The MagnaMall was a tiered shopping center. The cheapest stores were all on the bottom floors, grouped with department stores and random junk resellers. The further up you went, the nicer the stores became. Catherine Burke never shopped below fourth, and even on the fourth there were some places she'd never step foot in. The ramifications of that would just be unacceptable! She had an image to maintain, and it was a very clear one. Being seen anywhere near one of those luxury streetwear - what a travesty! - stores would conflict with that image. Oh, very much so. There were other things she'd never do: she'd never hold a smartphone other than the latest iPhone and she'd never even consider a lab-grown diamond. She did not immigrate into the richest country on Earth to look destitute.
Pollatore, though? Pollatore was fine. She came here when she needed a few pairs to wear once or twice for a night out. They used natural leather (although she'd heard they were planning to launch a vegan line, and if they did, she'd stop associating with the store). No, really, though, she'd gotten something nice here in the past. There was definitely a pair she wore on the cruise last year; it had corkboard sole but somehow managed to look classy. Their lead designer certainly had taste. Catherine valued that.
In fact, the lack of taste was perhaps what bothered her the most in the people around her. So many of them -- even those of her own circle! -- lacked taste all too often. They'd wear things with statements, things that were too much, things that were too little. They'd use tasteless technology and they'd discuss tasteless trends. They'd invite tasteless people. One of her former friends started dating some science fiction writer a few weeks ago and she dared to bring that to one of Catherine's gatherings. The man was wearing a turtleneck sweater and the thickest glasses Catherine's ever seen, and, when asked about why didn't he get laser correction done, he actually said he could not afford it. Catherine couldn't ever imagine saying something as humiliating (well, maybe in her past, terrible, tasteless life) and, of course, she had to let her friend know the writer was best kept at home, secretly hoping that he'd be gone for good soon.
She never let other people hurt her image.
Right now, that image could be significantly improved by three pairs of shoes. She wanted at least one pair of high-heels, probably silvery, slingback; high-heeled mules; and, perhaps, a pair of loafers, although in the past she had not been too impressed with Pollatore's lineup on that count. There was another Italian store another floor up, but it apparently belonged to a failing businessman who bit more than he could chew, and Catherine didn't want to buy anything from someone who couldn't keep a business afloat. She also planned for some more shopping today: could use a new pyjamas, and she needed a candle holder for her new candles. (Scentless, of course. Scented candles are for witchy moms and teenagers).
She hasn't walked into the store yet, though, because she wanted to see if Sana Jones would come with her. By coincidence, the scientist happened to visit MagnaMall at the same time, and was somewhere downstairs at the moment. Catherine stood by the railing, texting her friend and occasionally glancing at the people on the walkways beneath her. She'd grown to love looking down from all the skydeck restaurants, mall top floors and highrise decks. It reminded her of how far she'd come. Her other close friend, Jennifer Copeland, had a mansion just outside of the city... and it was nice... but it was low. Catherine loved being high up. When that whole Shrinking Phenomenon thing happened, she joked that she didn't really feel the difference.
Speaking of...
Something kept bugging her about Pollatore, and now she understood what it was. On the front door of the boutique, which was all glass, there was now a proud little sticker: something about equal opportunity employment and participating in the Tinies in the Workplace accessibility program. Catherine winced. Accessibility. What a load of... You either access things yourself, or you don't because you don't deserve to. There was no one in the world she despised more than people who relied on government handouts, and tinies were now at the forefront of social security. At least Catherine knew some powerful people who effectively lobbied against tiny aid programs and all that crap.
They weren't normal, after all. Why would normal people be expected to accomodate them? Tolerate them in the workplace? What was she supposed to do, look where she stepped? Oh, no. She made a mental note to explicitly forbid admitting any tinies to her parties. It would be such an unseeming scandal if one of them got crushed on her carpet. Her carpets were expensive, too. Catherine was a pro at managing family funds.
Sana wasn't replying to her texts. Catherine sighed, weighing her options. She could go into Pollatore (with luck, she'd never even notice the tiny employee. What do they have her do, count cash in the register?). She could go shop for something else. Or, perhaps, Sana would come up after all and they could have some wonderful time shopping together. She did need to get to know Sana better, given how much they were going to work together now that Catherine was involved with the Small World folks.