Deep from human
vanity,
And the pride from life that planned her.
–– Thomas Hardy
“It’s
discounted by 40 percent right now. Usually almost $10,000.”
“Still,
you can get a Chanel Jersey Flap Bag for $2,500, Flo,” advised her longtime
friend Estelle.
“Nice,
but common, my dear,” replied Florence, with a dismissive wave.
“Yeah,
right. I should be so lucky to have such a
common bag.”
“The
Escalier is made of Balenciaga
leather, and Brul Conte line their bags with the finest Chinese silk available.
No other manufacturer does that. It takes softness to a whole new and exquisite
level.”
“So
I’ll take the bus when it dies. Lately, I usually do anyway. At least I’ll look
great with the Escalier on my arm.”
“You take that on the bus, and somebody will
cut off your arm to get it.”
“Oh,
c’mon, I want it and have been saving forever to buy it. You’re the one who’s
always saying you shouldn’t deny yourself happiness.”
“I
put a limit on that. Five grand for a purse is way beyond it. But, hey, it’s
your hard-earned money . . .
“True,
and I’m worth it. So I’ll see you tomorrow at work, and if you’re less
critical, I’ll let you touch the most magnificent handbag in the world.”
“You’re
nothing if not generous, sweetie. See you then.”
As
soon as Estelle left Starbucks, Florence headed to Nordstrom to make her
once-in-a-lifetime purchase. On her way, she thought about putting the handbag
on her charge card, but then reminded herself that her goal was to buy the Escalier using the money she had saved
for that express purpose. Don’t go adding
to your card. It’s already too high. Besides, it’s close to its ceiling anyway.
Cash it is.
Her
heart skipped a beat when she reached the store’s department that sold
handbags. I’m going to do it. I’m going
to own an Escalier.
“May I help you, Ma’am?” inquired a young woman in an expensive
suit.
Florence
wondered how store clerks could afford costly apparel on their low salaries,
and then she wondered if Nordstrom provided their sales staff with clothing
during their shifts. Wow, I bet she has Prada
on.
“Yes,
I’d like to see the Escalier Sac a Main.”
“Of
course,” said the young woman, reaching under the display counter. “We only
have the one style, but I assume it’s what you want.”
“Indeed,
it’s exactly what I want,” replied Florence, attempting to quell an urge to
squeal with utter delight.
“It’s
the last one we have, and it’s on sale.”
"Yes,
I know. It’s marked down 40 percent.”
“I’ve
never seen such a reduction on an Escalier.
It is magnificent,” said the sales clerk, handing it to her customer.
For
a moment, Florence thought she might actually faint. Her head swirled with
excitement. Oh, my God. I’m going to buy
it . . . really buy it.
“I’ll
take it!” blurted Florence, to the surprise of the sales person.
“Really?
I mean, of course. Will it be cash or credit card?”
“Cash
. . . ah, check.”
“I’ll
wrap it for you, ma’am.”
“No
. . . no, that won’t be necessary. I’m going to wear it. I’ll transfer my stuff
from this little purse, and you can throw it away. It’s old. I only brought it
because I knew I’d be getting the Escalier
and wearing it immediately.”
“I
can do that, ma’am.”
Within
minutes, Florence was outside and walking down the street with her new purchase
on her arm. I feel like a queen. I just
can’t believe it. I think people are staring. It’s so classy . . . I’m so classy.
* * *
“Hot
damn, you actually did it! You bought it!” blurted Estelle, when Florence
arrived at work the next day.
Florence
swung around as if on a fashion show runway.
“Isn’t
it gorgeous?” she cooed, though rather loudly.
Florence
cupped her mouth and giggled. “I can’t help it. I’ve been so giddy since I got
it. I feel like Princess Kate. She has one, you know.”
“Yeah,
and she can afford it.”
“You
should see the looks I get.”
“People
always look at crazies.”
“C’mon.
You’re just jealous.”
“Well,
maybe a little. Let me hold it.”
Estelle
held the Escalier gingerly and looked
through its interior.
“Well,”
inquired Florence, grinning smugly.
“Yeah,
okay, it’s beautiful, but I’d still spend the money on something else.”
“To
each her own. Okay, time’s up. Hand it back.”
“Hey,
my high school reunion is coming up next month. Can I borrow it for that?”
“Oh,
come on,” pleaded Estelle.
“I’ll
think about it, but don’t get your hopes up.”
* * *
Florence
took the afternoon off to go to the dentist and get her hair done. At every
stop she made it a point to direct attention to her handbag. The response to it
was more than gratifying and affirmed the wisdom of her purchase. Every woman
she met practically drooled over the Escalier
and looked at her with envy.
“Oh
my God, it’s lovely. I’ve never seen one of these up close,” gushed the
receptionist at the dentist’s office. “They’re so expensive. At least $2,000,
right?”
Florence
gave a little chuckle before enlightening the woman. “Five times that when
they’re not on sale, and they hardly ever are.”
At
the hair salon, the reaction to the handbag was equally passionate. Women
gawked at the pocketbook with awe and curiosity, adding to Florence’s enormous pleasure.
Buying the Escalier was the best thing
I’ve ever done. I wish I could afford another. I’ll start saving again.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have two?
When
her appointments were met, Florence decided to forego the bus and walk the ten
blocks to her apartment. She had never derived the level of satisfaction as she
had showing off her stunning accessory. And stares she got, including those of
a scruffy-looking man, who began following her as she neared her address. As
soon as she opened the door to her building, moreover, the stranger pushed her
inside the entrance.
“Gimme
your money, lady, and don’t make any noise about it,” he ordered.
Florence
clutched at her precious handbag and whimpered.
“What
you got in there? Empty it out . . . now!”
“You
can have my money but not . . .”
“But
not what? You got something valuable in there? Here give the purse to me.”
Florence
groaned as the thief dug through her prized possession.
“Thirty-seven
bucks. That all you got? What’s so valuable?”
In
shock and unable to think clearly, Florence literally let the cat out of the
bag, “I spent everything I had on it. Please don’t take my Escalier.”
“Your
what?”
“My
handbag. It’s . . .”
“This
cheap looking thing? Why would I want this crap,” said the man, returning it to
Florence. “You get this at Wal-Mart?”
Florence’s
anxiety suddenly turned to indignation. “Cheap? Are you a total idiot? This is
one of the most expensive . . .”
“Hey,
I know cheap when I see it, and that bag ain’t worth nothing. You can keep it,
lady. I’d take it for my girlfriend, but she wouldn’t want to be seen with it.
Got better taste.”
“It
usually costs $10,000, though I got it for half that at Nordstrom yesterday. If
you don’t believe me, the receipt is in there.”
“You
shitting me, lady?” said the man taking renewed interest in the handbag.
“No
I’m not shitting you,” replied
Florence, haughtily.
"Well,
in that case, gimme it back,” ordered the robber, who then ran off clutching
the handbag.
“Damn
right!” said Florence, shouting after him triumphantly. “It’s an Escalier Sac a Main. The most beautiful
handbag ever . . . ”
___
Michael C. Keith teaches college and writes fiction.
www.michaelckeith.com
