Stella McCartney Got Crusty Feet

Forget 9/11. It’s fashion week in New York. Which means the main public library on 42^nd and 5^th, where I need to do some research, is closed. A skinny blond gets out of a limo and is hounded by photographers. Instead of walking past them, she preens, on the arm of a guy with grey hair and a goatee. I may be spotted in the photographs with a shaggy beard and blue yoga mat.

“Who’s that?” I ask a plump black woman aiming her cell phone for a shot.

“Stella McCartney,” she says.

“You see how skinny her legs are?” I ask, looking at calves the size of wrists. I hold up my pinky, the Argentine symbol for thin.

“Yeah, and I saw how crusty her feet are,” she says. “You see how crusty her feet are?”

“No,” I say.

“They crusty. I gotta get a shot of them.” She runs up behind Stella and snaps a shot of her crusty heels. She shows me the picture.

“You’re gonna have to blow that up a bit; I can’t see,” I say.

“Yeah, maybe when I get home I can do it on the computer. I didn’t know all the stalkarazzi was going to be here. I told them to get a shot of her crusty feet, and one of them did. But I don’t know if he’ll do anything with it.”