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Thrift was not spending more than required to get what you needed. An approach which had served me well in college and beyond, especially after I dropped out to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life and realized I didn’t have some career with good money. It became something of a habit for me not to pay the full tag price for anything. Though, as I walked the unswept aisles of my very picked-over local thrift store, cheap was exactly how I felt.
I went straight for the jewelry bins. Kristen had been into bling nearly as long as the term had existed, and I really couldn't see that changing with age. Her taste in paintings and dresses certainly hadn't.
A lot of the stuff was really cheap costume jewelry, most of it either aluminum or zinc at its core. There were a few steel prices, particularly in the rings section, but they were a bit more flashy than even Kristen liked.
I was about to give up when I saw it. Near to bottom on the right hand side. A ring with a facet cut, black onyx stone set in sterling silver. It was absolutely beautiful and reminded me a bit of her. Her pale skin and coal black hair.
The price was right, too. The cashier asked if wanted to spend an extra three dollars on a box to put it in. You bet I did! That was a spurge worth going for.
The box had been too small to gift wrap so I put it in my coat pocket, hoping the box would be nice enough of a way to present it to her. I watched the other party goers arrive as I got the wine out of the trunk, feeling oddly out of place.
Most of them had a sense of style that usually only came from having had ridiculous amounts of money for a pretty long time. Many of the pairs of heels clicking down the sidewalk costing more than my car. I locked up and headed in, hoping to hell I wasn't making a huge mistake.
I caught up with the others in the lobby, recognizing them from Whiney's dinner party. One, a pretty, hippie girl with dreadlocks and a kind smile, held the elevator for me. To the chagrin of some of her glamazon counterparts.
"Thanks," I said, squeezing in next to her.
"No worries," she said, smiling serenely.
Except for the hippie girl, the elevator looked like a deputation from the annual redheaded league. I didn't think I had ever seen more gingers in one place. Except maybe on that missionary trip my family took to Ireland with our church’s temperance league when I was ten. I touched my own fire-red ponytail subconsciously.
"You look fine," the hippie girl whispered.
I dropped my hand, doing my best not to blush. It really wasn't a good look with my skin tone.
Hanging my coat by the door, I helped set up, being put on candle duty, the idea being to actually try and use all of the candelabras Kristen had gotten as part of her inheritance from their grandpa. From what I understood from my talks with Logan as well as what Kristen had said during her dinner party, neither of them had gotten money. Not directly.
Logan had gotten controlling shares in the sailing business and the money that went with it. Kristen had gotten the candelabras and a few paintings she had particularly liked.
According to Kristen, the old man still had a fortune he had distributed to various banks around the world, mostly in Switzerland and the Vatican, that the lawyers and accountants were still trying to chase down. He had never liked the system much and she figured it was his way at getting back a them. On the upside, what had been found had already covered most of the estate tax on the house and paintings.
When everything was ready, we all waited in various corners for the surprise factor, and waited for Kristen to come home. According to Megan, Kristen was always home from work at the brokerage firm at exactly seven ten.
How she knew the exact time, short of staking out in front of the building for a week taking note of the time, was anyone's guess. However she knew, Megan was right and at exactly ten after seven a key turned in the door and we all got ready to pounce.
I had seen Logan around during the set up. Though he seemed to want to avoid me as much as I was avoiding him and, while I knew he was there, somewhere in the dark, beyond the rack of the many candles, I had no real idea where.
Which suited me just fine. The less I saw of him, the better. Best just to keep my head down and get through the party. I was there for Kristen, after all.
