by Elle Casey
“Actually, I was just joking.” The guy smiles for one second and then stops. “Can I help you with something? A ring you said?”
My jaw drops open but I can’t think of what to say, and this might be a first for me, but what the hell? This guy is completely crazy, right? It’s not just me, I know this. How did he get a job here?
He blinks a few times, maybe waiting for my brain to come online again.
“You’re seriously twisted,” I finally say, a smile creeping up to appear on my face. I can appreciate a twisted personality if nothing else.
“So I’ve been told.” He grins back, but only for a second before going back to being stoic.
He’s so pristine and neat, I swear he could be a mannequin, and his ridiculous nano-second smiles and weird delivery only heighten that impression. I lean in closer and stare into his eyes, searching for a circuit board buried deep inside. “Does Cartier have seriously lifelike robots waiting on customers right now? Because that would explain everything that just happened here.”
He blinks once. “Not that I’m aware of.”
I lean back and shake my head. This is just too weird. It’s got to be the ring thing; that bad juju is coming out again. I decide to switch to all-business mode so I can get out of here as soon as possible.
“Okay, here’s the deal … I have this very valuable ring, which I got from … someplace … someone … but I don’t want it anymore and I want to return it to the person who bought it. I was told to ask for Wendy.”
The salesman tilts his head. “I don’t follow.”
I put both hands on the counter and take a deep breath in and let it out before trying again. My previous story of having a recently-divorced mother isn’t going to work here. I have to get the identity of the owner from this guy so I can track him or her down and give this ring back.
“I have this ring that was purchased here. I want to get in touch with the person who bought the ring so I can give him or her the ring back.”
The salesman looks up and makes a slight gesture with his chin at someone behind me.
Before I can figure out what’s going on, the security guard is back.
Now I’m pissed. “What the hell, man?” I feel completely double-crossed or something, which I know makes no sense.
“You were saying?” the salesman asks me. Both men are staring at me, and neither of them look very friendly.
I look from one to the other, and then at the other people in the room who are now staring at us. I feel like a criminal when all I’m trying to do is be a good person.
“You know what? Screw it. Never mind.” I push away from the counter and turn around. “If you don’t want to help me, then I’ll just … give it to charity or something.”
I leave the store in a huff, furious that I’ve been made to feel like a lowlife when I’m doing nothing wrong. Okay, so maybe I’m being a little sneaky or something, but whatever. I’m no thief.
I’m ten feet down the sidewalk when I sense someone at my side. The danger alarm in my brain starts chiming and adrenaline shoots into my bloodstream. Evasion tactics! Engage!
I send out a quick judo chop to my left and then dance to the right, protecting myself from the would-be mugger. I’m convinced the purse-thief is back, looking for more loot.
“Ow!” says a voice, as the man in the suit bends sideways and covers his ribs. It’s the salesman from Cartier.
“What the hell?!” I shout at him. “What is your problem?!”
People make wide circles around us to avoid the situation.
He holds out a stiff arm, still bent over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you. Wow. You do karate? That kind of hurt, actually.” He stands up straighter. His hair hasn’t moved, not a single strand.
I can’t stop staring at his head. Is it plastic? “What kind of gel are you using on that ‘do of yours, anyway? It’s like space age polymer or something.”
He smiles and pats his hair. “Nice, ‘eh?”
We stand there and stare at each other.
He lowers his hands and tugs at the bottom of his suit coat, pulling it straight.
I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. “What’s the deal? Why are you following me?”
“I wasn’t really following you, I was trying to get you to come back to the store.”
I snort. “Not likely. You treated me like a scumbag in there.”
He has the decency to look chagrined. “You mentioned Wendy.”
My chin goes up. “I did.”
“She’s retired now.”
My chin goes back down. “Oh. I didn’t know.” So much for having contacts. I knew that guy was a hundred years old.
“But she was my mentor, and if you knew her then I’d like to help you.”
“Your mentor? In the jewelry sales business?” I don’t know why this sounds funny to me, but it does. Maybe because all I see those people doing is standing around looking like robo-salesmen. How much mentoring is needed for that? Five minutes? A quick download to the motherboard chip or whatever?
“Yes. She taught me everything from the ground up.” He steps closer. “Do you have the ring? I know all of our stock. I could probably tell you with one look who we sold it to, if it was our store that sold it.”
I look around us and realize that we’re on a very busy street corner. “Not here,” I say, deciding I might as well trust this guy.
“No, of course not. Come back to the store. I’ll bring you into my office.”
“You have an office?” I begin walking next to him, back in the direction of the store.
“Of course.” He smiles and looks at the ground. “I’m not a robot.”
“You could be, though, the way you look so perfect.”
“Perfect? I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Joshua Livingston the third.”
“My name’s Leah.”
He nods. “Nice to meet you.” We’re back at the doors to the store and he opens one for me. “After you.”
