To say she was intimidated was quite an understatement. Charles L. Forester was a University of Chicago Alumni, and was also a member of the University Board of Regents. He had been a frequent guest speaker when she was attending business school there, and she never missed an opportunity to attend his lectures. She had read all of his books, and once she had even met him briefly at a University function. Like most of her fellow students, she had long dreamed of a position in an organization like the C.L. Forester Group.
Charles Forester had started an accounting firm in Chicago in the 1970's and built it into an empire offering financial consulting services around the globe. Forester Group clients included a number of Fortune 500 Companies as well as some of the largest banks in the world. It was also rumored that several U.S. Government agencies employed C.L. Forester as a defense contractor to do "classified" work in international economics.
Christina had hoped that a recommendation from the Dean would give her a foot in the door, at least enough to land her a job interview with the C.L. Forester Group, but she certainly hadn't anticipated an interview with the CEO himself. The receptionist had led her into this cavernous conference room and told her that Mr. Forester was unavoidably delayed, but he would be pleased to meet with her if she could please wait.
"Some foot in the door," she said to the silent room, looking down at the pump with the three-inch heel lying empty next to her tan stockinged toes. She had quite literally �gotten a foot in the door� on the way into the building this morning, catching her shoe in the revolving door and nearly breaking the heel off of it. She leaned against the window and lifted her foot, rubbing the arch with her thumb. Glancing down at her tan stockinged foot again, she confirming that no damage had been done, but wishing she had worn a more sensible pair of shoes with a lower heel today. Perhaps she should just sit down.
Christina nudged her shoe toward the table with her toes as she turned from the window. She stood with her hands on the high back of a leather chair, balanced on one shoe as she struggled to slip on it�s mate. There were seven chairs on either side of the long table and another chair at one end. At the far end of the table stood a podium backed by a white dry-erase board. Christina knew that everything could be a potential test in a situation like this, and that something as trivial as where she chose to sit might influence the entire tone of the interview. The end chair was out, she certainly didn't want to seem too presumptuous, and she rejected the six facing the window in order to keep an eye on the door. She took a seat in the second chair from the end, not wanting to seem too familiar if the interview turned out to be one on one. The large leather chair was comfortable and she leaned back, slipping her foot out of her shoe once more, and pushing her toes into the thick carpeting.
The hiring process at C.F. Forester was legendary, and Christina knew several people who had been called back more than three times, and still been rejected. One of her classmates told her that in his interview, a stopwatch was placed on the table and he was told to disassemble and reassemble a puzzle made out of steel rings while three interviewers stared at him in total silence.
Her mind fought back her anxiety as she wondered what to expect today. Her resume was strong, and she felt confident in her speaking abilities. Her dark blue skirt and jacket were conservative, but not too boring. She fidgeted in her chair nervously and checked her watch, slipping her foot in and out her navy blue pump over and over again. As she looked around the room again, she dipped her nyloned toes into the shoe and picked it up off of the floor, dangling it from her toes and swinging it in lazy circles under the table. She straightened the pad of paper on the table in front of her and spun the pen around on the polished walnut surface. As an after thought, she bent over to one side and rifled through her attach� case on the floor next to her chair. As she searched for an extra copy of her resume, she accidentally kicked her dangling shoe off as she extended her leg for balance. Her toes searched the floor without success as she arranged the crisp white papers neatly in front of herself. Glancing under the edge of the table, she could see that the shoe had landed just beyond the reach of her tan stockinged foot. She quickly stood up, intending to sprint around to the other side of the table and retrieve it when suddenly, the large oak double doors opened and Mr. Forester entered, with a dark haired woman following close behind, looking very serious.
Christina froze mid-step, balanced on the tips of her nyloned toes, then retreated a half step to stand in front of her chair. "Christina Ferrell," she said, extending her hand and trying her best to sound confident while remaining safely behind the table. Mr. Forester walked around the end of the table and she felt the sudden urge to sit down again, in case her stockinged foot was visible, but she stepped in closer to the table and remained standing. His eyes met hers and thankfully, he didn�t look down at the floor.
