The Jewels of Tessa Kent by Judith Krantz Page B

Then, when it’s time, I’ll move into character parts. You’ll see, Steve, I plan to get older in some wonderful way, maybe a dignified, distinguished way, like an English actress, or in a sexy, fascinating way, like a French actress. I’ll play anything—mothers, maiden aunts, teachers, taxi drivers, nuns, you name it—because I intend to keep on working until I drop dead from real old age one day, waiting for my close-up.”
    He’d laughed at her, but eventually she’d managed to get him to fork over three thousand dollars, more money than she’d ever believed she would have in her possession. Tessa’s never-used checkbook lay snugly in her handbag.
    The taxi stopped in front of Tiffany & Co. at the corner of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. She’d never been in the store—she’d hardly ever been to Beverly Hills, for that matter—yet she didn’t linger to gape at the windows but entered eagerly, marching through the door as if she’d done it dozens of times before. She moved with her characteristic walk, coltish yet swinging, both youthful and immodestly alluring, slightly boyish but enduringly graceful—a walk she was never to lose.
    Swiftly Tessa cruised around the store, her proudhead on her proud neck set at a critical, appraising angle, as if she weren’t sure there could possibly be anything here she’d want to buy. She took in the lay of the land quickly. China and silver to the right; men’s watches and cuff links at one counter; women’s jeweled pins, necklaces, and earrings at another; silver picture frames, clocks, and key chains at a third. No, not what she was looking for. The salespeople all seemed to be occupied with customers, and for a minute Tessa stood still and looked around. At five feet seven inches, she was so perfectly made that she looked taller, and her disciplined posture was commanding without her realizing it. She made a vivid sight in her green suit: this tall, slim girl with a treasure of almost-black hair tumbling around her face, a face whose features were instantly translated into beauty, no matter how little of them could be seen.
    “May I be of assistance?” asked a man’s voice. Tessa turned to see a pleasantly smiling, reassuringly middle-aged man who had materialized behind her.
    “Yes, thank you. I’m looking for … for a pearl necklace.”
    “You’ve certainly come to the right place,” he nodded. “Let’s go over to the back of the store. That’s where we keep our pearls.”
    Tessa followed him to a long counter where, under glass, lay dozens of pearl necklaces and earrings. She noted that there were many differences in the size of the pearls and the lengths of the necklaces.
    “Are these for a gift or for yourself?” the salesman asked.
    “For myself,” Tessa answered, the normally spontaneous tone of her voice suddenly tentative as she realized that pearl necklaces came in more varieties than she had ever imagined, although she’d been daydreaming about one for over a year.
    “Well then, if you can give me some idea of what you have in mind …?” He gestured at the abundance of choice. If it were up to him, he thought, he’d dip intothe case and hand her as many pearls as her two hands could hold and tell her they were a gift from an admirer.
    A genuine pearl necklace I can buy for three thousand dollars, including sales tax, Tessa told herself, but she heard herself say, “I really won’t be able to tell you much until I try one on, will I?”
    “That’s absolutely right,” the salesman agreed. “Each necklace is different from any other. Even two necklaces that seem identical to the naked eye will look different on your skin.” On this girl’s very white, extraordinarily perfect skin, he thought, any necklace was going to look exquisite. No necklace would be the best adornment of all.
    “Of course,” Tessa said, looking down at rows of pearls that all seemed to be the same color. Pearl color.
    “I assume you’re looking for a