Over the next three weeks, Emma made some important observations about Nadine. First of all, she wasn’t from New York. That was immediately obvious. And then there were her shoes. Now, Emma was not a snob, nor would she ever suggest that someone’s footwear dictated their character, but by that third week, Nadine’s shoe of choice appeared to be a pair of water-stained Uggs that looked like they had barely made it out of 2005.
None of this was out of the ordinary, really. But there was something about Nadine that piqued Emma’s interest. She was smart, beautiful, and charming; she just needed some help to realize it.
Of course, pondering the history and social standing of Nadine Pittman was usually an activity limited to twelve thirty to two thirty on Thursdays, something to help block out the droning of Professor Goddard. Which was why it was so surprising when, on a sunny Sunday afternoon as Emma waited for her Uber on the corner of 14th and Fifth, after a visit to the new Jonathan Cohen pop-up shop, she saw Nadine Pittman crossing the street toward her, a cup of coffee in hand.
Nadine hadn’t noticed her yet, and as Emma watched her shewas reminded of her father’s beloved documentaries, the ones that let you observe animals in their natural habitat while a narrator whispers commentary.
…And here we see the young woman struggling to adapt to her new surroundings. Watch as she attempts to cross the street amid the crowd of locals, a coffee in hand and her eyes up at the street signs, oblivious to the dangers ahead…
Nadine’s Ugg caught the edge of the pavement at the curb, and suddenly she was airborne. Her hands flew up to catch her fall, which sent her coffee flying. The lid came off just as it began its descent, spilling the contents within inches of Emma’s four-inch heels.
Nadine scrambled forward, crawling across the sidewalk to the cup as if anything inside was salvageable.
Emma leaned down. “Nadine?”
The young woman looked up with eyes impossibly large, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Did I spill on you?”
“No, I’m fine.” Emma offered her hand and helped Nadine to her feet. “Are you all right?”
Nadine nodded, a fast and jerky motion that did nothing to keep her tears at bay. “I’m okay. Totally okay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I just… I have a job interview at Party World, and it’s on 13th Street and Fourth Avenue, but, um, I think I’m a little lost, because after Fifth Avenue I can only find Third Avenue and…”
Her voice cracked and her chin began to tremble, and Emma knew she had only moments to save the situation. Everyone knew the only thing worse than standing outside the Burlington Coat Factory on 14th Street was to be seen crying outside the Burlington Coat Factory on 14th Street.
“That’s because downtown is a nightmare and Fourth Avenue is a myth,” Emma said with a smile, carefully prying the empty coffee cup from Nadine’s hands as if it were a live grenade and throwing it in a nearby trash can. “You’re not far off, really. It’s just a couple of blocks away.”
“Oh, thank God. I have to be there by three o’clock.”
Emma cringed.
“It’s past three, isn’t it?” Nadine whispered, reading Emma’s expression.
Emma bit her bottom lip, weighing the best way to break the truth. “It is… but that’s a good thing! No one in their right mind works at Party World.”
“They don’t?”
Emma shook her head solemnly. She had never actually been inside Party World, but she had walked by a number of times and had seen the black lights and sexy nurse outfits in the window. This wasn’t even a question.
Nadine’s chin began to wobble again, so Emma changed tactics.
“I’m Emma Woodhouse. We have Social History of Photography together.”
“I know. I always love your shoes.” She nodded down to Emma’s pink patent leather heels.
“Thanks,” Emma said, smiling warmly. “They’re Miu Miu.”
Nadine’s brow wrinkled like they had suddenly switched to a foreign language. “What?”
Emma was ready to launch into an abbreviated but nonetheless thorough biographical history of Miuccia Prada when a black Suburban pulled up beside them.
Emma held up her hand to the driver, then she turned back to Nadine. “What are you doing right now?”
Nadine shrugged. “Probably going back to the dorm and crying.”
