Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Honestly, it doesn’t belong at a store like Carolynn’s. It belongs at Christie’s or Sotheby’s, being sold to the highest bidder. But stranger things have happened.
Over the years, I’ve learned not to judge people’s relationship with their jewelry and, more importantly, with the jewelry they inherit. Grandma Betty might’ve thought her wedding ring was the bee’s knees, but when her granddaughter, who doesn’t always have that same sentimentality, inherits it, she might want something vastly different or just the money it’s worth. Sometimes it’s even the original owners themselves who want to purge their jewelry boxes when they realize their remaining days are more likely to involve bingo at the nursing home than fancy galas. And they’re happy to sell their beloved pieces to someone who will breathe new life into them.
So, though it’s odd to find a piece like this at Yesteryear, it’s not unheard of.
“Who wears something like this?” I wonder aloud as I snap a picture for my “before” of the ring, imagining an elegant older lady holding court at the head of a fancy dinner table with a wave of her bejeweled hand.
“Someone who walks like this.” Carolynn drops one shoulder dramatically as if the ring weighs so much that wearing it would make you walk funny. I snort-laugh at her demonstration.
“And who’s really good at sucking dick,” she adds unapologetically.
“Carolynn!” I hiss, but I’m laughing too. She’s not wrong. I just didn’t expect her to say something so blunt. Carolynn is in her sixties, with a sharp gray bob and huge owllike glasses, a penchant for overalls and gardening, and a predisposition for ladylike turns of phrase. To be honest, I’m surprised she even knows the word dick and doesn’t call a penis something charmingly nondescript like a “you know what” or, at most, a “Lord Johnson.”
“She must’ve been a Hoover,” she adds, still going. “Shoot, if Todd gave me a ring like this, I’d take care of him every day.” She pauses, her smile evaporating as she feigns sadness and says, “For the rest of his suddenly . . . unexpectedly . . . very short life.” She dabs an invisible tear at the idea of being a quick widow with a rock this size on her hand.
I’m basically rolling at this point because this conversation is a new and unexpected turn in our friendship. “I’m sure Todd would understand,” I say with a wink.
“He wouldn’t give a good goshdarn if he went to the pearly gates if it was that good,” she surmises, giving the ring a serious glance of consideration.
As hard as I’m laughing, I do not want that image in my head, so I get back to business. “How much is it?” I’m scared to hear the answer, but I’m already falling in love with the ring, so a healthy dash of reality seems prudent. She’s right about one thing: This is a family-money type of ring, not your run-of-the-mill engagement ring. It’s more like a “thanks for putting up with me for the last thirty years” type of jewelry, blow jobs included.
“Ten thousand,” she whispers.
I gasp, both at the risk of that expense and also the potential reward. It’s honestly a great deal for a stone like this, but buying it will max out my credit line, making it hard for me to buy the smaller, less expensive pieces I can easily turn around. And the market for resale on something like this is so teeny tiny, it’s nearly infinitesimal, which means it might take me a while to actually sell it to recoup my costs and earn a profit.
All good, valid, responsible reasons not to buy it.
But if I reset it just right, and find the right buyer, this sale could set me up financially for several months. Plus, something like this would take my custom-design work to the next level, bringing in customers at a new, and higher, price point, and I want to grow my business—need to grow it, actually.
I’ve been steadily improving my bottom line, but at some point, I’d like to make enough to adult on another level, one where home ownership and a Roth IRA aren’t pie-in-the-sky dreams. You’d think with two jobs that would be possible, but being a cheerleader doesn’t pay much—it’s a labor of love that I won’t be able to do forever, so PLDesigns is it for me. My only real shot at the future I want. A future that could start with this beauty on my finger.
I should hesitate, give it a second and maybe third thought, but I can’t let a chance like this pass me by.
I’m talking myself into it, but mostly, I’ve already made up my mind. I have the utmost faith in my ability to work magic with a diamond this special, so I’m choosing . . . me.