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Aziz remained by her side as they looked through local wares. Laine positioned herself so that Aziz towered behind her, and she pulled out her notepad to scribble down a few ideas and make some sketches.
“Ah, this inspires the artist!” Aziz said
“I could have used the internet or something,” Laine muttered.
“I can’t imagine that would be enough.”
“No. Not even close.”
Laine took in the ambiance of the market. A musky, human smell mingled with the scent of spices and meat cooking and heavy perfume. The dress code here was much like the mall: very little skin shown, but everyone dressed very well. In fact, the market-goers may have been dressed even better than the people at the mall. The men passed in Western-style suits or in locally popular dishdashas. The long robes hung to the ankles and though mostly white, also came in other light, cool colors. Most, but not all, of the women covered their hair with lovely, ornate scarves in the way Hadiya did. Either way, being well-groomed seemed to be a point of pride. Laine was glad that Hadiya had given her a selection of garments that were appropriate to wear in public.
The people went about their business, barely noticing the two of them, although one or two seemed to notice Aziz and his bodyguard. She supposed most of them didn’t necessarily recognize Aziz, just as most Americans didn’t recognize the top one percent of American businessmen, unless they made huge clowns of themselves in the media. Now that she thought about it, the few glances they got might have had more to do with Aziz’s recent outing to New York and the subsequent videos than anything else.
“Oh, these are nice.” Laine walked over to a wall of hanging lamps. They sparkled in the sunlight and from a light glowing within. Likely, they caught the eye more easily at night, but the patterns, the way the little tile fragments of mosaic came together to reflect the light, that caught Laine’s attention.
“You like these?” the shop owner asked Laine as she looked over the dozens of hanging lamps, each one a little different. “I can give you an excellent price.”
“They are eye-catching.” Laine looked back at Aziz. “You have so much direct light with the lamps on the walls and the natural light coming in. There are rooms where it would be better to have some recessed or even covered lighting.”
“These are very common to have around,” he said.
“Hm. That’s one of the reasons we would put them in a room that your business associates might see. Go modern with the furnishing, but keep these touches that would make them feel at home.”
“Note what you like. I doubt they even have enough here to cover one room,” Aziz said, slipping his hands in his pockets.
He turned away for a moment. Art appealed to him, but it seemed like general domestic decorating was probably beyond his capacity for personal investment.
“I’m not exactly interested in hanging a lamp or two around the study.” Laine took a step back and took in the lamps, with all their colors.
“We have a good amount of stock, miss,” the shopkeeper said.
“Could your manufacturer do something custom? Like this?” Laine showed him a sketch. “I like the idea of a chandelier, but not hanging symmetrically like that. Instead, have them descend downward, in a curve?”
The man scowled at the picture. “I would have to speak to the artisan himself.”
“Well, I suppose we could buy the lamps individually and hire someone to put the piece together,” Laine said after a moment. She looked to Aziz.
He shrugged. “Cost is no object.”
“Ah, these magnificent lamps here, seventy-five dinar,” the shopkeeper said.
Laine raised a brow skeptically. At last check, the Bahraini dinar was worth about two dollars and sixty-five cents. “What, each? No way. Maybe for seven of them. I can get one of these on eBay for forty bucks, American. There’s no way these are worth two-hundred dollars!”
Okay, she was lowballing the price she’d seen online just a bit. But haggling was supposed to be a common activity in these markets, and locals tended to gouge Westerners if they could. And Aziz’s comment hadn’t helped.
“The craftsmanship, miss, you have to know what you are looking at!” The man took down one of the lamps for her to see.
“I promise you that when I have put Turkish lamps in the homes of upper class New Yorkers, I never charged them that much, and the craftsmanship was just as good as this.” Laine pointed up to one of the lamps. “That one is even missing a tile!”
It wasn’t, but he looked up in astonishment anyway.
“Will these even hold together?” she asked.
