Perfect Girl - Weebly

“Do you have these in red?” she asked the salesman,
picking up a pair of shoes on the display table instead of the
clearance rack. “Fay, is this heel too high for Odessa?”
After seeing Mom’s toes, Aunt Marty insisted on manis
and pedis. (Though, of course, Mom only let me get clear
polish.) When our nails were dry, we strolled through
Central Park.
“Never a carriage ride!” Aunt Marty shuddered.
Mom refused to go into the subway because she read
that a crazy guy once pushed a woman onto the tracks. “I
also heard that an air conditioner fell out of a penthouse
apartment and killed a pedestrian,” she said, looking up.
“Well, that wasn’t cool,” Aunt Marty replied.
I burst into laughter and would have thrown my arms
around my aunt if Mom hadn’t glared me into immobility.
After a late lunch at some tiny café where the chef came
out and kissed Aunt Marty’s cheek, we meandered through
the Museum of Modern Art.
“Isn’t that—?” I stopped in my tracks as we turned a
corner in the museum and saw one of the most recognizable
paintings ever.
“Starry Night,” Aunt Marty said. “Van Gogh’s masterpiece.”
I stared at the swirls of blue and green and couldn’t
believe I was inches away from something so famous.
“He painted this purely from memory, since he’d
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