Close Your Eyes

6

Two men wearing black overcoats and robin’s-egg-blue scarves flanked the glass doors that led into Tiffany & Co. on Fifth Avenue. I paused, and one of them opened the door, ushering me inside with a sweep of his arm.

As I approached one of the glass cases, a young man with a pronounced chin smiled at me invitingly. I looked down and saw a beautiful ruby ringed with diamonds. “A lovely piece,” murmured the man, taking the ring from the case and laying it on a strip of velvet. “Would you like to try it on?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, though I felt a strange desire rising in my throat. I lifted my left hand, saying, “No, thank you, I don’t think.”

The man opened his palm, and I placed my fingers inside. He held my wrist and, with his other hand, slid the band onto my ring finger. When it was in place, he met my eyes.

The first time Gerry asked me to marry him, we were hiking along the Barton Creek Greenbelt. Gerry had packed a picnic lunch, and we sat at the edge of the water and watched Handsome swim. A turkey sandwich, I remember, with avocado and sharp cheddar cheese. Homemade lemonade. I lay back, settling my head in Gerry’s lap. The sun poured through the leaves, making patterns on the water. Gerry ran his fingers through my hair. “I love you,” I said.

“Lauren,” said Gerry, “will you marry me?”

It was an immediate reaction: I felt choked and could not breathe. I sat up. “I’m not marrying anyone,” I said. I had promised myself again and again in the years following my mother’s death. I will never fall in love, I will never need anyone, I will take care of myself. I locked away the agony as if it were a rabid animal. I made a set of rules, like armor—if I followed them, I believed, I could keep myself safe.

“I told you,” I said, by the creek.

“I’m not your father,” said Gerry.

I stood up, and walked down the path by myself. Handsome jumped from the water to follow me. I reached the car in about twenty minutes, and I unlocked it and put Handsome inside. I rolled down the back window, and used my water bottle to fill a Tupperware container with water for the dog to drink. Then I locked the car (Gerry had his own set of keys) and started walking home. It took me over an hour, and when I turned on Maplewood, Handsome ambled out to greet me.

I knelt down and rubbed his ears. Then I climbed the three steps to the front door. When I opened it, I saw Gerry sitting on the couch with a beer. “I get the picture,” he said. “You’ve made your fucking point.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Go to hell,” said Gerry.

I moved out for a while, answering a Craigslist ad for a house share, but Gerry and I met for lunch every few days and took care of Handsome together. After two months, Gerry asked if I would come home.

Now I stared at the giant ruby ring. “Take it off,” I said.

“Pardon me?”

“I’m not interested,” I said. I grabbed the ring and pried it off my finger. I dropped it onto the velvet. “I’m here for research purposes.”

The guy laughed. “Research purposes? That’s a new one.”

“You almost had me there,” I said. “Phew, that’s a nice ring.”

“Women and jewels,” said the guy.

“It’s like a drug,” I said. “Cocaine or maybe crack. I don’t know. Fine white wine? Anyway, I’m trying to find out about someone who used to work here. A long time ago. I need to speak with her.”

“Carole might be able to help you,” said the man. “She’s been here forever.” The man pointed to a trim, white-haired woman staffing a display case in the far recesses of the store.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You sure about the ruby?” said the man. I laughed. “When you find the right guy, send him in,” he said.

“I’ve got the right guy,” I said.

He looked at my naked fingers and shrugged, already scanning the room for a more likely commission.

I made my way toward Carole. She was talking to a couple about a watch. When they moved on, I stepped in front of her case. “How can I help you today, young lady?” she said. You could see the bones beneath her porcelain skin, and her eyes were deep brown. She wore heavy rouge and lipstick. Her wrinkles evidenced years of animated sales pitches.

“I’m trying to find out about a person who used to work here years ago,” I said. “I need to ask her … something.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“Pauline Hall,” I said. “I have some … I have an earring of hers.”

“Oh, Pauline,” said Carole. She sighed and shook her head. “Poor old Pauline.”

“Is she still working here?” I said.

“Pauline died a lifetime ago,” said Carole. “Cancer. I went to the funeral with my husband, Ralph. Pauline had a hard life. You say you have her jewelry?”

“It’s an earring,” I said.

Carole squinted as if seeing a faraway place. “She was such a bookworm, Pauline.”

“What do you mean about … when you said she had a hard life?”

“She fell in love with the wrong fellow,” said Carole. “He got her pregnant, and then he left.” She pursed her lips primly. “You have to be careful who you choose. I have three babies of my own. Three boys. Men now. But I waited until I was married, didn’t I? Time flies, I tell you,” said Carole. “Sweetheart, would you like to try on one of these watches?”

“Oh,” I said. “No, thank you.”

“Pauline’s little girl was so sweet,” said Carole. “She’d come in after school, do her homework in the break room. She had a little plaid uniform.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Her name was Sylvia,” said Carole.

“Sylvia?” I asked.

“After Sylvia Plath, I think. Pauline fancied herself an intellectual.” Carole shook her head. “I wonder what became of little Sylvia. Heaven only knows.”

“Heaven only knows,” I said.