"Chuck Forester," he said, shaking her hand and smiling as he motioned for her to be seated. "I believe we�ve met before,� he added. �This is my associate, Sasha."
Christina felt around the floor with her nyloned toes and struggled to maintain her composure as her mind raced. Somehow, she had to locate her missing shoe, but her immediate need was a diplomatic response to Mr. Forester. Everything was potentially a test in this situation, she reminded herself. Surely he didn't remember her from a chance meeting at a dinner party a year ago, but he probably had his own people research the applicants before an interview. And who was this woman he introduced only as Sasha?
"I've had the pleasure of attending several of your lectures at the University, Mr. Forester, and once, we met briefly at a reception," Christina said smoothly, and added, "It's very nice to meet you, Sasha," making eye good contact the way she had practiced it in the mirror. Sasha had cobalt blue eyes, jet-black hair, and she was very striking, if a little severe.
The woman extended her hand, thanking Christina again for waiting, and saying she was very pleased to meet her, all the while speaking in Russian.
Christina was startled. Her resume listed several languages, but she certainly hadn't expected to begin the interview in Russian. Still, she didn't miss a beat, telling Sasha that she valued the opportunity, and was honored by the invitation, answering her in flawless Russian.
Sasha's blue eyes locked onto Christina, probing as she told her that the globalized world economy made a grasp of languages great asset in business, this time speaking in Japanese.
Christina responded in Japanese, telling Sasha that she was a student of languages, but also of their associated cultures, and bowed her head ever so slightly. "Nice touch," she told herself, smiling inwardly. She remembered that the Japanese take off their shoes, but probably not at business meetings. She had to find her shoe!
As she swept her nyloned toes across the carpet again, Christina glanced across the table looking for any signs of a positive response. Sasha continued to make notes on a legal pad, seldom looking up. Christina guessed the woman was twice her age, but very nice looking. She was dressed in a black skirt and jacket over a white blouse, with no jewelry or accessories except a black-faced wristwatch. Her hair was jet black, collar length, combed simply, and she wore little or no makeup. She was about the same height as Christina, five foot seven, but her presence loomed large in the room. As she finished writing, she glanced up and her piercing blue eyes again locked on her momentarily. Sasha smiled politely, but the effect was unnerving. Christina felt her confidence falter, but she smile back. She had to find her shoe. She pulled her chair closer to the table in an effort to extend her reach, but her searching toes found only carpet.
"Well Christina," Mr. Forester began, "why do you want to work for our firm?"
An easy one. She prepared herself to knock it out of the park, having rehearsed all of the expected questions she could think of the night before. "Well Mr. Forester, this firm offers a unique set of challenges and opportunities that would allow me to grow professionally, and at the same time, offer value to..."
Christina continued for about one minute. Long enough to demonstrate her verbal skill, without running on for too long. She addressed herself to mainly to him, but carefully made sure to engage Sasha as well, not knowing for sure what her position in the evaluation process might be. Her confidence was returning as she spoke, and she thought the interview was starting out very well. Thankfully, her toes had finally located the heel of her missing shoe under the table. Shifting slightly in her seat, she gripped the very tip of the heel with her stocking clad toes, but it wouldn�t move. She slumped in her chair imperceptibly, if she could just get a little better grip!
