The Old Clock

Antiques are my life. My passion for old things started when I was a child. I collected some of that Burger King and McDonald's crap and when I was a bit older my grandma told me stories about all the nice really old things she had in her house. I read catalogs and noticed things in shop windows and people's houses. It wasn't until many years later when my unemployed drunken husband died driving his car off a bridge that I had the time and freedom to go looking for bargains as well as some nice things for my cluttered little house.

Seacaucus, New Jersey is my home but I spend a lot of time scouring flea markets, thrift shops, auctions and estate sales for anything undervalued I can resell at a profit. The best thing I ever found so far, was a Ming vase I bought for twenty dollars. It was chipped a little but I still got $4,000 for it. That was my biggest score until I found the clock.

It was a crisp sunny day in mid-autumn when I pulled up in my old Nova to Fairly Honest Joe's Auction Barn on the outskirts of Mystic, Connecticut. It seemed that it might be a wasted trip as I listlessly pawed through the standard fare of old china, Colonial furniture, braided rugs and whatnot when I came across a William IV carved rosewood bracket clock. It was probably worth at least $800 or more so I picked it up for a better look. In its drawer scrunched underneath it was a piece of paper that I unfolded for a look. It said the clock had been the property of someone whose masochistic parents had named Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald. A little flash of adrenaline coursed through me as I replaced the paper and clock and took a seat in front of the auctioneer.

F. Scott Fitzgerald! That had been his clock and it came with the provenance to prove it. This could be a huge profit if I could get it and I was determined to get it. You don't know me when I'm determined.

A half hour later the bidding started on the clock. I helped keep it moving steadily upward. You don't want to jump in with a big bid too early to tip people off that it's more valuable than they think.

At $250 there was just one man left bidding with me. He was an aisle down and dressed very nicely so he probably had the money to beat me if he decided to. I jumped to $400 to try and shut him out. He looked over at me and I flashed him my sweetest smile.

$500. That was all I had brought with me though I could hit the ATM and clean the last $300 out of my savings account. $550 - $600 - $650 - $700 - $750. He looked over at me and gave me his little smile with a shrug of the shoulders.

"I have $750 from the little lady over there. Going once, going twice..." It was mine!

The clock was carefully wrapped up in a box and after I paid my money and turned to leave, there was the man who had been bidding against me. He looked even more handsome up close and had a twinkle in his eye.

"Since you outbid me on that clock that would have looked perfect on my dresser, you should at least agree to have lunch with me."

I admit I was a little stunned. The jeans and the snowflake sweater I was wearing were clean and nice, my curly red hair looked like a clown wig as usual. At least it distracted from the freckles. It had been a long time since anyone took a personal interest in me but maybe he just liked freckles. The three dates that I had been previously fixed up with I would have traded in for a bowl of popcorn and a movie on TV.

"I suppose that would be alright," I stammered.

"Good. there's a wonderful restaurant by the ocean. It's a little touristy, but the crabcakes are unbelievable."

We sat on the deck and exchanged life stories for two hours until the fading sunlight cast a soft glow over the rippling waves. He ran a successful business and lived in nearby Newport, Rhode Island in one of the smaller houses, which still had to be large and was temporarily single. I finally said my goodbyes and headed back home with my precious clock locked in the trunk.

The next day found me across the river in New York in the lavish office of one of the big antique dealers. We negotiated a reasonable price of $62,500. It probably would have brought more somewhere like Sotheby's but I was too impatient. On the slow traffic home, I was as giddy as a schoolgirl, thinking of what I could do with all that money. One thing I wanted to do was get out of the dreary suburb of Seacaucus and a lot farther away from New York City.

The next three days were spent looking at real estate listings upstate, which seemed surprisingly expensive and selling some of the antique junk that was clogging up my place. In the process, I came across a clock in a store that looked very similar to the Fitzgerald one and on an impulse, bought it for only $125. I don't know if you believe in fate, but the next day the man from the auction who had taken me to lunch called.

"I'm going to be in the city today and thought you might like to take a walk around Central Park or something."

I was hoping he'd call. "Yes, that would be nice. About what time?"

"How about 3:00, Eastside entrance on 79th by the Met."

"I'll be there."

After a stroll through the beautiful Shakespeare Garden and past the old castle, we ended up at the art museum. I thought I knew a lot about art but he was right there up with me and then some. We were competitive but comfortable. Before we parted it seemed natural to offer him a kiss. The word fireworks came to my mind as I left a little dazed. I was trying to move and change my life and the last thing I needed was a man complicating things.

The next few days were spent organizing and packing and putting my house up for sale though I hadn't found a new one yet. I talked to Mr. Fancy Newport on the phone a couple of times and decided I'd better have it out with him to see if this little affairette was going to go anywhere.

Saturday afternoon I packed up the other clock and took a pleasant drive up to Rhode Island (which really isn't an island, of course). Calling from a roadside Ho-Jo's, I found him at home.

"Hi, it's me. I was in the area at a sale," I little-white-lied, "and found a similar clock you might be interested in."

"Great, I'd like to see it. I'm expecting a couple of business calls so why don't you come by my house?"

He gave me directions and ten minutes later I parked my dusty old Chevy in front of a house that had to have at least fifteen rooms. He was right. The substitute clock was perfect for his George III oak dresser. I accepted his invitation to stay for dinner. The grilled tuna and broccoli with lemon zing was excellent - the man could cook. Afterward, we sat on the balcony looking at the sailboats on Narragansett Bay and watching the violet sunset. Then did something I didn't think I'd do. I spent the night.

As we woke up the next morning to the soft ticking of the clock he said,

"You know there are a few good storefronts in Providence where you could open that antique shop you've always wanted. Most come with living quarters or you could split your time between there and here."

"What makes you think I can afford to buy a store?" I asked him suspiciously.

"I figured with the $62,500 you got for the Fitzgerald clock, you might be able to swing it."

"So you knew all along! Why did you let me have it?"

"You needed it more than me. I drove up the bidding a bit to see if you knew. Also, I guess I wanted to be able to see you again."

"Sound reasoning. I will look into those Providence properties today, just as soon as we're done here."

We snuggled back under the covers and into each other's arms.