This time when I go in, I keep my head up. No one here is allowed to make me feel like less of a person just because my hair isn’t gelled into a hard candy shell around my skull.
“Follow me,” he says, nodding to David the security guard who leaves us alone. I really want to give him the finger, but I resist. He might taze me. I’m pretty sure I won’t like being tazed.
We walk through a black door and down a hallway I wouldn’t have imagined existed. Joshua opens a door, and after allowing me to enter, sits at a desk. There’s a small black safe on the floor in the corner behind him. I take the seat across from him.
“So. You have a ring.” He laces his fingers together and places them on the desktop. His shoulder pads inside his jacket rise up around his ears.
“Yes.” I reach into my bra and bring out the wad of tissues. It takes a little work to get the ring uncovered since everything is kind of sweaty. When it’s finally free, I hold it out between us. There are several bits of paper-lint hanging from it. I try to act like it’s not ridiculous.
Joshua blinks a few times. He’s back to being a robot for a few seconds before reaching over and grabbing a velvet tray and sliding it over to stop in front of me.
I put the ring on top of it.
He pulls the velvet tray over to himself and then pulls a loupe out of a desk drawer. He uses a set of tweezers to pick up the ring and turn it around as he examines it.
“I could be wrong about this … but I believe I recognize it from something that was sold about four days ago.” He looks up at me. “Does that sound about right?”
I nod. “Sure.” He could have said eight years ago and I would have agreed. “I know it was sold here. I had someone look up the laser code or whatever.”
Joshua is back to looking at it again. “Every diamond has a unique pattern of inclusions and color that make it identifiable, but the etching makes it easier, for sure.” He put
s the ring and the loupe down, detaching the tweezers last. “If you hold on a moment, I’ll jump on the computer and see what I can find out.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
He gets up and leaves the room. I’m left sitting there, staring at the walls. There are framed prints of jewels tastefully selected and hung, one on each wall.
It takes him so long to get back, I start to get nervous. After several minutes, I pick up the ring, wrap it up in my tissues, and shove it back in my bra. After another five minutes, I stand and try and work up the nerve to open the door.
When I finally do, I find David standing in the hallway next to me.
He looks down at me and frowns.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Are you trying to keep me in here against my will?” My nerves start to frazzle. Time to plan my prison break-out.
His hands never leave the crossed position at his waist. “No, I’m here to protect you. You have a valuable piece of jewelry on you and we’re liable for its safety while you’re in the building.”
“Oh.” I feel kind of stupid thinking that someone at Cartier would try to keep me prisoner. “Well, I have to go. Maybe you can tell your friend thanks for me.”
He stares at me, saying nothing.
“I can’t wait for him anymore. I have to go.”
“He’s not back yet. He’s getting information for you.”
“Yeah, well, I have other things I have to do today, so I can’t wait around forever.” This is a lie. I have nothing else planned, but staying here is making my armpits itch too much. Just thinking of it makes me need to scratch again.
The door at the end of the hall opens up and Joshua comes through it. “Sorry it took me so long,” he says, sounding a little off. “Someone was on the computer before me and I had to wait.” His fingers go up and flick his neck, like he’s itchy there. It makes my armpits feel like they’re on fire. I rub my arms against my ribs trying to ease the sensation.
“No big deal,” I say, pretending like I wasn’t just all freaked out over nothing. “What did you find out?”
He stops in front of me, his face kind of twisted up. He looks uncomfortable. “I did find the actual purchase order and we do know the identity of the buyer.”
“Great!” This is the best news I’ve had all week. “Who is it?”
“I can’t say.”
My face falls. “What do you mean you can’t say?”
“I mean, we keep our clients’ identities private. We can’t give the information out to the public.”
I’m about to unload a huge load of anger on his head when his hand comes up like a stop sign.
“However … I would be happy to contact this client on your behalf and deliver a message for you.” He smiles. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do.”
I chew on my lip for a second as I consider his proposal. “Okay, fine. Do it.”
Joshua looks very relieved. He scratches liberally at his neck, as if he’s forgotten how perfect he normally is. It leaves a red welt there. “Great. I’ll just need your contact information.”
“Hmm …” I have no cell phone anymore, and I never did have a phone at my apartment. “I guess you could call me at work. I’m at 555-5309.”
“Two-one-two area code?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Great.” He holds out a hand. “I’ll be in touch very soon.”
I take his hand and shake it. “I appreciate your help, Joshua.”
“Why is she calling you Joshua?” David the security guard asks.
Joshua says nothing. He stands there like a statue, his arms dropping to his sides.
I put my hands on my hips, once more irritated. “What should I be calling him?”
“Ralph. His name is Ralph.”
Joshua or Ralph has the courtesy to blush.
“You are a seriously fucked-up individual, you know that?” I shake my head at him and walk down the hallway, leaving him in my dust.
