Johannesburg, South Africa
I sat in the palatial lobby of the Ritz Carlton, waiting with trepidation, watching as people passed. Most of the men ogled me, a few of the women too. I was fastidiously dressed in a skintight red pencil skirt that hugged every inch of my curvaceous body. A simple pearl necklace cascaded down my cleavage, offsetting the creaminess of my ample double D breasts. My delicate lacy blouse was enticing to all, exposing the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. My blond hair was stylishly coiffured, and it descended over my slender shoulder. The four-inch stiletto heels only seemed to enhance the geometry of my curvy figure.
My name is Marilyn Buck, and I have a unique occupation; I’m a jewel thief. Actually, I come from a long line of gypsy jewel thieves, dating back to the 18 th century. The uncanny thing is that I am a totem reflection of my grandmother, the spitting image. This revelation did not come apparent to me until I was about four, and family members would come from miles and even distant countries just to see me. When I was twelve, I was caught stealing out of a jewelry store. Well, I actually wasn’t caught, my father discovered the stolen jewelry in my Barbie dollhouse.
I had stolen the jewelry from Tiffany’s. The six rings were valued at over one hundred thousand dollars. The diamonds were easy to steal; I simply went in, asked the clerk to try on the jewelry, and switched the ring with an identical one. Everyone knows that my family’s opulent wealth dates back centuries, so there was never any suspicion of me. My finagling charade of stealing jewelry had been going on for months, undetected.
The discovery of my thievery prompted an emergency family meeting where I was the topic of discussion. The entire time, my mother stood to the side, weeping piteously as my grandfather sat me down and showed me an old vignette photo of a young girl about my age. My heart leapt into my throat. The young girl was a doppelganger of me. We looked eerily identical. It was as if someone was playing a weird practical joke. My grandfather went on to explain that some in the family believed that I was the reincarnation of my ancestor Mary Buck.
Our family lore is filled with all types of incantations, superstitions and traditions. However, in this instance, there was palpable evidence to give good credence to the thought that something supernatural was going on, and it centered on me
My ancestor, Mary Buck, in 1792 led my family in stealing the French Crown jewels from the Garde-Meuble during the French Revolution. It was a daring caper and one of the most famous in history. Most of the jewels were recovered, except the famous diamond known as The French Blue, which later became known as the Hope Diamond.
The Hope Diamond, at the time, was the largest diamond in the world. The diamond weighed nearly half a pound with a staggering forty-five point fifty carats of deep blue splendor. Its previous owners included Kings Louis XV and XVI. As the old folklore goes, not only was my Mary a thief, as was the rest of my family; she was also a murderer.
My grandfather and my father have since orchestrated similar heists, but nothing of the magnitude of what my ancestor, Mary, had pulled off. Still, by using sophisticated technology and empirical ingenuity, my family had amassed millions of dollars. It has always been in our blood to steal precious diamonds. My grandfather says it is a gypsy curse. However, my avaricious dad says it’s a blessing. He bought his first yacht at the age of twenty-five, courtesy of his ill-gotten riches.
After the family meeting, I was almost unanimously voted to be indoctrinated into the family’s arcane gypsy tradition of thievery. Everyone voted their approval, except my mother. I was placed under the sagacious tutelage of my grandfather, Willie Buck. As his protégé, he taught me so much. I learned everything from the
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