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Sasha sat with her legs stretched straight out in front of her under the table, crossed at the ankles. She looked across the table at the applicant, one Christina A. Ferrell. Ms. Ferrell seemed a little nervous, as one would expect, but appeared personable and very professional in her appearance and manner. It wouldn�t hurt her to sit up straight, but young people today were not so mindful of things like that. All in all, she appeared to be a fine candidate for the position, at least on first inspection. She examined the resume in her hands again looking for any further insight. Ms. Christina Anne Ferrell would be a very good prospect for any firm, but she could be a particularly good fit for the new international team Sasha had been selected to lead. In addition to an MBA from University of Chicago, she had been a psych major in undergrad at University of Michigan, with a minor in political science. Sasha glanced at the woman across the table again, but was unable to determine anything further from her appearance. Christina Ferrell was slim, attractive, with shoulder length brown hair and a nice smile, reading glasses and dark brown eyes. Very polished. She gave the impression of being friendly, but not overly familiar, and very professional and efficient without seeming cold. Sasha knew the value of these traits. She knew that she was a very capable analyst, but she also knew that most people found her to be cool and unapproachable, and her lack of people skills had probably slowed the progress of her career before she had come to C.L. Forester.
She had listened to Ms. Ferrell answer the opening queries from Mr. Forester. Christina was very well spoken, but Sasha had been somewhat disappointed in Ms. Ferrell's first answer about wanting to work for the firm. Although the response had been well crafted and delivered, Sasha had really hoped for something a little more original, something bold, maybe even unconventional. Experience taught her that very little could be learned from an interview until the predictable questions had been asked and the scripted answers dispensed with. Like most people, Christina appeared to be more comfortable with predictable questions and well rehearsed stock answers. To her credit though, she had not been thrown off by Sasha�s impromptu language quiz, and had even used it to her advantage, impressing Mr. Forester. As Sasha considered several questions that might break Christina out of the predictable routine, her attention was abruptly drawn away from the conversation.
What the hell? Sasha found herself momentarily flustered. This was certainly unconventional to say the least. She had been jotting down a question on a note pad when suddenly, her heel had slipped gently out of her shoe, and then before she could even react, she felt a rush off cool air as her shoe was pulled completely off of her foot. Her nyloned toes swept across the carpet under the table in a frantic search, confirming her worst suspicion. There was no mistaking it, this young woman had just stripped her of her shoe under the table while looking her directly in the eye! Smiling even!
As she struggled to overcome the initial shock, she wondered what to do next? Her first instinct was to stop the meeting and simply demand her shoe back. She was a Vice President dammit, and she would dismiss this insolent young woman at once in spite of he resume. She prepared to stand up and she almost began to speak, but she suddenly felt very foolish as her stockinged foot pressed against the carpeting. She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling very agitated. Sasha would never so much as remove her jacket in the office unless she was working alone after hours. She understood the importance of maintaining a professional appearance at all times. She was certainly not the kind of woman who would ever take her shoes off in a professional situation. There had been that one time in Tokyo�Sasha shook off the unpleasant memory.
This was just incredible! Her stockinged toes searched under the table again, without results. She joined in the conversation half heartedly, but she was extremely distracted. Instead of coming up with questions for the applicant, a myriad of other questions ran through her head. What exactly was going on here? What exactly did it all mean? Job applicants don�t just go around stealing fashionable footwear from their prospective employers do they? Not unless they secretly intend to embarrass or offend them! Was this Christina Ferrell playing a game or some kind of a joke? What if she didn�t give the shoe back? Mr. Forester was already looking at his watch, what if he decided they should all go to lunch? Several of the Senior Partners would be in the executive dining room by now, and she didn't care for the prospect of greeting them in her stockinged feet, or wearing a solitary high-heeled shoe.
�Perhaps you could join us for lunch?� Mr. Forester said to Christina, as if reading her mind.
Sasha looked stricken. �Maybe we could�� her voice trailed off. �I have another appointment this afternoon, so I was planning to work through lunch,� she said. �Perhaps I might be excused?�
�Well maybe we should just finish up here first,� Mr. Forester said, looking not very pleased.
