station appearing in the distance: to stop, or to go on. On such decisions were lives saved, lives ended, and lives destroyed …
19
J erome Burnel was just five days past his fortieth birthday on the night that changed his life. He worked as a manager for a chain of jewelry stores that kept their connections as low-key as possible, preferring to present themselves as independent family operations while availing of the better terms that bulk-buying brought. In practice, they were owned by a man named Owen Larraby down in Boston, whose good fortune it had been to marry a very beautiful Jewish woman named Ahuva Baer. Ahuva had familial connections to New York’s diamond district, which was how Larraby had met her in the first place, when he was starting out in the trade under Rabinow & Saft over in Queens, one of the few goyim to graduate from their dusty university of gemology.
Rabinow & Saft was now long gone, as was Ahuva Baer, who had died far too young at fifty-three. Owen Larraby was still alive and kicking at seventy-nine, although he had never remarried after his wife’s death, and showed no more interest in women than politeness dictated. This was entirely understandable to anyone who had ever met his wife, including Jerome Burnel’s father, Andreas, who had, for many years, been Larraby’s agent in the Northeast, and Jerome himself, who had taken over his father’s role when back problems prevented the old man from putting in the required miles on the road. But Andreas continued to exert a considerable degree of influence over his former territory through Jerome, who only occasionally chafed at his father’s daily calls, Andreas Burnel clearly being of the belief that cell phones had been invented for no better purpose than to ensure his son didn’t screw up nearly half a century of careful networking.
But the trade was changing. While households were spending more than ever on jewelry and watches, people wanted more for less, which was the same everywhere, from books to beans. Sometimes Jerome would watch the hucksters on the home shopping channels and wonder at the foolishness of those who had not yet realized that, when it came to jewelry, what seemed like a bargain never really was. In the jewelry trade, or the part of it inhabited by men like Owen Larraby and the Burnels, you got what you paid for, and nothing cheap was ever worth its price. That was one of the lessons Andreas Burnel had drummed into his son. The other was an understanding of desire: theirs was an industry driven not by the items themselves, but by those who wished to possess them. That was why the hucksters could make so much money selling tat to rubes: the desire to own what glowed and sparkled was ingrained in everyone, and if you couldn’t afford the best, you’d take whatever imitation of it you could afford, and ignore the voice of doubt that whispered of madness.
Traditionally, that desire was at its height during two periods of people’s lives: from their mid-twenties to mid-thirties, when thoughts turned to marriage; and from fifty-five to sixty-four, when older folk reached the peak of their earning power, and figured there was no harm in treating themselves and their spouses to a few luxuries before the time came to start worrying about hospitals and who’d get the Rolex in the will. The trade had primarily positioned itself with those two groups in mind.
But since the retirement of Jerome’s father, the largest increases in jewelry spending had occurred among the youngest consumers – the under twenty-fives – and the oldest, who were over seventy. The young had more money than before, and the old were living longer. The only thing that hadn’t changed was what most of them spent their money on, and that was diamonds. Loose or mounted, it didn’t matter: the cash gravitated toward diamonds, either from revenue generated in direct sales, or through ancillary services like maintenance, polishing, and repairs.
What
19
J erome Burnel was just five days past his fortieth birthday on the night that changed his life. He worked as a manager for a chain of jewelry stores that kept their connections as low-key as possible, preferring to present themselves as independent family operations while availing of the better terms that bulk-buying brought. In practice, they were owned by a man named Owen Larraby down in Boston, whose good fortune it had been to marry a very beautiful Jewish woman named Ahuva Baer. Ahuva had familial connections to New York’s diamond district, which was how Larraby had met her in the first place, when he was starting out in the trade under Rabinow & Saft over in Queens, one of the few goyim to graduate from their dusty university of gemology.
Rabinow & Saft was now long gone, as was Ahuva Baer, who had died far too young at fifty-three. Owen Larraby was still alive and kicking at seventy-nine, although he had never remarried after his wife’s death, and showed no more interest in women than politeness dictated. This was entirely understandable to anyone who had ever met his wife, including Jerome Burnel’s father, Andreas, who had, for many years, been Larraby’s agent in the Northeast, and Jerome himself, who had taken over his father’s role when back problems prevented the old man from putting in the required miles on the road. But Andreas continued to exert a considerable degree of influence over his former territory through Jerome, who only occasionally chafed at his father’s daily calls, Andreas Burnel clearly being of the belief that cell phones had been invented for no better purpose than to ensure his son didn’t screw up nearly half a century of careful networking.
But the trade was changing. While households were spending more than ever on jewelry and watches, people wanted more for less, which was the same everywhere, from books to beans. Sometimes Jerome would watch the hucksters on the home shopping channels and wonder at the foolishness of those who had not yet realized that, when it came to jewelry, what seemed like a bargain never really was. In the jewelry trade, or the part of it inhabited by men like Owen Larraby and the Burnels, you got what you paid for, and nothing cheap was ever worth its price. That was one of the lessons Andreas Burnel had drummed into his son. The other was an understanding of desire: theirs was an industry driven not by the items themselves, but by those who wished to possess them. That was why the hucksters could make so much money selling tat to rubes: the desire to own what glowed and sparkled was ingrained in everyone, and if you couldn’t afford the best, you’d take whatever imitation of it you could afford, and ignore the voice of doubt that whispered of madness.
Traditionally, that desire was at its height during two periods of people’s lives: from their mid-twenties to mid-thirties, when thoughts turned to marriage; and from fifty-five to sixty-four, when older folk reached the peak of their earning power, and figured there was no harm in treating themselves and their spouses to a few luxuries before the time came to start worrying about hospitals and who’d get the Rolex in the will. The trade had primarily positioned itself with those two groups in mind.
But since the retirement of Jerome’s father, the largest increases in jewelry spending had occurred among the youngest consumers – the under twenty-fives – and the oldest, who were over seventy. The young had more money than before, and the old were living longer. The only thing that hadn’t changed was what most of them spent their money on, and that was diamonds. Loose or mounted, it didn’t matter: the cash gravitated toward diamonds, either from revenue generated in direct sales, or through ancillary services like maintenance, polishing, and repairs.
What
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