I had been wandering the stalls for hours, not really finding anything that inspired me. My work had been in a bit of a funk lately, and I needed something, some kind of new material, an idea about a new technique, just something to jump start my work again.

The exposition hall was immense. Hundreds of vendors, selling everything from raw gemstones to finished pieces, were crammed into every available space. And people, thousands of them, swelling the population to the point where the security guards were guarding the door and refusing to let newcomers enter until some member of the crowds inside left.

It was warm and humid in the parking lot, but worse inside despite the air conditioning. Human perspiration, the musty, earthy smell of jeweler's rouge, the flinty odor of the polishing wheels. There wasn't much of a line at the concession stand, and I could see why. The smells were enough to ruin appetites. I pulled a water bottle out of my oversized purse and took a long drink of the tepid stuff, looking around and trying to figure out if I'd been down the next aisle already.

Deciding that it was unexplored territory, I shifted the straps of my bag on my shoulder and started toward the first booth on the left. Mundane things, really. Strands of garnet and tiger's eye, amethyst and malachite. Lovely, certainly, but I could get these anywhere. The prices were slightly better, but there had been the added expense of the drive and the motel room.

I hadn't come here to get better prices on ordinary supplies. I wanted something that would jar me from my rut and tease a masterpiece out of me. Something simply irresistable. And so far, I hadn't found it.

The next booth had some cunning little Indian silver beads. I bought a few strands, along with some Balinese s-clasps. These would make wonderful accents for one of my designs. The booth after that, opal beads, some with some nice color play. But opals were troublesome, as I'd discovered in my first year of business, and I passed them by.

As I browsed, I began to see in my mind's eye what I wanted. A carved piece, I thought. Something large and unusual. Unique. Amethyst, maybe, or lavendar jade. Amazonite would do, the pale variety, preferably. Laboradorite or moonstone would be wonderful, but large pieces of these stones weren't widely available, I knew.

I finished down one side of the aisle and turned to examine the other side, when suddenly I saw it. It wasn't a carved stone at all. It was a chain, an exquisite silver chain the likes of which I'd never seen before.

Thirty inches long, about six millimeters wide, a solid silver lobster claw clasp. Oxidized silver. Links in the shapes of crescent and full moons, stars and open circles. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I walked toward it with eyes fixed, as if in a trance. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the booth's proprietor come toward me with a widening smile.

She was a small Oriental woman, with bad teeth and an accent so strong it was nearly impossible for me to understand what she said. I smiled and said "hello," then picked up a business card from the stack on the table and looked at it. "Palivar Enterprises," it read. "Purveyors of the unusual. New Orleans, Buenos Aires, Singapore."

Realizing that I'd need to get my wits about me if the dickering which must follow was to be successful, I looked around the stall. There were cases of exquisitely carved rubies and sapphires, tiny opal animals, one of a kind finished pieces. On the other side hung strands of carved beads, butterflies and owls, Chinese calligraphic symbols and other abstract designs. The other chains that hung with the object of my admiration were beautiful and unusual too, but paled in comparison to it.

I asked the woman the price of the chain and one or two other things, then thanked her and moved on. My pretense of disinterest was a ruse, of course; both she and I knew I'd be back, and probably sooner than later, to dicker the price of the chain down from the $500 asking price. It was a gorgeous chain and I wanted it desperately, but not desperately enough to pay twice what it was worth.

I wandered down the rest of the aisle, feigning interest in ordinary jewels and bead strands, all the while thinking about the chain. I bought five or six small fire opals, a pair of rubies and a larger alexandrite which would make a wonderful pendant for the chain I'd found. At the end of the aisle, I bought a few grams of silver investment and took another swig of my water.

Enough time had passed, I thought, so I returned to the Paliver booth. But the chain was gone. "Fool!" I thought, "Why didn't you just buy it when you had the chance?" Hoping against hope, I described the chain to her and asked if she had another. When she finally understood what I was asking, she shook her head, all the time with that same grin on her face. I asked who'd bought it and she pointed to a small man just turning the corner into the next aisle.

Turning abruptly, I shoved and squeezed my way through the crowd until I caught up with him. "Excuse me, " I said breatlessly as I put a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, I was surprised to see he was a younger man, Oriental, with green eyes.

"Yes?" he responded, questioningly without a trace of accent, looking me over.

"Hi," I said with a smile and hesitated, unsure of exactly how to continue. Then, "You bought a chain from that booth back there. A silver chain, heavy, with links of stars and moons."

He nodded, looking at me suspiciously and tightening his grip on the hard-shelled briefcase he carried.

"Well, I was just coming back to get it when I found out you'd bought it." Tactically, I'd just sunk myself, but I didn't care. I had to have that chain. "And I'd like to buy it from you. I'm willing to pay a small premium above what you've paid, of course." He looked shrewd, experienced, and I felt sure he hadn't paid the asking price any more than I would have.

"I'm not interested in selling it," he said bluntly, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" I exclaimed. "Give me a chance!"

"Miss," he said, turning. "Please. It was a very expensive piece, and I wouldn't have bought it except that I have a steady customer who asked me specifically to find them an unusual silver chain. This will make my customer very happy."

