game for a surprise,” I said, and opened the door to leave.
Hooks and Catches made its name as a gallery by featuring one of a kind handmade jewelry. Open since the 1970’s, it caters to women who do not want to run into their friends at social gatherings wearing the same necklaces and rings. Tonight they were debuting an exhibition entitled “Carbon Spot,” a term used to describe a black mark often found on copper coins. It was a play on words, since the exhibit featured several artists working with copper and gold, but there were no black smudges to be found.
We stopped at a table for a glass of wine, then began our tour of the gallery.
The first artist we encountered was William’s friend. She made necklaces featuring colored beads, cut glass, turquoise and copper charms. They were striking pieces, very primitive and provocative. One necklace in particular caught my attention. It was a mix of elements: a series of copper feathers, several strands of gray, smoky glass beads, and a small turquoise teardrop charm hanging from a ribbon of copper and brown leather woven together. I signaled to the owner of the gallery and asked if I could try on the necklace. He walked over to the case and pulled a small black velvet tray from a shelf underneath the counter. He carefully laid the piece on the tray, then placed a small handheld mirror in front of me. I glanced at the price tag. At $300, it was one of the more expensive objets d’art I had looked at in a while, but I had no reason to worry about money.
I tried on the necklace and stared at myself in the mirror. It was an unusual piece, and dressed in my current outfit, lent me a sort of a rebel image. I was trying to imagine wearing it with a suit and realized I probably would never have to worry about presenting myself that way again. I worked for the Council now. I wasn’t going to have to wear that conformist uniform. I must have drifted off in my thoughts because when I turned to ask William what he thought of the necklace, he was gone. I scanned the room and found him at the cash register handing the cashier his credit card.
He walked back toward me a satisfied smile on his face. “That necklace was made for you, darlin,” he said.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, feeling a little awkward at receiving such an expensive gift on a first date. “I can afford to buy it for myself.”
“I know that,” William said, fingering the necklace. “But my friend made the necklace and it suits you. It seems right that I would buy it for you. Besides, I am of the opinion that women should never buy their own jewelry. That is the purview of husbands, boyfriends and lovers.”
Before I could ask which category he fell into, William moved me along to the next set of glass cases, which were located in the main room of the gallery. There were three cases in the middle of the floor, all housing copper and gold bands that were embedded with sapphires, rubies and diamonds. As we circled the glass cases, I realized they looked suspiciously like wedding rings and I tried not to glance at any one ring too intently. Still, I couldn’t help myself when I came upon a set of three thin bands made of copper. The middle of the trio featured several sapphires. It was a beautiful piece, very romantic and old-fashioned, a bit like a sepia-tinged photograph. I concentrated on relaxing my facial features and clearing my mind. I didn’t want William to think I was getting ahead of myself.
Thankfully, as we approached the end of the cases, he said he was ready to leave. “OK, so now it’s on to my surprise,” I said, fingering the necklace hanging from my neck as we walked out of the gallery.
William did not reply immediately. He seemed to be looking for something. “There is a liquor store near here,” he said. “It’s called the Jug Shop, do you know it?”
“I do,” I said. “It’s one block up.”
We stopped by the store and picked up a bottle of wine. As we walked toward his car, we passed a cheese shop and William encouraged me to go inside and buy something for dinner. I didn’t like the idea of eating alone, but my stomach was grumbling. It