Sasha swept her naked foot desperately across the carpet again, searching blindly for the shoe, and again failed to locate it. Her heart pounded in her chest and she cast a withering eye toward the devious shrew sitting across the table. As Christina finished another well rehearsed, but uninspired answer, Sasha struggled to suppress her emotions. "Well, well, young Christina, you certainly have my undivided attention now," she thought, still quite perturbed, but also slightly intrigued. Whatever the outcome, this was certainly turning into one of the more unusual interviews she had ever conducted.
Sasha had an idea that might just get her shoe back. She began to frame a complex question about depreciation, scribbling notes on her legal pad.
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Christina felt her confidence soar as she inched her shoe across the carpet toward her chair. Her
responses seemed to please Mr. Forester, and her toes had finally managed to find the opening of her errant shoe. It seemed like it had taken a very long time to locate the missing shoe, and when she finally did, it had been stuck on something under the table at the very edge of her reach. It still felt warm as she put her toes into it, and she was very relieved to have avoided such an embarrassing situation. The pain in her foot had subsided, but she wondered if it was o.k. because the shoe that had fit just fine a few moments ago was now so tight that couldn't even squeeze her foot all the way into it. She let the shoe hang loosely on the end of her toes, extending her leg in front of her with the hope that if she kept her foot elevated, she might be able to squeeze into the shoe by the time the interview was over. The conversation turned to economics, and she tried to ignore her shoe problems for a moment and concentrate on the subject at hand.
�Christina,� Sasha said, �Let us say that a corporation has made a large capitalization in manufacturing,� Sasha handed her a dry-erase marker. �Could you go up to the board and diagram the depreciation strategies that might be considered if the facility were located within the United States?�
Christina quickly jammed her foot into the shoe, flattening the back of the heel in order to fit into it. She took the marker from Sasha and went to the front of the room, barely able to keep the shoe from slipping off of her foot as she walked. She stood to one side as she wrote on the board, and began to explain the theory behind her diagram. �The determination as to whether the machinery should be purchased or leased would depend on several factors including��
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Sasha could hardly contain her fury. Christina was deliberately taunting her now, standing at the front of the room wearing one navy blue shoe and one black shoe, her black shoe! She could hardly believe anyone could be so devious, standing so that Sasha could see her own shoe on Christina�s foot, but all the while making certain that the conference table obscured Mr. Forester�s line of sight.
Sasha stared angrily at her stolen shoe as Christina�s foot ruined it by flattening the heel cup. This woman was going to pay dearly for such an outrageous insult! As she watched Christina walk back to her seat, Sasha was seething, hardly able to maintain her composure. She had to find a way to get her shoe back from this wretched woman. She opened her briefcase on the floor next to her chair and bent over it as an excuse to glance under the table and evaluate the situation. She was shocked to see what had happened to her shoe! Not only was it being ruined, obviously this young woman was intentionally taunting her with it. Her expensive shoe was dangling from Christina's toes at the end of her outstretched leg, swinging in the air, teasing her.
"Ah, but you've made a mistake little girl," she whispered under her breath. Christina�s own shoe lay empty on the floor but off to one side. It was a stretch, but Sasha just barely managed to reach it, gripping the edge with her stockinged toes and sliding it toward her chair. Her own shoes were size six, and she could tell that Christina's shoe was at least an eight. She raked the shoe toward her with her stockinged foot and when it was close enough, she grabbed it with her hand and dropped it into the briefcase, closing the lock and spinning the combination just for good measure. She decided it was time to put an end to this stupid little game once and for all. She slipped her other foot out of her remaining pump and set it cautiously under her chair, making sure it was well out of reach, even for this long legged young lady. She returned her attention to the notepad in front of her. �What if the term were extended to twenty years or more?� she asked, trying to throw Christina a curve.
