Hot Rocks

hour. Will you be all right on your own?”
    “Sure.” Angie held up a protein bar and a bottled, low-fat Frappucino. “Got my lunch right here.”
    “You don’t know how sad it makes me, Ange, to hear you call that lunch.”
    “Weighed in at one-nineteen this morning.”
    “Bitch.”
    While Angie laughed, Jenny got her purse from behind the counter and her sweater from the hook. “I’m going to nuke leftover pasta primavera and finish it off with a brownie.”
    “Now who’s the bitch?” She gave Jenny’s belly a pat, hoping as always to catch the baby kicking. “How’s it going in there?”
    “Night owl.” She stuck a loose bobby pin back in her messy topknot. “I swear the kid wakes up and starts tap dancing every night about eleven, and keeps it up for hours.”
    “You love it.”
    “I do.” Smiling now, Jenny tugged on the sweater. “Every minute of it. Best time of my life. Be back in an hour.”
    “Got it covered. Hey, should I call Laine? Just check on her?”
    “I’ll do it from home,” Jenny called back as she walked to the door. Before she reached it, it opened. She recognized the couple, searched around in her mental files for the name. “Nice to see you. Dale and Melissa, right?”
    “Good memory.” The woman, thirtyish, gym-fit and stylish, smiled at her.
    “And as I recall, you were interested in the rosewood armoire.”
    “Right again. I see it’s still here.” Even as she spoke, she walked to it, ran her hand over the carving on the door. “It keeps calling my name.”
    “It’s such a beautiful piece.” Angie strolled around the counter. “One of my favorites.” The truth was she preferred the modern and streamlined, but she knew how to pitch. “We just got another rosewood piece today. It’s a gorgeous little davenport. Victorian. I think they’re made for each other.”
    “Uh-oh.” Laughing, Melissa squeezed her husband’s arm. “I guess I have to take a look at least.”
    “I’ll show you.”
    “I was just on my way out, if you don’t need me . . .”
    “We’re fine.” Angie waved Jenny away. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, aiming her pitch at Melissa as she ran a fingertip down the glossy writing slope. “It’s in wonderful condition. Laine has such a good eye. She found this in Baltimore a few weeks ago. It arrived only this morning.”
    “It’s wonderful.” Leaning down, Melissa began opening and closing the small side drawers. “Really wonderful. I thought a davenport was a kind of couch.”
    “Yeah, but this kind of little desk is called that, too. Don’t ask me why; that’s Laine’s territory.”
    “I really love it, whatever it’s called. Dale?”
    He was fingering the price tag and sent her a look. “I’ve got to think about getting both, Melissa. It’s a pretty big chunk.”
    “Maybe we can chip it down a little.”
    “We can work on that,” Angie told her.
    “Let me take another look at the armoire.” She walked back over, opened the doors.
    Knowing how to pace a sale, Angie hung back while Dale joined his wife and they began a whispered consultation.
    The doors were closed again, opened again, drawers were pulled out.
    “Do we get what’s inside, too?” Dale called out.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Box in here.” He took out the package, shook it. “Is it like the prize in the cereal box?”
    “Not this time.” With an easy laugh, Angie crossed over to take the box. “We had a big shipment come in this morning,” she began. “And we were pretty busy on top of it. Jenny must’ve gotten distracted and set this in there.”
    Or had she? Things had been hopping for an hour or two. Either way, Angie considered it a lucky break the drawer had been opened before the piece was missed.
    “We’re just going to talk this over for a few minutes,” Melissa told her.
    “Take your time.” Leaving them to it, Angie went back to the counter. She unwrapped the package and studied the silly ceramic dog. Cute, she thought, but she didn’t understand why anyone paid good money for animal pieces.
    She found soft, fuzzy stuffed animals more companionable.
    This was probably Doulton or Derby or one of those things Laine was still trying to teach her.
    Since, from little snatches of conversation, Melissa seemed to be wearing Dale down all on her own, Angie gave them a little more space by walking the statue over to one of a few displays of figurines and bric-a-brac to try to identify the type and era.
    It was like a game