Page 68 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
“When’s another time?” He gestured to the gloves. “You obviously like them. They’re beautiful and won’t be here long. You look like you can afford it. So, get them!”
“But it’s not practical.”
“What is? If you want practical, you could dress in a potato sack. It’s obvious you have taste. Why not indulge yourself?” His confidence and earnest demeanor were disarming.
“But I don’t have an occasion fancy enough to wear them.” Socialites wore gloves like these—the daughter or niece of an Aster, Roosevelt,or Vanderbilt.Maybethey could work for the dance, accentuating Gertrude’s designs, but surely they were too fine for a regular dance.
“Make one. Better yet,” he said, motioning me to the back glass case, “finery such as that is begging for an added piece. Perhaps a brooch for your throat to draw attention to your lovely skin?”
“You must think me an easy mark.”
“Not at all. You are a woman of means in search of beauty, which you rightly deserve. As soon as I saw you, I knew I had just the thing.” He spoke earnestly, his eyes assessing but not invasive in the way I sometimes felt from men. No lust lurked there. Only warmth and friendly curiosity.
He pointed at a small set of jewelry, emeralds in gold, with a matching necklace, the tag within sight. “See those, they would be perfect! You must have them.”
“It is very costly.”
“You won’t regret the price. You’ll only regret not taking the chance and buying these pieces that light up your eyes ... if you’ll forgive my impertinence.”
“Thesewouldbe perfect together,” I said.
Icouldafford it all. I wasn’t used to splurging on myself this way. I had immortality. It felt selfish to want more.
“I agree.” He pulled them from the case. “Why be ordinary when you could beextraordinary?”
Why not, indeed?
“It’s all rather sudden.”
“That’s what life is.” He winked. “All sudden and then it’s over. Best to get the dress, have the wine, and have a grand time.”
A laugh burst from me. I felt lighter than I had in so long. “I didn’t even come in here for this.”
“But you’re leaving all the better for it. I promise!”
I’d been sold by shopkeepers before, but this was something else—no room for guilt, only glee. “Fine. I’ll take it all.”
He beamed at me and wrapped each item carefully, folding the paper into crisp corners before he handed me the bundle, nodding in satisfaction. “I know you didn’t expect to find yourself here today, but I bet you’ll be glad you did.”
“I already am.”
“You know, if you’re free, I’d—”
The jangle of the bell cut him off as an older white gentleman with a waxed mustache came in. The customer’s head tilted imperiously back as if his neck had grown stiff from staring down his nose at people.
“Hello, Mr. Simons, right with you,” the young salesman said, dipping his head in a subservient manner I hadn’t seen from him yet. It was as if a mask had slipped, and I had been privy to his true self. “Have a good day, miss. I hope you can return to this fine establishment soon.”
“Maybe once my purse has some time to recover,” I said, taking my leave, purchases clasped in my hand.
I mused over the shopkeeper’s words as I walked back home.
Extraordinary.
That’s what Death would be interested in—the extraordinary. I just needed to find the right topic. I sped home with not only the gloves and the jewelry but also with a burst of inspiration, the kind where it feels like you’ve created magic, and it leaks from every bit of you. I went through all my books, searching for topics for the rest of the day, staying up well into the evening, sure I could find the perfect thing.
In the early morning, I was still hard at work, energized by creativity, with my gloves and jewelry beside me. I sensed that I was on the verge of a breakthrough. All I needed to do was persist and stay attentive; inspiration would come.
Twenty-Three
