Throughout Cady's four years at Julie's Finery, one salable item had stubbornly defended its position—or, rather, positions. Upon its initial arrival to the store, it had been made the centrepiece of a lovely Chinese-themed corner display, surrounded by small tapestry scrolls, pristine porcelain dolls and glazed clay clocks. As its companions sold, it had been set proudly among a brand-new collection of sparkling goblets. When still it sparked no interest, the store's manager had plopped it beside the cash counter as if hoping that some customer with a gross excess of spare "change" would impulsively add it to his purchases like a package of gum.

It was a crystal vase, waist-high, robust and rounded, adorned with gilt carvings of Jesus, the Apostles and Mary Magdalene. Along its blunt base and yawing mouth wound a thin lip of gold, and its thickly-frosted handles clung to its neck like tentacles of vine. Idealistically, the vase was priceless. Really, it had been purchased for $995 from a B-list Italian workshop and now bore a tag seeking thrice that amount. Fortunately, the store's manager had ordered only one—like Cady, customers seemed to think that it looked tacky.

To identify with the vase, however, had hardly stretched her imagination. Since leaving college six years prior, she too had failed to spur arousal. Consequently, she often fretted her appearance, this malady increasing with age. In two days was her twenty-ninth birthday, on which she would work for nine hours. Afterward, a few of her friends would come to her home for carrot cake, bearing gifts of kitchenware as-seen-on-TV or bath products or cheeky cards containing cheques which they would insist she accept despite her weary protests.

During her long, uneventful shifts, she imagined that some day a very rich and handsome man would breeze into the store, lay eyes on the vase and immediately whisk it away—and herself along with it. She felt a kinship with the gaudy vase, so it did not seem strange to her that it was integral to her fantasy despite that she did not desire its decor. After all, the man might buy it for his office, or a relative.

On the morning of Cady's birthday, Julie called. "The store was vandalized last night." Her voice was as nasally professional as always, without a drip of the expected concern, dejection or fury. "It's been cleaned up enough to open today, so go in as usual. I just didn't want you to be shocked. Don't bother with the inventory sheets. I'll do them myself tonight."

"Okay," was all Cady could mumble. She and Julie were peers and colleagues, yet to Cady's lament she could feel no warmth between them. She ought to have apologized, perhaps assured Julie that she had locked up properly and that the delinquents would be punished, but feared breaching emotional no-man's-land.

The store was indeed unusually bare, many items having been removed whole by the thieves or in pieces by the janitor. Her heart ached at the sight of the crystal vase, proudly upright and untainted in its self-made circle of flattened carpet.

Not entirely untainted, as it turned out. When Cady slipped behind the counter, a notice caught her eye. 'Catherine—Please print signs for these items as damaged merchandise, 60% off, All Sales Final. Thanks, Julie.' The vase was listed; a Mary Magdalene had suffered the amputation of the largest toe on her left foot, so that her sandal now cradled four long, slender digits and a chipped stump. Obediently Cady drew up the sign, black felt- tipped pen on cheerful pink paper, and strung it like a noose around the vase, a scarlet letter wounding its worth.

The morning's first customer was Viv Simmons. Her name was well-known locally because a few months prior she had won two million dollars, then gone bankrupt nearly as quickly. Recently the community channel had reported her epilogue: she had concocted some sob excuse about a former gambling addiction and received nearly $60,000 in kind donations "to get her life back." Ritualistically, Cady smiled at the customer and said, "Hi there. Please let me know if you need anything."

"Mm," grunted Viv, peering absently into an ivory rice bowl. Cady wondered, what need had she for that? Viv's gaze meandered away and Cady gloated. Though she had not contributed, she was livid that the woman would even consider such indulgence at the expense of the community. Viv's vice had never been gambling, thought Cady, but acquisition without concern for cost.

But now Viv had spotted the vase. "Oh, mah layand," she breathed, bustling toward it in short steps on her strappy high-heeled sandals. "Isn't that somethin'! Be beautiful on mah bathroom ledge, just hide the ugly side against the wall," she mused to herself, rubbing a fingertip along its gold trim. After barely glancing at the item, her eyes now snapped up to meet the cashier's. "How much with the discount?" she salivated greedily.

"Twelve hundred plus tax," choked Cady. Bathroom ledge? Her own small washroom barely had wall space enough for a towel rack.

To her dismay, the woman's face lit up. "Oh, that's not bad," she beamed, fumbling with her purse. From her rich purple suede wallet she plucked, one at a time, a fleet of hundred-dollar bills, counting each by tapping it with a long red fingernail as she carefully laid it on the counter. Finally pleased with the pile, she announced, "There, now. Mah son'll come later and pick it up. Oh, just keep the change, honey," she added, sounding almost annoyed that Cady would refund some of her money. "A little tip," she laughed.

Later, an obese man in his mid-thirties arrived in a hooded Jeep to deliver the crystal vase. With her "tip," Cady purchased another. It was crystal also, perfectly medium-sized; around its rim lay a hand-painted wreath of pale blue roses flecked with thin stripes of sterling silver. Her friends would have marvelled. She carried it from the store and smashed it on the street. It would have been beautiful in her bedroom.