$35, baby. That was more than
you even paid.”
“Yeah?” She looks at me with a smirk then back to
the road. “So?”
“So, you’re quite the haggler, Miss Walker. Where’d
you learn to do that?”
“Growing up with my dad and all his friends, you
know. With poker night and guitar night, you pick up two kinds of talking, shit
and fast.”
I shake my head and grin. My girl sure is
something.
The next sale we pass, according to Laney, doesn’t
even warrant stopping so we pull a drive-by.
“What exactly does one look for in determining the
stop-worthiness of a sale?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“Big ticket items. That was just a bunch of boxes
to dig through.”
Big ticket items? Oh dear God, she’s serious.
“What about this one?” I point to a yard full of
stuff coming up on the right. “I see a bike. And a lamp.”
“And end tables! Good eye, babe!” She pulls onto the curb and jumps out, making a beeline for the end tables.
Again, I was being a smartass, whereas she thinks
we struck gold. I’m gonna try and be a good sport, though. She really seems to
enjoy this, so I take a new attitude and begin to peruse some items thrown on a
table. Newer baseball cards, junk. Old VHS movies, crap. Fish tank, no thank
you. Books, never…wait a damn minute! For some reason, out of the whole pile,
my eyes zero in on the title Winnie the Pooh . There it sits, a dusty old
book with an ugly green cover, and I know just the person who will love it. I
pick it up and open it. It’s not a first edition or anything, but old, with
that distinct scent of aged literature. I flip it over, looking for a price
tag, but there’s not one, so I wander over to the woman that I’d seen taking
money from other people.
“How much is this book?” I ask her.
“Fifty cents.”
I dig my money clip out of my pocket and hand her a
five, glancing around for Laney. She’s in a heated debate with yet another
older man, this time over the end tables. “Do you have a bag? I kinda want to
hide it.”
“Sure,” the elderly woman smiles at me and hands me
my change, then digs out a blue plastic bag, “here you go.”
“Thank you,” I say and hide the book in the bag as
I walk over to Laney.
“This is highway robbery! If you want those prices,
open a store!” she spouts at him, one hand on her hip.
“Those are Queen Anne legs on those tables, young’un,”
the man argues, then turns his head and spits.
“You ready, baby?” I reach out and touch her arm,
trying to stop her from verbally accosting the nice old man any further.
She turns and notices the bag in my hand. “You
bought something?” Her voice goes up a pitch excitedly. “See, fun, right?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle.
“See,” she turns back to the poor guy, “we already
bought one thing, so that makes us paying customers. Since you made my stuffy
ol’ boyfriend here happy, I’ll go $20 for both. Final offer.”
“Deal.” The man’s shoulders relax and he wipes his
brow, taking the money from Laney’s hand quickly, then backing away. “Good luck,
son,” he says to me.
“What’d you get, babe?” she asks me, unfazed by her
scuffle.
I give her lips a light kiss because she’s just too
fucking adorable not to. “It’s a surprise. What’d you buy, hardass?”
“These two tables! You grab one, I’ll grab the
other. And be careful with the legs, they’re antique.”
“Laney,” I mock disgust, one hand to my chest, “did
you just swindle that dear sweet grandpa out of his antiques?”
“Listen, if you put your stuff out for sale, you’re
asking for negotiations. I simply took his invitation and negotiated.”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of scary?”
“You’re not scared of me.” She lifts one of the
tables and starts to walk to the truck, turning back to me with a brilliant
smile. “That’s all that matters.”
I’m a lot of things when it comes to Laney, mostly
fascinated (more so every day), but definitely
you even paid.”
“Yeah?” She looks at me with a smirk then back to
the road. “So?”
“So, you’re quite the haggler, Miss Walker. Where’d
you learn to do that?”
“Growing up with my dad and all his friends, you
know. With poker night and guitar night, you pick up two kinds of talking, shit
and fast.”
I shake my head and grin. My girl sure is
something.
The next sale we pass, according to Laney, doesn’t
even warrant stopping so we pull a drive-by.
“What exactly does one look for in determining the
stop-worthiness of a sale?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“Big ticket items. That was just a bunch of boxes
to dig through.”
Big ticket items? Oh dear God, she’s serious.
“What about this one?” I point to a yard full of
stuff coming up on the right. “I see a bike. And a lamp.”
“And end tables! Good eye, babe!” She pulls onto the curb and jumps out, making a beeline for the end tables.
Again, I was being a smartass, whereas she thinks
we struck gold. I’m gonna try and be a good sport, though. She really seems to
enjoy this, so I take a new attitude and begin to peruse some items thrown on a
table. Newer baseball cards, junk. Old VHS movies, crap. Fish tank, no thank
you. Books, never…wait a damn minute! For some reason, out of the whole pile,
my eyes zero in on the title Winnie the Pooh . There it sits, a dusty old
book with an ugly green cover, and I know just the person who will love it. I
pick it up and open it. It’s not a first edition or anything, but old, with
that distinct scent of aged literature. I flip it over, looking for a price
tag, but there’s not one, so I wander over to the woman that I’d seen taking
money from other people.
“How much is this book?” I ask her.
“Fifty cents.”
I dig my money clip out of my pocket and hand her a
five, glancing around for Laney. She’s in a heated debate with yet another
older man, this time over the end tables. “Do you have a bag? I kinda want to
hide it.”
“Sure,” the elderly woman smiles at me and hands me
my change, then digs out a blue plastic bag, “here you go.”
“Thank you,” I say and hide the book in the bag as
I walk over to Laney.
“This is highway robbery! If you want those prices,
open a store!” she spouts at him, one hand on her hip.
“Those are Queen Anne legs on those tables, young’un,”
the man argues, then turns his head and spits.
“You ready, baby?” I reach out and touch her arm,
trying to stop her from verbally accosting the nice old man any further.
She turns and notices the bag in my hand. “You
bought something?” Her voice goes up a pitch excitedly. “See, fun, right?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle.
“See,” she turns back to the poor guy, “we already
bought one thing, so that makes us paying customers. Since you made my stuffy
ol’ boyfriend here happy, I’ll go $20 for both. Final offer.”
“Deal.” The man’s shoulders relax and he wipes his
brow, taking the money from Laney’s hand quickly, then backing away. “Good luck,
son,” he says to me.
“What’d you get, babe?” she asks me, unfazed by her
scuffle.
I give her lips a light kiss because she’s just too
fucking adorable not to. “It’s a surprise. What’d you buy, hardass?”
“These two tables! You grab one, I’ll grab the
other. And be careful with the legs, they’re antique.”
“Laney,” I mock disgust, one hand to my chest, “did
you just swindle that dear sweet grandpa out of his antiques?”
“Listen, if you put your stuff out for sale, you’re
asking for negotiations. I simply took his invitation and negotiated.”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of scary?”
“You’re not scared of me.” She lifts one of the
tables and starts to walk to the truck, turning back to me with a brilliant
smile. “That’s all that matters.”
I’m a lot of things when it comes to Laney, mostly
fascinated (more so every day), but definitely
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