Page 105 of The Witching Hours

Cass guffawed. And it sounded genuine. I’m telling you genuine-sounding guffaws are hard to come by. “Museum quality! Don’t give up your day job for your comedy routine. Come on. What will youreallytake for it?”

I was literally standing in the middle of a haggle between the establishment’s representative and my friend who’d apparently accepted an unoffered post as my solicitor.

The woman looked the vase over carefully. “One twenty-five,” she said.

“Seventy-five. Final offer or we’re walking, and this thing can sit here and gather another century’s worth of dust.”

The women sniffed. “One hundred. Cash.”

“Deal,” Cass said.

When I turned to give her a what-just-happened look, she winked and grinned like she’d been handed a blue ribbon for bargaining. “Cass. I don’t have a hundred in cash. Who carries cash?”

She blinked. “When going to festivals in Montrose? Everybody! I’ll cover you. You pay me back.”

Cass and dicker lady started toward the cash register while I followed along dazed by what had just happened. I wasn’t even sure I wanted the thing. I’d just asked the price. It seemed that, in Cass’s world, asking the price was a concrete statement of desire.

I was glad lunch was the next stop. I needed a Manhattan. Although, I had to admit I was pretty happy about getting that vase for a Benjamin. It might not look like much now, but a little brass polish and its beauty would be blinding.

“They’re gonna deliver my rug to the rug cleaners, but we can take the vase with us,” Cass said as she was gathering the receipt. “Why don’t you wait in front with this?” She picked up the vase and put it in my arms. It was heavier than it looked. Gosh. Maybe it really was museum quality. “I’ll go get the car and come around.”

“It doesn’t seem fair that the one of us in wedges has to go get the car. I’ll do it.”

With a wave, she said, “Told you. They’re comfortable. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I stood on the cracked, stained sidewalk that looked like it had been poured before the pyramids were built and watched festival gridlock traffic creep by. With nothing to do but frustration, the cars’ drivers were openly curious about me and my vase. I find people watching less fun when I’m the one being watched. That’s a job for extraverts.

By the time the three of us – Cass, the vase, and I – were in the car, I was starving.

“How fast can you get us to lunch?”

“Hmmm. Fifteen?” I pretended to gnaw on my hand. “If it’s an emergency, we can stop at Circle K.”

After giving her a withering look, I said, “That is not the way I choose to die.”

She chuckled. “Okay. Don’t get hangry with me though.” Cass knew her way around inner Houston. She made a few odd turns and before I knew it, we were out of festival traffic, winding through the St. Thomas campus with ease because it was the weekend. “So, what’s the deal with that thing?”

“My brass vase?”

“Yeah. That. Why’d you want it?”

“When it’s restored and looks the way it’s supposed to, you’ll see.”

“If you say so. Everybody should get herself a birthday present. Especially…”

“Don’t say it.”

She chuckled.

There’s nothing like a nice leisurely, filling lunch with my favorite cocktail, the gin and tonic Parisian, and somebody you relate to. I felt more like myself. My pre-fortieth birthday party self that is. After a couple of double takes from guys at the festival, a relatively healthy view of my attractiveness was slowly making a comeback.

After Cass dropped me off, I set the vase down in the kitchen and decided I deserved a Saturday afternoon nap. That plan was quickly curtailed when Paddy commenced barking at my vase like we were under attack.

“Come on, Pad. This is neurotic behavior even for you. It’s just an old vase.”

It was useless. He’d fully committed to disliking the vase. At length and a dash of pet owner ingenuity, I solved the problem by taking him into the bedroom with me and closing the door. He stopped barking, but laid down in front of the door and stared at it like it was the mouth of hell.

Whatever.I didn’t say it out loud because I was done trying to reason with him. Apparently the English sheep dog sideof him had claimed dominance and he was being unflinchingly obstinate.

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