James typically encouraged the staff to engage with a client as he went back to set a purchase into its box and print out the valuation for insurance purposes. Tonight, though, he shook his head at them as Mr. diPietro palmed a cell phone and started dialing.

As James worked in the back office, he heard Mr. diPietro talking on the phone. There was no teasing, “Darling, I have something for you,” or suggestive, “I’m coming to see you.” No, Mr. diPietro was not calling his soon-to-be fiancée, but rather someone named Tom about some kind of land issue.

James swiped the card. As he waited for authorization, he steam-cleaned the ring again, periodically checking the green digital readout on the card machine. When he was told to call the bank’s twenty-four-hour line directly, he was not surprised given the purchase amount, and as soon as he got on with them, the representative requested to speak to Mr. diPietro.

Transferring the call to the phone on the desk in the viewing room, James put his head through the door. “Mr. diPietro—”

“They want to talk to me?” The man extended his right hand, flashing that watch, and picked up the receiver. Before James could come and take the line off hold, Mr. diPietro did it himself and started talking.

“Yes, it is. Yes, I am. Yes. Yes. My mother’s maiden name is O’Brian. Yes. Thanks.” He looked up at James as he put the call on hold again and the phone back in its seat. “They have an authorization code for you.”

James bowed and went back to the office. When he reappeared, he was carrying a sleek red bag with satin handles and an envelope with the receipt in it.

“I hope you will call on us again if we may be of service.”

Mr. diPietro took what he now owned. “I plan on getting engaged only once, but there will be anniversaries. Plenty of them.”

The staff stepped back to get out of his way and James had to hustle to open the store’s door before Mr. diPietro came to it. After the man breezed through, James relocked the thing and looked out the window.

The man’s car was gorgeous as it took off, its engine growling, the bright lights of the street lamps reflecting off black paint as glossy as still water.

As James turned away, he caught Janice leaning into another window, her eyes sharp. One could be quite sure she wasn’t measuring the car as he had, but focusing on the driver instead.

Odd, wasn’t it. That which you could not have always seemed more valuable than what you did, and maybe that was why diPietro was so removed: He could afford all of what had been shown, so to him the transaction was no different from buying a newspaper or a can of Coke to the average person.