SAN DIEGO — Cheri and Ron both worked for the federal government in Washington D.C. Ron was up there in the bureaucracy. He was rated a GS-99 or something. He used to tell the President what’s happening economically in the country every week. Ron has done incredibly well in the stock market for years, and a long time ago wrote a book on the virtues of mutual funds-before the 401K people discovered them. His wife was a supervisor in the Census department and assured me when she is restless at night she keeps an accurate count of how many sheep jump over the fence as she tries to fall asleep.
We had just finished a lovely lunch of sardines, onions and Julianne beets with Cheri and Ron on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach, Florida. This street, for those who are not aware, is one of the most elegant and expensive shopping avenues in America, matched only by Fifth Avenue in New York City and Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, California.
After leaving the restaurant, we passed by the window of a jewelry store displaying an eclectic mix of diamond, pearl and precious stone necklaces, and rings and watches of varying qualities and prices. Included in the display, surprisingly, were some inexpensive watches. I thought this inexplicable merchandise was holiday and birthday gifts for butlers and housekeepers. Ron, a discriminating shopper who may still have on deposit part of the proceeds of his first paycheck, fixed his eyes on a time piece. It was a knockoff of a Timex watch and he indicated serious interest in buying it.
There were only two other customers when we entered the store, a father and son shopping for a necklace for Dad’s spouse. They pointed to one in the showcase that interested them. The proprietors of the establishment were an elderly man and his wife. He unlocked the display case and his wife reached inside and lovingly brought out an exquisite diamond necklace fabricated with thirty-two large emerald cut diamonds that she proudly placed on the glass counter. The sparkling piece of jewelry laid magnificently on its bed of royal purple velvet cloth.
The price quoted by the proprietors to the customers was a mere $95,000, a steal for such an exquisite piece, in their estimation. The dazzling ornament radiated more brilliantly in elegant arrogance when the price was announced.
The four of us listened and watched the musical dance between the serious sellers and the serious potential buyers. Watching this trafficking in baubles, well beyond anything our humble origins would consider, awed us. Pop and son finally broke off the negotiations and pronounced the hateful phrase sales people worldwide deplore, “We’ll think about it.” They then turned on their expensive Bruno Magli shoe heels and exited the premises. The proprietors of the store, desensitized from disappointment by decades of experience in these matters, immediately turned to us anticipating the potential of the next five-figure sale. Ron immediately deflated their expectations, by announcing his interest in the butler’s budget watch. Did it happen to be on sale he inquired? With an obvious lack of interest, they asked him to go outside to the display window, and pick out the stock number of the watch he wanted. I joined Ron in this quest. Our spouses remained inside, out of the sun, and resumed gazing at the expensive trinkets on display in the locked cases.
We reentered the store a short time later, stock number in hand, and were stunned by the scene before our eyes. There were our spouses, and the $95,000.treasure, still shining brilliantly on the counter top, neither store owner in sight. Ron and I stood with our mouths open. “Where are the owners?” I asked the women in astonishment. “They’re in the back,” Cheri innocently uttered. Amazed, we waited for several more minutes until the wizened shopkeepers reappeared. I asked incredulously,” How could you leave that necklace out and neither of you guarding it? You have no idea what kind of people we are!” “Oh yes we do,” the husband casually mentioned. “ We size people up when they enter the store. We could tell you were trustworthy,” he stated. His eyes focused on his wife, as she casually, but carefully, returned the necklace securely to its locked case.
After Ron completed his $29.99 tax-included purchase, we strolled down the street and I confronted him. “Ron, we missed a fabulous opportunity and it’s your fault,” I admonished him. “We could have snatched that exquisite necklace and run like hell. I can probably run faster than you,” I said, and could have made a good escape. You could have covered my tracks while I got away. You’re so good at talking with the President, I’m sure you could have concocted a good story to divert the pursuing cops. We could meet later in the evening and arrange to sell the booty. I’d give you thirty percent of the cash. My share would be the seventy percent, because I did the actual snatch and run.” Ron in an ungrateful voice flatly replied, “I’m not happy with the percentage of the split. I’ll rat on you and turn you in to the “Dicks.”
I told that story to my friend Mike, a retired diamond dealer from New York living in retirement in Florida. He said, “The store owners must be getting senile, because no dealer would ever trust anyone in any circumstance with that kind of product.” “By the way,” he mentioned, “if you ever get that opportunity again, I’ll fence the merchandise for thirty percent.”
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Ira Spector is a freelance writer based in San Diego.