The Necklace

The old woman always felt better when she wore the necklace; happier, healthier. It was not the sort of necklace conducive to a good night's sleep so every evening it was carefully removed and every morning she asked her cheerful little girl to fetch it to her bedside where it was once more lovingly garlanded around her sickly neck. The woman was always fond of saying she wanted to look pretty if and when she died. 

It was a simple unassuming necklace but one with great pretensions. Rhinestones set with a triangular pattern with insets of cleverly colored glass in a classic filigree. It had her initials inscribed on it by her late husband who had been too poor to afford much else. She hadn't worn it much until he died but it felt comforting to her now. 

Every time her daughter had fastened the necklace around her neck she swore she felt much stronger, strong enough to take some tea and tell the little girl a story. Soon she felt deliciously sleepy again and asked the little girl to put it back in the jewelry box until tomorrow. She pulled the downy coverlet close around her and felt she would sleep very well and she did perhaps for the first time in weeks. 

Night takes on a mien of its own as buildings and trees assume grotesque shapes and the illusion of a soft enveloping darkness is often a facade for untold menace. That night a thief slunk in the second story window and finding little else of value, made off with the contents of the jewelry case. He was a rickety little snip of a man, somewhat of the order of rodent, and usually not prone to misfortune but as he scurried around a corner, he bumped into the policeman on his beat. He gave a futile try to pass off a genial but nervous greeting. Alas for him, a portion of the necklace protruded from his pocket and after a quick search of the malefactor, the guardian of the law said: 

"I guess it's down to the station house for ye, Charlie. You'd be deserving a few months in the chokey." 

The necklace intrigued the florid faced policeman so much that he 'forgot' to include it in the swag when he turned in the scofflaw, thinking it might make a nice present for his wife. When he arrived back to his humble apartment he placed the necklace around her neck. The frivolously dressed woman looked at it in the mirror, pirouetted, then after a closer look said: 

"Hey!" she complained. "This thing ain't real. And you probably pilfered it on the job. And I know I smell a few wee nips on your breath from your rounds tonight. Drinking again, ay? Well, I'm going for a long walk and I might or might not be back. There's better men than you interested in a fine woman like me." 

With that she flounced out, head held high, as he looked at her disappearing wake in sad befuddlement. Passing a trash can in the street she flung the necklace into it and sallied off; sadly for her, not for the nightlife she craved but only to her mother's house for some needed consolation. 

Soapy MacDougal was a man to whom life had dealt a series of unlucky misfortunes. Huddled in a doorway in his ragged clothes, he saw the woman throw something shiny in the garbage. With his keen eye for the detritus of others, he stumbled over and saw the necklace. "This might bring a pretty penny," he thought, and made directly for the pawn shop. It only brought him the meagre sum of a dollar-fifty, but that was enough to buy two bottles of wine instead of his usual one. The next morning he was found dead drunk, half dead and with the hoarse cough of pneumonia. 

The next day an imperious diva espied the necklace in the pawn shop and thinking it would make a much better stage prop than the ghastly pasteboard thing they had her sporting now, she promptly bought it . The portly woman planned to wear it at that day's matinee. 

That afternoon during her first song, the necklace didn't comply with her bellowing tones and she was having even more difficulty than usual hitting her high notes and sustaining them. She took off the too tight necklace in exasperation and flung it offstage. The sparse crowd which had mostly come into the theater only to get out of the cold, the house, or work, happily showered her with their best catcalls and even a couple of rotten tomatoes someone had thoughtfully brought along for that express purpose. The diva strode off shouting imprecations a lady shouldn't know or use.

Offstage, a pretty understudy picked up the maligned necklace and gratefully put it on, thinking it would add glamour to her dimpled look. She took to the stage with the new necklace around her slender neck and completed the role to much applause. Later on her way out of the theater she slipped on a patch of ice, sprawled comically as the necklace broke loose and skittered to the sidewalk. She found herself helped up with a sprained ankle and being hobbled off in search of a doctor. 

From the shadows came a young boy jauntily dressed with hat askew, generally known a a street tough. He thought it might sweeten up the girl he was sweet on. He went to her door and knocked. It was answered by she, attired in a navy skirt and shirtwaist, chewing gum.

"I come bearing gifts, Sweetie. You always say I never git ya nuthing."

The juvenile inspected the necklace closely.

"Dis ain't the goods," she squawked at him. "Take this cheap thing and g'wan wit you." 

She threw it at him where it slid to the ground and slammed the door in his face.

A sad little girl, returning from the grocery, spotted the necklace crumpled in the street and picked it up. 

"This looks just like Mother's necklace." As she turned it over she cried, "Yes! It even has her initials here. Mother will be ever so happy to have this back and now she can get well again."