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a bracelet, an
Étoile
twist, eighteen-karat gold, studded with diamonds set in platinum. I turn my wrist this way and that, watching the light bounce off the stones. Very nice. “And this is how much?” I ask the young woman helping me.
    “Three thousand, five hundred dollars.” She is wearing a gray suit with matching heels, pearl studs. And a ring with an acornsized diamond; it must be borrowed from the store. Her hairdo, a tightly wound twist, is much too severe. To say nothing of her demeanor. This woman needs to get out and play more. Although maybe she does play. Maybe this job, in fact, is playing. Maybe she lives in a dump with three wild roommates and tells them stories about the dipshits who shop at Tiffany. I hope so.
    “That bracelet looks wonderful on you,” the woman says. “It suits you.”
    The standard line.
    But “It does, doesn’t it?” I say. “I’ll take it. I’ll wear it out. We’ll just add it to the other purchases.”
    “Certainly,” the woman says, and nods to the man across the aisle in china, who has resumed his post. He stands politely waiting. When I go back over to him, he looks at the bracelet. “Lovely selection. Very elegant.”
    “Thank you,” I say. There’s no reason in the world for me not to wear things like this. I have always liked the look of blue jeans and diamonds; I, too, can wear them. This will be my everyday bracelet, my signature piece.
    “Here’s how it all breaks down.” The man shows me the figures for the cost of the silver and china. With the cost of the bracelet, my total will be over twelve thousand dollars.
Twelve thousand!
The number zips a finger up my spine, thrills me deeply in a way that reminds me of sex. From what I can recall.
    “Well, I . . . My goodness!” I say, and start laughing. And then stop. My fingers wander to the area behind my ear. An old, nervous habit: the body seeking a consultation with the body.
“Whew!”
    Silence from the man. From the whole store, it seems.
    Finally, “I . . . Oh, God. I’m sorry,” I say. I take the bracelet off, lay it on the counter. “I think maybe I should just go with the tea set, okay? And the one teaspoon, as I had originally planned. Would that be all right?”
    “Of course.”
    I don’t know how people fall out of love, Sam. It’s an old story, isn’t
it? The fact is, I can’t endure any of this any longer
. “Endure.” He actually said that.
    “Or . . . You know what?” I tell the man. “Let me have it all.” I put the bracelet back on, lean in closer to him. “Thought you’d lost me there, huh?”
    “Oh, no. Not at all. It’s a big decision.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “My name?” Three long fingers to his breastbone, shyly. Oh, he’s sweet. Why didn’t I marry someone like him? “It’s James.”
    “I’m Samantha. Sam.”
    “I’m glad to meet you.”
    “I’ll bet you are.”
    He looks up. “No, I mean . . . apart from that.”
    “Well. Thank you.” I swallow away a sudden tightening in my throat, pull out my checkbook. I need new checks. I need, I need, I need, I need.
    D RIVING HOME , I pass a young black woman standing at the side of the road with a little girl, perhaps four years old. The woman is holding up a sign that says, “Will work for food.” I pull over to the curb, lower the window. The woman approaches me hesitantly.
    “Here,” I say, holding the bracelet out to her. “Don’t get ripped off, selling it. It’s real. It’s worth three thousand, five hundred dollars.”
    The woman looks at the bracelet, then at me.
    “Take it,” I say.
    She shakes her head, mutters something, walks away.
    “Hey!” I call after her.
    She keeps walking.
    I cut the engine, get out of the car, and run after her. “Wait! I want to
give
you this! It’s real! I’m not kidding!”
    The woman turns slowly. “You a cop or something?”
    “No, I am not.” My breathing is ragged. How did I get so out of shape?
    “You crazy, then?”
    “Mommy?” the