Epilogue 2
In
the morning, at the opening of the 8:00 AM preview, I was there. WHY I was there was not clear to me for
I had decided to NOT buy anything… including the desk with the hidden note in
it… “unless it’s going really cheap”.
“It’s” was ANY good antique from Blood Farm going really cheap; not just
the desk. The desk I surveyed from
across the hall. No one was
looking at it. At first.
THEN
a consortium of three well known dealers surrounded the desk and had their way
with it meaning… they took all the drawers out of it, shined flashlights all
over the drawer spaces, lay the desk case on its back, shined flashlights all
over the underside of the base, pointed here and there to each other, stood
back, looked, talked and looked again.
They then put their noses right down into the interior writing surface
and therein talked, looked, pointed and… sniffed. They then stood the desk back up, put it back together,
carefully pulled a couple of interior drawers out and… carefully put them back
in and… finally… stood back from the desk as a threesome and talked out of the
corner of their mouths to each other.
They did not find the hidden slip of paper.
“THAT’S
THAT!” I said to myself and kept watching to be absolutely sure …that one, two
or ALL THREE were “gonna buy it”.
Once I assured myself I pronounced the “gonna sell for too much”
meaning, in short… an undistinguished old, small, perfect and untouched
Chippendale desk worth buying and leaving alone for …two thousand dollars…
would sell for no less than twenty-five hundred, have a thousand dollars spent
on …restoration (read: removing the old VICTORIAN surface and… “refinishing
it”)… then be “offered” for five thousand, then… TRY TO SELL for forty-five
hundred only to have that price plucked downward over a year or so back to a
“end of season” thirty-five hundred “at cost” “SALE” price only to fall short
again and… end up in a … “ANNUAL NEW YEARS DAY” back of the hall with its back
against the wall… auctioned again… bringing …$1500. “to a local dealer” on the
coast who finally sells it for two thousand dollars (“including sale tax”) to a
couple who …put it in their “summer place” “right on the water”. No one, including the person
refinishing the interior… ever finds the hidden slip of paper until… the
couple’s daughter says “HEY MOM DID YOU KNOW THERE’S AN OLD PAPER IN HERE?”
while fussing with the center desk drawer one Maine coastal summer vacation
morning …ten years from now.
As
I let go of ever owning the desk my vigilant “whose competition” gaze landed
without effort upon a …group of seven (five women, two males) well dressed and
shiny shoed … “retail” type “auction goers” turning from the center isle
between the bidder’s chairs in the hall to seven “right in front” “reserved”
chairs. They all sat down. Then some of the women got up and went
back and forth from… the large groups of Alice’s kitchen china, ironstone,
yellow ware and “old pottery”.
Oblivious to them but obvious to all others was that this “THEY” liked
all “THAT”… and were gonna bid on it.
I was … “who are those people?” ,“not from Maine”, “from away”, “can pay
for it” and … “don’t know what they’re doing”.
THOSE
mind statements led my now trace like gaze BACK to the center Isle between the
chairs where it… snagged one.
THERE, half way down and moving forward WITH HIS GAZE leaving the party
of seven and turning ON ME …inclusive of a small knowing smile as my gaze
squished into HIS GAZE… came… the fire chief. He kept coming right past the seated seven …who DID
acknowledge him …and he them… so as to make it certain to me THEN that HE DID
“know who they are”. He came right
over to me as I stood along the side wall, extended his hand and said “WHAT YOU
DO’EN HERE?”
“I
was looking for you.” I said with direct eye contact.
“LOOK’EN. FOR ME?”
“You.”
“ME? WHY?”
“So
YOU could tell me what happened to Alice and WHO those people are.” I said
pointing past him to the front row seven.
The fire chief followed my pointing finger and looked over his shoulder.
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