The Last Collection by Seymour Blicker

didn’t know why, nor did he care to know. All he knew was that he wanted it and wanted it badly. The more he thought about the purchasing of this item, the better he felt.
    He sat down and tried to push the picture of the case out of his mind, but as he suppressed the image, he began to feel tense and nervous. A moment later the nauseous sensation which had originally brought him to that waiting room returned with a vengeance. He doubled over in his chair, then dropped to his knees, praying for relief and hoping he would not vomit on Dr. Bender’s carpet.
    Again he began to think of the attaché case. It filled his mind as though it was projected on a gigantic Cinemascope screen. He had to buy it. The feeling of nausea was lessening in intensity now. He stood up and walked quickly out of Dr. Bender’s office. He would call later and apologize, but now he could think only of getting downtown as fast as he could and making a buy.
    He sped down to Sherbrooke Street and, leaving his car in a no-parking zone, ran into Carlisle’s. He burst through the door and rushed to the area where he had last seen the case. His eyes scanned the high shelf, passing quickly over the other items stocked there.
    The case was gone. Again he was overpowered by a terrible feeling of nausea which threatened to come barrelling up into his throat. Kerner caught the eye of a sales clerk.
    â€œWhere’s that alligator attaché case I saw in here the other day?” Kerner said to the young man.
    â€œOh, yes, that was a nice one, wasn’t it?” the clerk replied, smiling enthusiastically.
    â€œYes, it’s very nice. Now where is it?” Kerner snapped.
    The clerk’s face fell sharply. “You mean the one with the gold latches, don’t you?”
    â€œYes,” Kerner half-shouted, trying to keep himself erect in spite of the cramps which were contracting his belly.
    â€œThat’s the one that had the plush brown interior, if I’m guessing right.”
    â€œYou’re guessing right,” Kerner said, wanting to bash the sales clerk in the face.
    â€œThe one imported from Italy?” the clerk asked, smiling.
    Kerner was sure the sales clerk knew what he was going through now and was trying, for some sadistic reason, to prolong his agony. He wanted, at the very least, to insult the clerk but he knew that wouldn’t be wise. The clerk would then tell him it had been sold. He tried to force a pleasant smile now.
    â€œI don’t know where it’s imported from but we’re talking about the same case.”
    â€œI believe we might still have one,” the clerk said.
    Kerner felt the pains in his stomach dissipate. He gave the clerk an overly appreciative smile.
    The sales clerk looked up at the shelf that Kerner had already scanned. He turned back to Kerner. “I’m afraid we’ve sold the last one.”
    Kerner felt the sickness return faster than it had left him a moment before. Again he had the urge to drive a fist into the clerk’s face.
    â€œAre you sure you’ve sold your last one?” he snarled.
    â€œYes. Yes, I’m sure, sir.” The clerk now had a frightened look on his face.
    â€œHow do you know you have?”
    â€œI just know, sir. I sold the last one,” the young man said nervously, taking a half-step backwards.
    â€œYou! You sold it?” Kerner said, advancing towards the frightened clerk.
    â€œI don’t know. I’m not sure. Maybe it was someone else. . . . Yes. Yes, it was another one of the staff. Yes, I remember now. I was out to lunch at the time it was sold and when I came back everyone was talking about how the alligator attaché case had been sold. It was all over the store. I’m trying to remember now who it was that sold it. . . . Yes, now it’s coming back. Everyone was saying that Larry sold it. Larry Johnston. He’s not here now. He sold it. You can ask anyone. I