"Please, please," I pleaded. "You don't understand. I have been struggling to create new pieces, and that chain," I broke off, startled at the realization of just how stupid this was. "That chain was the first thing in months that inspired me." I finished and looked into his eyes. "Your customer won't know. There are other things here that might suit them." I swallowed hard, stood straighter. "I'll make it worth your while." His eyes narrowed, and I knew he was finally considering the idea of selling me the chain.

"I paid $500 for it," he said. "I'll sell it to you for $600." He shifted the briefcase until he was holding the handle by both hands, in front of him.

"$600!" I exclaimed before I could get a grip on my emotions. "What kind of fool are you?"

He pivoted on his heel and began walking away. I closed my eyes and quickly began my mental calculations. An exciting new piece, in an upscale gallery, would inspire interest in my other work. It could increase my commissions ten fold. It irked me to pay more than twice the chain's worth, but I had to have it. It was investment in the continued viability of my career.

"Wait!" I called after him again. "I'll give you $550."

He turned back to me, annoyance plain on his face. "$650," he said coldly.

I shook my head, then reached in my pocket and pulled out my bankroll. Counting off thirteen fifty-dollar bills, I handed them to him. "I want a receipt." I said meekly. He accepted the money, counted it quite insultingly, then handed over a bag with the chain and his original receipt in it. He handed me a receipt for $650, illegible except for the amount, bowed curtly and disappeared into the crowd.

Angry with myself for blowing that transaction, I left the hall and returned to my motel. I stopped a fast food drive-thru on the way to pick up dinner. Everything about this trip would have to be economy class from now on after having spent so much on one piece. After I'd eaten and checked in at home, I spread the day's purchases out on the second of the room's two beds and sifted through it, making notes in my journal of what I'd bought, what I'd paid and what ideas I had for how the pieces would be used.

Examining the chain more closely, I spotted one or two patches of tarnish, which could be expected at a show such as this. From my took box I took a tube of polish and carefully applied a small dollop near the tarnished section of the chain. I took out a chamois and carefully rubbed at it for a few seconds, then held the chain up and examined it with a loupe.

To my shock and dismay, when I examined the tarnished segment, I discovered that it wasn't really tarnish at all. Rather, it was duller pot metal beneath a thin coat of silver plate. Because of the price, in combination with the fact that this was a trade show, I hadn't thought to check the silver content. "Fool!" I thought, not for the first time that day.

I strode into the hall filled with righteous indignation the next day and made straight for the booth of Paliver Enterprises. I'd spent most of a sleepless night going over all possible permutations of a confrontation with the Oriental woman with bad oral hygiene, and was confident that I could win my case. If not with her, I could go directly to the show's organizers. I would have satisfaction.

But the Paliver Enterprises stall was vacant. I asked the booth's neighbors about the woman and her business, but no one seemed to know either of them. The New Orleans number on the business card I'd collected the previous day was out of service, and the number listed for their Singapore office was invalid.

When I demanded to see the show's floor manager, she politely but firmly pointed to the show rules located in the brochure: "All sales final. The show's promoter accepts no responsibility for customer disputes with vendors." I threatened, I cajoled, I promised to lodge a complaint with the Massachussetts Attorney General. The outcome was no different. I was still out $650.

Home was a welcome sight for me when I returned that evening. My husband greeted me affectionately and cooked dinner for me, and sensing that something was wrong, kept asking what it was. I was too ashamed to tell him, and said that I wasn't feeling very well, that I had a headache. I went to bed early and spent a few minutes examining the bane of my shopping trip under the lighted magnifyer affixed to the drafting table in a corner of our bedroom. Although the material was inferior, the design was quite ingenious, and I began to wonder if I could adapt it to recreate the piece in the material it deserved.

I spent a restless night thinking this idea through, and woke the next morning eager to try it out. The work was progressing well, and I'd managed to recreate a six-inch segment of the chain before lunch. I took my break in a much better mood, and went out to the mailbox to collect the day's mail. In it was an issue of Lapidary Digest, a trade publication that I looked forward to each month.

Taking it with me, I fixed myself a sandwich and a cup of tea and sat down to leaf through it while I ate. The table of contents listed an article entitled "Chain of Fools," and intrigued by the title, I flipped through the magazine to the page indicated. There was a picture of the chain I'd bought from the Paliver booth!

To my surprise, the article told about a number of other reputable jewelers who'd been swindled by exactly the same scam I'd been stung by. I didn't feel quite so foolish now. The article also documented a new craft which had been inspired by this scam, using the design techniques employed by the fradulent jewelry. The following pages showed a wide and inspiring variety of designs based on the original design, and showcasing the chain-maker's talent.

I finished the article and pushed aside the rest of my sandwich, no longer hungry. I spent long minutes looking into my tea cup, thinking about what had happened to me and what I'd read. The last paragraph of the article talked about how commercial these one-of-a-kind, handmade chains had now become, and how sought-after they were. As I sat down, a slow smile came to me. I'd wanted inspiration. I'd wanted that chain. I'd gotten both. "Chain of Fools" indeed!

Props to the CHPercolator List for the prompt
March 31, 2001
2268 words