He chuckled, then asked: “Sporty? Or something more practical?”
“Just show me the cheapest one,” I reminded.
And so he did. A Plymouth Valiant. OK, it wasn’t exciting, but the white was acceptable and I loved the sky-blue interior. Nice, clean lines; the earlier funky, froggy rear end had been streamlined. Roomy trunk, comfy seat, automatic transmission and a reputation for reliability. We spent about 45 minutes going over finances and in short order the deal was done. Another 20 minutes or so while “she” was checked and spiffed. Shortly after 10 a.m., I drove that Valiant off the lot, stopped by home for an overnight bag, and set off for Cherry Grove Beach. Got there about 3:30 p.m.
Driving my new Valiant was liberating, but not the peculiar experience first referenced. That came later in the day and evening. By late afternoon, chill air prompted me to abandon sunbathing in favor of window shopping, and eventually I found myself in a jewelry store. Commenting that I had just bought my first car and couldn’t possibly buy anything else, I asked if I might “just look” at rings.
I meant in the showcase, but the salesman brought out tray after tray of beautiful rings. He would look them over and select first one, then another, for me to try on. I could have been happy with any of them, but it was a gold-mesh stupa-shaped ring, topped with a gleaming white pearl, that stole my heart. There was the usual “we can make a deal” approach, but the ring really was beyond my now-committed budget. I thanked the gentleman, then headed on to my little hotel and dinner.
When there came a knock at my door around 9 p.m., I assumed it was a hotel attendant. With security chain in place, I opened the five inches or so and was astonished to see the jeweler standing there. “I am sorry to disturb you,” he apologized, “but this belongs with you.”
