Ever been to an auction—not the ritzy Sotheby’s kind—the local estate sales? Just remember two things: although beauty is in the eye of the beholder, everything under the hammer is always something somebody else didn’t want.
Hell, she’d been waiting for ages, so she lit a cigarette. Jayne moaned about that habit too. Money was tight, but Jayne’s bottled water, designer coffees, and personal fitness trainer — they were different. Harriett turned. Jayne had finally come. She wrenched the damaged passenger door open and climbed in. Jayne said nothing. Harriett thought, this is not a good week, nor had it been a good month. Jayne had been terminated for cause — for letting that bossy witch of a supervisor have it. She was too impulsive — you find something else first — then leave any saying until your last day. They needed two incomes. Then the collisions — who cares about fault? Still, for Jayne’s sports car, it was a five-hundred dollar deductible they simply didn’t have. Jayne hated the pickup truck and drove it that way — with battered hatred. Now it sported a cracked side window and dented passenger door. Best not to mention anything; explanations were pointless.
The drive home and the evening were endured with silence. Harriett had to travel up-island for a Friday dinner meeting, which meant staying overnight. Jayne wasn’t pleased about that either. She was using Harriett’s pickup because until they paid the deductible, her sports car was off-the-road. Couldn’t she use a rental? Harriett had argued, if she was careful and creative, she’d be able to make-up something toward that five-hundred on her expense claim as the per diem and mileage allowances were generous. Harriett took her pickup. Heading home on Saturday and enjoying an early lunch in Duncan, she noticed neighbourhood children taking down signs for a garage sale. Cruising past the address, she saw the usual sad remains littering the driveway. Usual, except for one item—a stuffed farm animal. She stopped and climbed out to have a better look. The magnificent black-faced ram, possibly an Old Norfolk, reminded her of a distant country and her grandfather’s hill farm. “How much?” she enquired casually.
“Oh — that goddamn thing — Hell — Nobody wanted it — Five bucks — But yer gotta take it right now!”
“Done!” replied Harriett, momentarily wondering about money for fuel, “Can you help me tie it down?”
“Sure — No problem.”
Arriving home, Harriett had barely turned into their driveway, when she was spotted from the kitchen. Flying outside, Jayne yelled, “Goddamn it, Harriett! Don’t you dare bring THAT into our house. Get rid of it!”
Now? There’s a problem, she thought. She telephoned an auctioneer from a pay phone near Starbucks. “Could they manage one special item? No — Not furniture. A conversation piece — No — Yes — Dead — Not just the head — the whole thing.”
“What? — You’re kidding! Well — OK. But if there’s no sale you’ll have to pick it up before 5:00 p.m. the day after the auction.”
“Done! — I’ll be right over.”
Harriett dropped by the day after the auction. She half-expected to see the ram forlornly stuffed into the back storage area. “Hi-yer, Harriett,” the auctioneer greeted her warmly. “Strange things happen, Eh? They went nuts over yer ram. It’s gone!”
“How much? — Twenny?”
“Hell — No! Six hundred and twenny.
I’ll get you your cheque.” The six-twenty less commission was enough to cover Jayne’s five-hundred dollar deductible. There wouldn’t be much left, but she might be able to find a complete passenger-side door at the wrecker’s and install that on the pickup herself. “What a miracle,” Harriett said to no one in particular. They would now scrape by without using plastic. She was still the only one with a job and she hoped, as they had agreed, no more credit card charges and no cash advances — period — until.
Next Saturday morning, she awoke to an empty house. Goodness, she thought, Jayne was up and out early — But why? Stumbling downstairs, she noticed that her truck was gone too. Then she saw a note on the refrigerator door.
Harriett — Gone to garage sales in Duncan — Kisses
PS — What’s that auctioneer’s phone number?
