Wouldn't this crystal
beauty look wonderful beside her bed, on the night stand....
She remembered her car, double-parked out front. Another day
perhaps, she decided, seating herself before Mr. Armond at an
antique table while he called downstairs and instructed one of
the vault attendants to have the piece brought to her.
"Billy, I've worked so hard," she said, fingering her forehead
above her eyebrow. "This is my reward."
"Of course you have," Mr. Armond said. "The piece you have
purchased is one of a limited number created by Mr. Houston.
He'll be pleased to know it will be enjoyed by you and Mr.
Locke."
"People just don't know how difficult it is being married to a
successful businessman. It absolutely drains a woman. I swear, I
feel like half the time I do his thinking." She removed her right
glove and inspected her nails, and, as the credit card machine
beeped twice, she casually turned hand over, palm up, to receive
the sales slip.
Mr. Armond transcribed the approval code onto the form and handed
her the pen. As she signed her name, he mentally calculated his
five-percent commission on the sale: $1,200.
Ms. Olson, carrying the small catalogs in a stack that reached
from her midriff to her chin, managed a polite nod as she passed.
"Darling," Greta called, pointing in Ms. Olson's direction with
her index finger.
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