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In Her Shoes (PG-13 for sex, expletives, and mature themes). Oscar-winner Curtis Hanson (L.A. Confidential) directs this adaptation of the Jennifer Weiner best seller of the same name about the sibling rivalry which separates a couple of sisters, one, a successful Philadelphia lawyer (Toni Collette), the other, an illiterate, irresponsible party girl (Cameron Diaz). With Shirley MacLaine as the girls' long-lost, grandmother who does her best to mend the rift via reconciliation at a family reunion.
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Shopgirl (R for sex and expletives). Adapting his own novella of the same name, Steve Martin stars in this romantic comedy as a wealthy, worldly-wise older man who finds himself in a love triangle with a cute, Saks Fifth Avenue cashier (Claire Danes) torn between him and a broke slacker (Jason Schwartzman) her own age.
It was toward the close of his journey thata young girl boarded the train. There hadbeen girls getting on and off at intervals andit was perhaps because of the bustle attendingher arrival that this one attracted Telèsphore'sattention.
She was neither tall nor short, nor stout norslender; nor was she beautiful, nor was sheplain. She wore a figured lawn, cut a little lowin the back, that exposed a round, soft nuquewith a few little clinging circlets of soft, brownhair. Her hat was of white straw, cocked upon the side with a bunch of pansies, and shewore gray lisle-thread gloves. The girl seemedvery warm and kept mopping her face. Shevainly sought her fan, then she fanned herselfwith her handkerchief, and finally made an attemptto open the window. She might as wellhave tried to move the banks of Red river.
He wondered if she would speak to him.He feared she might have mistaken him for aWestern drummer, in which event he knew thatshe would not; for the women of the countrycaution their daughters against speaking tostrangers on the trains. But the girl was notone to mistake an Acadian farmer for a Westerntraveling man. She was not born inAvoyelles parish for nothing.
It was not a village; it was not even a hamletat which they descended. The station was setdown upon the edge of a cotton field. Nearat hand was the post office and store; therewas a section house; there were a few cabinsat wide intervals, and one in the distancethe girl informed him was the home of hercousin, Jules Trodon. There lay a good bitof road before them and she did not hesitate toaccept Telèsphore's offer to bear her bundleon the way.
Trodon's wife was standing on the gallerywith a baby in her arms, watching for Zaïda;and four little bare-footed children were sittingin a row on the step, also waiting; but terrifiedand struck motionless and dumb at sightof a stranger. He opened the gate for the girlbut stayed outside himself. Zaïda presentedhim formally to her cousin's wife, who insistedupon his entering.
Telèsphore wondered as he walked why hehad not accepted the invitation to enter. Hewas not regretting it; he was simply wonderingwhat could have induced him to decline. Forit surely would have been agreeable to sit thereon the gallery waiting while Zaïda preparedherself for the dance; to have partaken of supperwith the family and afterward accompaniedthem to Foché's. The whole situation was sonovel, and had presented itself so unexpectedlythat Telèsphore wished in reality to becomeacquainted with it, accustomed to it. He wantedto view it from this side and that in comparisonwith other, familiar situations. The girlhad impressed him - affected him in some way;but in some new, unusual way, not as the othersalways had. He could not recall details ofher personality as he could recall such detailsof Amaranthe or the Valtours, of any of them.When Telèsphore tried to think of her he couldnot think at all. He seemed to have absorbedher in some way and his brain was not sooccupied with her as his senses were. At thatmoment he was looking forward to the ball;there was no doubt about that. Afterwards, hedid not know what he would look forward to;he did not care; afterward made no difference.If he had expected the crash of doom to comeafter the dance at Foché's, he would onlyhave smiled in his thankfulness that it was notto come before.
The girls who came in wagons and onponies from a distance wore, for the mostpart, calico dresses and sun-bonnets. Theirfinery they brought along in pillow-slips orpinned up in sheets and towels. With thesethey at once retired to an upper room; later toappear be-ribboned and be-furbelowed; theirfaces masked with starch powder, but never atouch of rouge.
Telèsphore danced with Zaïda and then heleaned out against the post; then he dancedwith Zaïda, and then he leaned against thepost. The mothers of the other girls decidedthat he had the manners of a pig.
