Emergency Bead Work
Dear Diary:
It was September 1994, and my boss and I were headed back to our Midtown hotel after a business meeting.
I was wearing a long, crystal-beaded necklace I had inherited from my grandmother. Getting out of the taxi, it got caught on the edge of a leather folder I was carrying, and the string broke immediately.
Horrified, I watched the beads come off and bounce onto the asphalt. It was rush hour, and there was no way to pick them up in the traffic.
Clutching what remained of the necklace to my chest, I followed my boss to the mezzanine bar. She was unfazed by my drama and wanted to drink and debrief.
Unable to focus, I went to a large window in the lounge and looked down. There were the beads, twinkling brightly on the street as cars zipped by.
I had to do something, although I wasn’t sure what.
“I’m going back down,” I told my boss. She sipped her Tom Collins and scowled.
