Free Two of a Kind by Yona Zeldis McDonough Page B

checked the price: two hundred dollars.
    â€œSeems reasonable,” Andy said.
    â€œIt is. But I can get it for less.”
    His eyebrows moved up. “Really?”
    â€œReally.” Christina left Andy standing watch while she went to find the woman with the frosted hair. After a few minutes of polite but firm negotiation, Christina had gotten the price down to one hundred and seventy dollars. A red SOLD sign was taped to the mirror.
    â€œHey, you’re good,” Andy said as he followed her into the next room. “
Very
good, in fact.”
    â€œThanks,” she said. “I have plenty of experience.”
    There was nothing else of interest upstairs, but downstairs, in the sunroom, Christina found an ottoman in mahogany leather that Andy loved and a box stuffed with vintage tablecloths, napkins, runners, dresser scarves, and doilies. Many were yellowed or stained, but she could bleach and restore them. She didn’t have an immediate use for these linens; still, they were of too high a quality to pass up. Some of the runners had handmade lace trim and the jacquard weave of the napkins was exceptionally fine. She bought the whole batch for twenty-eight dollars. The dining room yielded an assortment of crystal glasses and goblets for any drink imaginable: champagne, wine, port, sherry, sidecar, and old-fashioned. And because they were odd pieces, they were only a dollar each.
    â€œYou have to get these,” Christina said to Andy, guarding the table where the glasses were grouped. “We can use some of them up in the bar we bought.”
    â€œI have plenty of glasses,” he said.
    She lowered her voice. “These are Baccarat. And they’re
old
. They’ll be perfect in that bar.”
    â€œHow do you know that they’re Baccarat?”
    â€œTrust me,” she said. “I know.” Counting thirty-three pieces, she offered the woman with the frosted hair twenty-five dollars for the whole lot and then stood wrapping each one in a sheet of newspaper—some dating from the 1970s—because she did not trust anyone else to do it. When she was done, there were smears of newsprint on her white T-shirt and her hands were grimy.
    Once the glasses were safely packed, Christina continued her hunt. Yes, there was a sofa, with pretty curving legs and down cushions, but Caryn wanted something more modern and she herself had nowhere to put it—her showroom was packed—so she reluctantly let it go. She did buy several unframed needlepoints that she would turn into pillows, as well as another small oval mirror in a simple cherry frame, a battered watering can, and a star-shaped nail cup—used, she told Andy, by cobblers to hold their various-sized fasteners. “How do you
know
this stuff?” Andy said as she picked it up to test the heft of it. Sometimes weight alone decided her; she hated anything that felt too flimsy or cheap.
    â€œOn-the-job training,” she said. The nail cup felt agreeably heavy in her hands; she would buy it.
    â€œWhat are you going to do with it anyway? You can’t have too many clients who are cobblers.”
    â€œOnce it’s been cleaned up, it will make an excellent serving piece—see all these little compartments? They’re perfect for setting out different foods. You can put olives in one, roasted peppers in another, nuts in another.” Christina loved this kind of repurposing; it involved a certain slant of mind to take something intended for one use and put that thing to an entirely different one.
    It was close to noon by the time they emerged from the house; by this time, the sky had grayed a bit and in the distance, a bank of clouds lay low on the horizon. It had gotten warmer too; Christina felt a fine sheen of sweat coating her face and arms. Andy helped her put all their purchases into the car. “I’m starved,” he said. “Do you have time to stop for something to eat?”
    â€œI