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Christina was surprised by the question, but she quickly assembled a response. �In a long term scenario such as the one you describe, there would be several implications to consider against accelerated depreciation�� Christina began. This most certainly was a test, but she was confident in her knowledge of the subject matter. She thought the interview was going very well indeed. So far, Mr. Forester seemed very interested and although Sasha remained very cool toward her, she seemed to intently study her every word as she answered the question. Apparently Sasha had noticed her little shoe problem when she was up talking at the board, because she kept looking down at Christina�s feet, staring at her shoes. Christina had not looked at her shoes, but she knew that her tan heel protruding from the back of the shoe must have been obvious enough. But really, what else could she do? She wondered how many points she would lose for something as minor as that?
As she talked, she tried to wiggle into her shoe again but it was just no use, she just could not fit her foot all the way into her shoe. She extended her leg in front of her again and felt her dangling shoe bump something under the table, nearly falling off again. She was sure she must have accidentally kicked Sasha, but the woman�s face remained impassive and she did not look up from her notes. Christina wondered if she should say something, apologize maybe, but she didn't know for sure if she had even made contact. The answer to that question came as quite a shock.
Sasha was looking directly at her now, and suddenly, Christina felt warm softness brushing over her instep as her ankle was caught firmly between Sasha's nyloned feet. She froze and fell silent in mid sentence, feeling nylon rubbing against nylon as her shoe retreated from her foot and dangled precariously from her toes, trapped between Sasha's ankles. Christina resisted the impulse to recoil as she felt the woman�s warm soft toes slowly exploring her heel and ankle under the table. She stared across the table at Sasha in complete astonishment, searching for any clue as to what might be happening here. Surely, this must be some kind of test, but what exactly was the point? Was this woman trying to make her look foolish in front of Mr. Forester, taking advantage of the fact that her shoe was giving her trouble? Christina considered her next move as Sasha's stockinged feet continued to explore hers under the table. The sensation of nylon rubbing against nylon was overwhelming, and she struggled to keep from squirming in her seat. She pulled back cautiously, but she felt her shoe nearly slip off. She gripped with her toes inside the shoe, trying to pull it away, but it was no use. Sasha continued to rub both of her stockinged feet all over Christina�s leg under the table, occasionally pulling at the shoe with her toes or gripping it between her ankles. Every time Christina flinched, her shoe retreated a little bit further toward the end of her toes.
For the moment, she decided that she could not prevent Sasha from pursuing her little footsie game, regardless of her motive, but she refused to let the pump escape from her toes again, knowing that if the shoe moved another fraction of an inch, it would probably be lost to her. Sasha seemed to ignore her completely now, looking intently at her legal pad again and scribbling some notes, but pawing relentlessly at Christina with her stockinged feet under the table. She had to decipher what was going on here. Was it some kind of character test? Was Sasha looking for her reaction? Or was it something else? Christina felt she was on dangerous ground.
Mr. Forester looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to resume her answer. If it was some kind of a test, was he in on it too? She squirmed in her chair and barely suppressed a shriek as Sasha's toes burrowed under her nyloned sole, tickling her arch, and inching the dangling shoe slightly further toward her toes. This woman seemed to know everything about her, was it possible Sasha could have learned how ticklish she was? What the hell was going on here anyway? Christina tried to push the paranoid thoughts from her mind and pressed her foot hard against the underside of the table, determined not to lose track of her shoe again. She tried in vain to conceal her panic but it was much too late. Sasha had already seen her reaction to being tickled and was now exploiting her weakness. Christina jumped involuntarily as she felt Sasha's toes brush lightly under her arch again, but she refused to withdraw from the shoe. Sasha was toying with her now, staring at her calmly, while tickling her mercilessly, all the while working the shoe from her foot a millimeter at a time. It was as if she wanted Christina to give up her shoe for some reason. Was that part of the test as well, or was Sasha just being cruel? Or was it something else?
