he say our grandmother was a liar?

“From all you’ve said, I’d say these are definitely
the
ruby slippers.” Abby positions herself for the camera, leaning toward the host, back arched, smile in place.

My heart hammers so hard in my chest I imagine my shirt buttons must be moving.

“Actually, one little thing tells me for sure whether these are the actual shoes used in the movie.” He turns the shoes over again. “The television audience may not be able to see this, but there’s a number here. A lot number.” He picks up the other shoe. “These match.”

“What does that mean?” Leo’s breath bathes my hair. His hand settles on my waist as he peers down at the shoes.

“Many folks believe there were six or seven pairs of the ruby slippers made for the movie. Many of the pairs don’t match, and experts think they were just tossed in a bin together. Your pair seems to be unique in that they do match. And they’re the same size. Just five and a half.”

“Judy Garland had small feet.” Sophia stands beside me, her hand reassuringly at my back.

“So are you saying these
are the
ruby slippers?” I feel Otto next to my ankle. He leans into me, scratches his ear with his back foot.

“From your family story, which precedes the auction at the studios in the seventies, I’d say your grandmother must have been given, to the best of my judgment,” the host grins for the camera, “the originals.”

Abby whoops. I blink, not quite able to take it all in.

“So how much are they worth?” Abby takes the shoe from the host.

“There was an auction several years ago where a pair of ruby slippers was sold.” The host talks right to the camera.

I stare at the shoes, imagining them on my mother’s tiny feet. She was small but strong. Stronger than I had ever imagined.

“Christie’s handled the auction,” the host continues.

“They sold for over six hundred thousand,” Abby adds, her eyes glittering with what I can only imagine is greed. She must have done her research.

“Yes,” the host says.

Leo’s hand on my shoulder presses gently, reassuringly into my flesh. His fingers graze my collarbone. “You okay?”

I swallow the emotions jamming my throat and nod.

“But I wouldn’t put the price there. Because that was back in 2000.” The host reaches for the other shoe which still rests in the box. “Inflation considered, along with the fact that these are a perfect match, I place their value at upwards of one million dollars. Maybe more.”

Abby’s eyes widen. She grabs my arm, shakes me. “Dottie! Can you believe it?”

* * *

WHEN THE CAMERA is off, we shake hands with the host, who gives us his card in case we want to be hooked up with an auction house. I pack the shoes back into the box and tuck them under my arm. Our little group exchanges hugs, first my uncle, then Sophia and finally Leo, holds my shoulders. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“Overwhelming.”

He wraps his arms around me, and for a moment I feel safe. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. And yet, there’s something more—something that feels dangerous. Dangerous to my heart.

Pulling back enough to smile down at me, his gaze drops to my mouth and I feel my stomach tighten. He moves to kiss me.

But there’s a tug at my arm. I jerk sideways. “The shoes!”

The FBI agent—or whoever he is—takes off through the crowd.

Leo springs into motion. He pushes and bounds his way through the parting crowd. Otto races ahead of me. His little body whips in and out of legs and feet, then through the doors and out of the convention center. Sophia and Tim follow behind me, with Abby screeching and hollering, “Stop him! Stop that man!”

“Where’d he go?” I burst through the doorway. If Chesterfield gets away with the shoes, then I’ll have nothing left. As quickly as that thought enters my mind, I reject it. That’s not true. Already I have gained so much.

Sophia catches up to me, out of breath. “Do you see him?”

Then I catch a glimpse of Leo’s blond hair.

“Where’s Otto?” I ask.

“Otto?” Tim reaches us, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth as he draws quick breaths.

“Did he get away?” Abby arrives, standing beside me barefoot. She must have kicked off her high heels.

“I don’t know yet.”

We push out into the steamy sunshine. Otto’s barking draws my attention. A tussle on the second tier of steps
galvanizes me. I head down the stairs but turn midway and help Sophia and Tim, making sure they don’t fall. When I turn around, Leo has Chesterfield on the ground. There’s a flash of a fist, then a smack and grunting noise. A crowd has formed around them. A lady screams for police. Otto barks encouragement to Leo. The shoebox falls to the ground, kicked aside by scrambling feet. I rush forward, pulling off the top. Yellowed tissue paper falls out, but I can see the shoes safely inside.

“Leo!” I cry out. “I’ve got them.” But he’s too busy pummeling Chesterfield to notice.

Security arrives and pulls the two men apart. Chesterfield is arrested for trying to steal the ruby slippers. Leo stands nearby, arms crossed, his look fierce as Chesterfield is cuffed and escorted to a waiting police car. I can hear the squawk of a radio. People walk past and clap Leo on the back, calling him a hero.

My hero.

His face sweaty, he looks over at me and grins.

I notice a smear of what looks like blood across his cheek. His jaw is puffy. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah. You okay? The shoes?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Never did like that guy.”

“FBI, my elbow!” Sophia pulls a crumpled bag of popcorn out of her bag and bends down to give Otto a reward for his efforts.

Laughing, I hug them all. “Well, I guess now we can go home.”

“But you don’t have a home, my dear,” Tim says.

“Yes, I do.” It may not be a place, but I have one nevertheless, with friends and family that I love. For the first time
in my life, I feel as if I truly belong, as if dreams can come true. “Where’s Abby?”

She rushes up to us. “Way to go, Leo! You got the shoes, Dottie?” She puts a hand on the box I’m holding squarely. “Can you believe how much these babies are worth?”

“I’ve been approached by a couple of investors,” Abby explains. “And let me tell you, they are eager to buy these. What do you want to do, Dottie?” She gives me the same little-girl look she always used when begging me to play. “Come on, Dottie!” she’d say, tugging on my arm. “Please!” Her adult voice cuts into my memories. “We could make a lot of money, more money than the farm sold for. It could be the start of a new life for you.”

But it wouldn’t give me what I’ve wanted all along—a family. Now I have Abby and my father. Maybe it’s not how I imagined—the Beaver Cleaver model—but still, it’s my family. Yet I don’t want my sister hanging around if all she ultimately wants is to sell the shoes and cash in. I want Abby to share the love I have for her. Nothing else.