It was Telèsphore who drove on the wayback, and he let the pony cut no capers, butheld him to a steady and tempered gait. Thegirl was still quiet and silent; she was thinkingtenderly - a little tearfully of those two oldtetes-de-mulets yonder on Bayou de Glaize.
What Montéclin had spoken was quite true,though his taste in the manner and choice oftime and place in saying it were not of the best.Athénaïse, upon the first day of her arrival,had announced that she came to stay, havingno intention of returning under Cazeau's roof.The announcement had scattered consternation,as she knew it would. She had been implored,scolded, entreated, stormed at, until shefelt herself like a dragging sail that all thewinds of heaven had beaten upon. Why inthe name of God had she married Cazeau?Her father had lashed her with the questiona dozen times. Why indeed? It was difficultnow for her to understand why, unless becauseshe supposed it was customary for girlsto marry when the right opportunity came.Cazeau, she knew, would make life more comfortablefor her; and again, she had liked him,and had even been rather flustered when hepressed her hands and kissed them, and kissedher lips and cheeks and eyes, when she acceptedhim.
And now, when they had hoped for so much,here was Athénaïse, with gathered and fiercevehemence, beside which her former outburstsappeared mild, declaring that she would not,and she would not, and she would not continueto enact the role of wife to Cazeau. If shehad had a reason! as Madame Miché lamented;but it could not be discovered that she hadany sane one. He had never scolded, or callednames, or deprived her of comforts, or beenguilty of any of the many reprehensible actscommonly attributed to objectionable husbands.He did not slight nor neglect her. Indeed,Cazeau's chief offense seemed to be thathe loved her, and Athénaïse was not the womanto be loved against her will. She calledmarriage a trap set for the feet of unwary andunsuspecting girls, and in round, unmeasuredterms reproached her mother with treacheryand deceit.
The fourth week of Athénaïse's stay in thecity was drawing to a close. Keeping in viewthe intention which she had of finding somesuitable and agreeable employment, she hadmade a few tentatives in that direction. Butwith the exception of two little girls who hadpromised to take piano lessons at a price thatwould be embarrassing to mention, these attemptshad been fruitless. Moreover, thehomesickness kept coming back, and Gouvernailwas not always there to drive it away.
For the twentieth time Trézinie walked outupon the gallery. She saw M'sieur Micheland thought of the pine hill. When shethought of the hill she thought of the flowersthat grew there - free as sunshine. The girlgave a joyous spring that changed to a farandoleas her feet twinkled across the rough,loose boards of the gallery.
She had not spoken to her son Henri forten years because he had married an Americangirl from Prytania street. She would notpermit green tea to be introduced into herhouse, and those who could not or would notdrink coffee might drink tisane of fleur deLaurier for all she cared.
When the little girl slept Madame Carambeauarose, and treading carefully and deliberately,entered her room, that opened near at handupon the gallery. The room was large,airy and inviting, with its cool matting uponthe floor, and its heavy, old, polished mahoganyfurniture. Madame, with the child stillin her arms, pulled a bell-cord; then she stoodwaiting, swaying gently back and forth. Presentlyan old black woman answered the summons.She wore gold hoops in her ears, anda bright bandanna knotted fantastically onher head.
Madame Lalonde sent the girl away with along letter of explanation that must have satisfiedthe parents; for the child was left undisturbedin Madame Carambeau's care. She wasa sweet child, gentle and affectionate. And,though she cried and fretted a little throughoutthe night for her mother, she seemed, afterall, to take kindly to madame's gentlenursing. It was not much of a fever thatafflicted her, and after two days she was wellenough to be sent back to her parents.
As Madame Carambeau and her daughterwere about to enter her carriage on thatChristmas morning, to be driven to church,the old lady stopped to give an order to herblack coachman, François. François hadbeen driving these ladies every Sunday morningto the French Cathedral for so many years- he had forgotten exactly how many, butever since he had entered their service, whenMadame Lalonde was a little girl. Hisastonishment may therefore be imaginedwhen Madame Carambeau said to him: 2ff7e9595c
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