Above the table, Christina did her best to appear calm and confident, except for her white knuckles gripping the arms of her chair. She glared across the table as Sasha casually flipped through her notepad, seemingly disinterested, while her malicious little toes worked furiously under the table. Christina knew she was about to loose her shoe. It was barely balanced on the end of her foot as Sasha's toe traced a line up from her heel and across her nyloned sole. She started to extend her other leg but thought better of it, and quickly removed her remaining shoe first. She managed to wedge her nyloned toes between Sasha's arches, loosening the woman�s grip on her shoe, but she stopped when the shoe made a loud thump against the tabletop. Christina realized too late that the momentary pause was a fatal error as Sasha stripped her shoe off with both feet and she heard a loud clunk as it hit the floor. The room suddenly went quiet.
"Is everything alright?" Mr. Forester asked, filling the uncomfortable silence.
The question wrenched her back to the reality of the situation at hand. "I seem to have lost my..." shoe, she started to say, glaring at Sasha, but quickly calculated her options. "...my train of thought," she added quickly. "What I started to say was that in consideration of taxation policy in this situation, I would request clarification from Internal Revenue prior to ..."
Christina did not look at Sasha for a long time, focusing instead on Mr. Forester. She had no idea how to handle this situation, so she ignored Sasha for the moment while struggling to regain her composure. She felt very exposed, knowing that Sasha had deliberately taken her shoe, and that she was stranded here without it. When several minutes had passed, she began to cautiously explore the floor for in search of her shoe again, fully expecting it would not be there. Surprisingly, she located it easily this time, but her stockinged foot brushed against ten nyloned toes perched atop the shoe, guarding it against her.
"This is ridiculous," Christina told herself, "a grown woman stealing my shoe like some kind of playground bully." She set both of her feet down hard on top of the empty shoe, wedging one stockinged foot between Sasha's, and gripping the heel of the shoes with her other foot. She managed to pull the shoe toward her, but only an inch or so, and Sasha immediately countered by pinning the shoe to the floor with one foot while working her toes underneath Christina's arch again, tickling her. Sasha ran her stockinged foot up and down Christina's leg, while pulling at the shoe with her other foot, then began caressing Christina's foot under her nyloned arch again, trying to pry her toes from the heel of the shoe. Sasha�s toes worked their way under her arch once more, and she resisted screaming or laughing or both, as the Sasha attempted to tickle her into submission. She was determined to get her shoe back, but she didn�t know how much more tickling she could withstand. Involuntarily, she recoiled for a split second. When she reached out for the shoe again, she could just barely touch the tip of the spike heel with her toes, and she stretched her leg as far as she could, struggling to get a better grip on the spike heel with the tips of her toes.
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Sasha�s heart raced. At any moment, she expected Mr. Forester demand to know what was going on here. The toe of her shoe was pointing directly at her under the table, and she seized the opportunity to get her toes back into the opening, at least partially. With her toes inside the shoe, she put her other foot against the sole of the shoe and pulled back hard, feeling a great relief as the shoe skidded across the carpet landing under her chair. She quickly put her foot into it, pleased to have avoided whatever outcome this evil young woman had planned for her.
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Christina�s eyes went wide as the shoe finally escaped her grip. �If the initial capital expenditure could be repaid in less-less-, in less than f-f-f-f-ive years�� Christina struggled to continue, faltering badly. She had lost her grip on the heel of her shoe and just as Sasha had snatched it away from her, she had felt a firm tug on her stocking as it snagged on the end of the stiletto heel. She gasped as her bare toes suddenly felt the rough texture of carpet through the gaping hole in her nylon. Pulling her foot back cautiously, she located her remaining shoe under her chair, but before she could slip her foot back into it, she felt her ruined stocking rolling up over her heel and past her ankle, leaving her foot completely naked below her ankle. She rubbed the top of her naked foot with her stocking, and wondered what to do next. She had lost her shoe, ruined her stocking, and her explanation of long-term taxation theory had ground to a halt. She felt like leaping up and running from the room, barefoot or not.
�If the initial capital expenditure�� she began again. She had to continue, but she had to think of something fast. She swept her naked foot over the floor, but not surprisingly, she touched nothing but carpet.
Snowman
END OF PART ONE