I follow David out of the offices and leave the store, my head kind of spinning from the lunacy I just experienced. I have no idea if this guy’s even going to call me now.
Chapter Fifteen
I’M WALKING DOWN THE HALLWAY at the hospital with my badge on — I’ve taken a page out of Joshua-Ralph’s book and named myself Betty today — when I see that fancy hot guy again. He’s all the way at the other end of the corridor, so at least this time I’m not being flattened or thrown to the ground.
I keep my eyes on him just in case he decides to change course.
He looks up just as he’s about to pass me. He pauses and holds out a finger. “Watch where you’re going …,” he narrows his eyes at my chest, “Betty?”
I snort. “Watch yourself, Helen.”
He stops, but I keep going.
“Helen?” he shouts out after me.
“Helen Keller!” I shout back. “The blind chick.”
I step into the elevator smiling. I probably shouldn’t be, having thrown out that totally non-politically-correct insult, but still, I am. As the doors slide shut I sigh with satisfaction. After waiting all day at the shop for that guy to call me and getting nowhere with it, a little bit of satisfaction goes a long way.
Mel is asleep when I enter his room, but when I touch his arm he wakes up.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks in a slurred voice.
“Visiting my father.” I lean in and whisper, “Don’t tell them the truth. They won’t let me in if we’re not related.”
“You’re my daughter.” He says it like a statement. He looks confused.
I shake my head. “No. I’m pretending to be your daughter-in-law so I can visit. Is that okay?”
He stares at me for another few seconds before he nods and then turns his head to look up at the blank television. “Sure. You can visit me anytime.”
I pull a chair over and sit down next to him. “Mel, you never told me you had diabetes.”
He closes his eyes for a couple seconds and opens them again. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
“Well, it does. I could have helped you get medication or better care or something.”
He looks over and smiles. “You did all right by me, darlin’. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“How do you have a southern accent when you have a Michigan driver’s license?”
“Raised in the south. Followed a girl to Detroit.” He looks back at the TV. “Anything good on?” He gestures up toward the screen.
I take the remote from his bedside and turn the TV on. “What do you like to watch?”
“Anything. Just not the news.”
“Too depressing?”
“I left all that garbage behind me. Now I just want to be entertained.”
“What garbage? The war?”
He looks at me. “What war?”
“You’re a veteran. They told me.”
He shrugs and goes back to blanking out at the screen. “Past history.”
We watch in companionable silence for a while, one of those Housewives of Someplace shows, before I speak again.
“What’d they say about your feet?”
“Nothin’ much.”
How does a person ask another person who could be about to lose his toes or his foot how he’s going to get along as a homeless person? I have no idea, so even though I’m curious and worried, I say nothing.
“Visiting hours are over,” says a voice from the door several minutes later.
I stand. “Can I come see you tomorrow?”
He glances at me for a second before going back to his show. “If you like.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Just as I’m at the door, his voice stops me.
“You okay?”
I turn and look at him, holding onto the edge of the door. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You look like you’ve got some stress in your life.”
I gesture at his bed.
“Well, what do you expect? My fake father-in-law is sick, and I don’t know how he’s going to get along in the big bad world after they kick him outta here.”
“Don’t worry about me, Kitten, I’ll be fine. Always am, always will be.”
I leave with a tear in my eye. I always wanted a dad who’d call me Kitten. Mine was always too drunk to bother.
Chapter Sixteen
I COME INTO WORK SATURDAY just after ten and find a note on the counter from Belinda.
Some guy called you yesterday. Said to give you his number.
I pick up the shop phone and dial the number she left on the paper, my hands trembling just a little when a voice picks up and says, “Cartier, Fifth Avenue.”
“Uhhmm, can I speak with Josh… I mean Ralph, please?”
“Hold on a moment.” I listen to some elevator music before he gets on the line.
“Ralph Chadwick here.”
“Chadwick? You didn’t even give me your real last name either?” I snort at how whack-a-doodle this guy is.
“Who is this?”
“Duh, who do you think this is? It’s Leah. The girl you called about that ring? Did you call the buyer for me and tell him I want to give the ring back?”
“Oh. It’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling as I wait for his answer.
“I did call him, and his secretary called me back.”
I wait but that seems to be the end of his sentence.
“And?”
“And, she really didn’t have any information for me.”
“What’s that even mean? What did she say? What did you say? Maybe you screwed the message up.”
His voice goes lower. “I didn’t screw anything up. I told him via his secretary that you have a ring we sold to him several weeks ago and that you want to give it back. Did you steal it?”
I almost drop the phone. “Of course I didn’t steal it! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, if you’re not his fiancée, why do you have it?”
Inspiration strikes. “Truth is, Ralph — or should I call you Joshua — I am his fiancée.” My face starts to burn. I have no idea how I’m going to talk myself out of this corner.
