Part II: The Fall
The doorman grasped my elbow protectively as he guided me up the stairs and out of the storm. I thanked him profusely as he took my (useless) umbrella out of my hands and closed it with a practiced ease. "Bet you're glad to be out of that mess, huh?" he asked. Just this brief, pleasant exchange, combined with being out of the fury of Mother Nature and the other horrible events of the morning, made me feel … protected, taken care of. What a nice older gentleman! He saw I was in distress, soaked, stressed, and helped me. I loved this place. It was safe. I smiled at him gratefully, feeling the pink, happy glow of unexpected, caring interaction between two strangers. I was here. Mission accomplished. Now I could relax and enjoy the rest of my day.
Determined to shake off my rocky start, I straightened up, shook the remaining raindrops from my hair (careful not to spray my new friend, the doorman, in the process), and wiped my face dry. I would worry about my shoes later, I thought, as I felt my toes sloshing around. I looked around the grand lobby of the Bellevue. A huge expanse of marble floor stretched before me, bustling with people and activity. Looking up, I took in the height of the atrium, flanked on all sides with upscale stores. Now comes the fun part. Shopping. Retail therapy was definitely in order.
I began to make my way to the ornate staircase at the far end of the lobby. Not four steps into it … it happened. Time suddenly shifted into slow-motion as I felt one of my 4" heels slip on water on the marble floor … water that had traitorously dripped from my own umbrella. My arms made a crazy backstroke motion in the air as I tried valiantly to maintain some sense of balance. My left leg flew out in a grotesque split as I watched in a dazed, detached curiosity, as if it was happening to someone else. I crashed down onto my right knee-cap, hard. So hard it would ache for months afterward; the impact actually bruised the bone. My body pitched forward as I landed on my belly. My arms flew out before me and the umbrella clattered noisily on the floor, the impact now amplified in the suddenly quiet atrium, drawing attention to my awkward gymnastics. Time switched yet again from slow-motion to a dead stop as I realized I was lying … literally belly-flopping … on the floor of the Bellevue.
No … the ground did not swallow me up, as I was wishing it would. Why do sinkholes never happen where and when you want them to?
Time remained at a standstill as my eyes swept the lobby. It was suddenly, impossibly empty … I was the sole attraction. From my position on the floor, I scanned the upper levels of the atrium and staircase … all conversation, all activity stopped as everyone's eyes were now on me … still belly-flopping. No one stepped forward to help me. I heard a business man chuckle on one of the upper levels. The attendant at the Information Desk remained seated as he casually leaned forward to ask, seemingly unconcerned, if I was alright. I looked back toward the lobby … where was my friend, the doorman?? He was no where to be seen … probably helping some other woman in out of the rain. Bastard.
My face burned with hot shame as I tried to gracefully hoist myself up off the floor. My umbrella lay several feet from where I landed, and I limped over to retrieve it, my right shoe having landed somewhere else entirely. It took another minute (hour!) to find it. With both shoes now on, and with as much dignity as I could muster, I got up and took a few tentative steps, having lost all confidence in my ability to walk in public. Oh, yeah … and if I remembered correctly, I didn't have a stellar track record for driving so well over the past two days, either. Note to self: all forms of self-locomotion will be suspended until further notice.
Feeling like I was enveloped in a cloak of shame and embarrassment, I somehow made my way up the staircase as I abandoned my plans to shop and head right to the luncheon. No … I wasn't hungry, I just needed, desperately, to sit down. Maybe I could get a glass of wine? But then I thought better of it … I didn't want the garage attendant to smell alcohol on my breath when I confronted him about the low-hanging pipes that damaged my car as I ripped him a new one.
The lunch was uneventful and woefully predictable … rubber chicken amidst a table of strangers I wouldn't know today if I fell over them, too. I did notice, however, that I was the only one with limp hair and damp clothing; no doubt my table-mates hogged all the indoor parking at the Bellevue. I managed to make pleasant chit-chat and eyed their glasses of wine enviously as I made plans for escape. I needed to get out of there. I needed to go home.
I needed a nap.
I needed a hug.
I needed a good cry.
The rain and wind hadn't let up at all as I trudged my way down Broad Street back to the garage. I resigned myself to being uncomfortably damp until I got home. I was met with indifference when I confronted the garage attendant about the damaging pipes. In my panic, I didn't even think to take photos of the pipes making actual contact with the roof of my SUV, so there was nothing to "prove." Being married to an attorney, I should have known better. Oh, well … just add that to the growing list of stupid things I did that day. And, of course I was told, "No, Ma'm … that's never happened before." Yeah … right.
Ironically enough, the day's storm clouds really did contain a silver lining. That was the dark and stormy March night I met my friend Andrea out for dinner when we were complimented on our shoes. The night the idea for Fabulous Shoe Night took seed, and slowly started to grow. Looking back, I guess it was a good day after all. No, not just good … pivotal. Fateful. Even life-changing.
As far as the Joan & David black patent leather pumps with the 4" heel that played a part in my belly-flopping … no, they haven't been on my feet since. And the Bellevue …?
Um, no .. I have not been back.
I hate that place.
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