That's the way things stood when I just happened to stop in front of the window of Melvin Rosy's House of Fantastic Jewelry in Greenwich Village. I'd passed by the shop many times but I'd never paused to look in. Of recent years, the Village has filled up with all sorts of peculiar people, Martians, Venusians and the little green men from outer space. One thing I'll have to hand to Maudie, she was right about calling some of these people uncouth. Some of the Galaxians really are riff-raff.
Out in front of the store were some long pink fliers advertising the jewelry within. I picked one up idly, for it had just occurred to me that Maudie's birthday was the next day and that it might not be a bad idea to soften her up with a gift. I looked at the monstrous chunks of jewelry in the display window—rings, bracelets and whatnots, decorated with staring eyes, floating amoebas and gilded kidneys. Maudie was a pushover for spectacular accoutrements but this stuff exceeded even her flamboyant taste.
Probably I would have walked on by if a couple of lines at the top of the flier hadn't caught my attention. They were written by some old time humorist called S. J. Perelman and he described the jewelry as being like, "an egg balanced on a cone, an erg balanced on a bone, a hag balanced on a roan."
That last part seemed a perfect description of Maudie—"a hag balanced on a roan." Almost by instinct I started to climb the crooked stone steps to the shop. The door was open and the proprietor was standing behind the counter. Other than that the place was empty.
I'd seen Melvin Rosy around before. He was a big brute of a man with a shaggy red beard who sported a dangling jade earring in his left ear. I'd always suspected that Rosy had Martian blood but I'd never been sure until I glimpsed the little purple flecks in the lines of his palms that are a dead giveaway.
Rosy looked up and his gaze seemed to go right through me. Some of these Martian chaps have an uncanny skill at reading your mind. Rosy's voice was clear and soft but it had the timbre of some stringed instrument. He said, "A gift perhaps. For a woman?"
I nodded but I almost jumped out of my skin when he added, "For your mother-in-law, I should imagine. I'm sure I have just the thing."
He showed me a half dozen pendants and bracelets but I could see his heart wasn't in it. He was sizing me up, wanting to make sure of me before he offered the piece de resistance. I could feel excitement surging up inside of me, even though I had no notion of what he would bring forth.
Finally he went to the rear of the shop and disappeared behind a batik curtain. When he returned he held in his hand a heart-shaped box of deep-napped velvet, royal purple in color. He laid the box on the glass counter but his wide palm nearly covered it.