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MAYA
After I was reasonably sure that I didn’t look like a complete, crumbling mess, I left the dressing room. The kind woman from the booth came over as I exited.
“Honey, are you OK?”
“Yes,” I said, barely making eye contact. “Do you know where the nearest ATM is?”
“Sure, it’s out by the cow.”
“The cow?”
“The big red cow? Outside?” she replied, like it was obvious.
“Oh, of course, the cow.”
I went and got as much money as I could get out of the ATM: $600, $200 at a time. And then I went back to the vintage-dress place.
“This is very weird, and a lot to ask,” I said when I got there, “but there is a vendor that is selling something I would like to buy, but he does not want to sell it to me.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like Cowtown. The whole point is that everything is for sale. If it isn’t here, you don’t need it!”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of the thing, more a matter of . . .” I trailed off, looking down, half playing it up, half still really feeling it.
“Are you saying . . . ?” she whispered.
“Look, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this—”
“Who was it? Al Johnson, I’ll bet,” she interrupted in a whisper.
“It was the guy selling the crystals and fossils, just a few tables down.”
“Hmm, I honestly have no idea who he is. It’s a big market,” she said at full volume.
“So, what I was wondering is if you could go and buy all of the smooth white things he has. They’re really pretty, like opals or pearls, but light like plastic. Also, if maybe you could ask him where he got them and play it up like they’re really valuable and you’re getting a deal. And if by any chance you could get his name and the name of his business . . .”
She looked skeptical. “Why would I pretend like they’re valuable? That’s just gonna bring up the price.”
I took out a wad of twenties and said, “I don’t know if they’re valuable, I just want him to think they are. There’s six hundred dollars here, keep whatever you don’t spend.”
She looked at me like I was a little nuts, which, fair, but she took the money.
“Well, I don’t see how this hurts anybody,” she said. “And you’ll watch the shop while I’m gone?”
“You’ll only be thirty feet away, and I’m not going to think you’re racist if you take your cashbox with you. I’ll think you’re a prudent businesswoman.” That was true—for all she knew this could be some kind of elaborate scam.
“Oh!” I said. “And once you buy them, tell him you’ll buy as many more of them as he can find.”
And that’s all it took. She was off.
Less than ten minutes later, she was back.
“I got them all. He wanted to keep one of them, but I upped the price until I got all four.” She handed me the bag. “I had to fight every instinct to not bargain more, but I think he thinks they’re something special. But I got them for a hundred and eighty, so I can’t keep all your money.” She started to pull some cash out of her pocket.
“No . . .” I realized I didn’t know her name.
“Clara,” she said kindly.
“Clara, I’m Maya. I don’t know how to explain it to you, but what you did for me today was worth way more than four hundred twenty dollars.” I was smiling—I couldn’t stop. I needed to put my hands on those rocks again.
“That can’t be true, dear.”
“It can be. And it will be extra worth it if you tell me everything you found out from that man.”
“He was perfectly nice to me. We talked some about the market and how business was going. He lives outside Philly and he says he bought these from his brother-in-law and doesn’t know where his brother-in-law got them, but honestly, that’s vendor code for ‘I don’t want to tell you where I got these.’ But when I told him I’d buy as many as he could find, his eyes did light up a little. I chatted him up a bit—he does cable and internet repair for his day job.”
This was not new information to me, but I tried not to show it.
“Did you get his name?”
“Oh, yeah, he gave me his business card, it’s in the bag.”
I opened it up. The rocks were wrapped in tissue paper, and indeed, there was a business card sitting on top of them.
“Just . . . thank you,” I said, giddy with the success. It finally felt like something was happening.
“Thank you, sweetie.” And she winked at me.
I went and got a hot sausage sandwich. I sat down at a picnic table and dumped the stones out. They twinkled up at me like they were alive—like they had plans for me.
Someone sat down at the table, and I scooped the stones back into the paper bag.
“You’re Maya.” I looked up and saw a guy in his thirties with dark, styled hair and Oakley glasses perched on top of his head.
“I am,” I said skeptically.
“I remember you from April’s videos.”
I wasn’t in any of April’s videos, so this was one of the most terrifying things he could have said to me. He knew who I was, and he was lying about how.
I tried to act calm. “Look, I’m just here to eat my hot sausage, then I’m headed home.”
“Did you do some shopping?” he continued, not taking the hint.
“A little.” I started wrapping up my sandwich.
“What did you buy?”
“Just a bracelet,” I lied.
“I’ll buy it from you,” he
