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Lynette O’Grady had a habit of quickly and succinctly identifying a solution to a particular problem, part of what made her a good editor, and who she is.
This day, she indulged another habit: looking at a pair of shoes, in the House of Guillermo, served by Cesar.
“Yes, miss, how may I help you?” he said.
“Everything in here is so lovely. I’ve heard about this place, but this is my first time in. I don’t really need any shoes …”
“Oh, miss, please, never say those words,” he urged.
“A woman -- every woman -- occasionally needs new shoes. It is part of who you are, or perhaps, who you want to be.”
He flashed a smile as he took her elbow and led O'Grady to a wide display of low-heeled shoes.
The showroom was arranged, shoes on one side and other footwear on the other, both by height of heel. O’Grady saw the symmetry immediately.
“This is fascinating,” she commented.
“Let’s see, if we were to replace the shoes you have on with this outfit, I would suggest … Let’s see what size you are,” Cesar said as he led O’Grady to a chair.
In seconds, she was seated and measured and he was off.