Forever Everyday: A Diamond Dealer’s Diary
by Peter Nolan Smith

Part III.

Rough diamonds are mined from volcanic vents in Africa. They’re separated into parcels for the London sight-holders who have the stones cut in Antwerp, Israel, or India. The finished products are divvied out to various diamond brokers and then brought over to New York. Over 80% of the diamonds sold in the USA pass through 47th Street, making the block between Fifth and Sixth Avenues a crossroads of the world for jewelry.

Sapphires and rubies from the Orient are transported here from Hong Kong and Thailand, while Israelis brave the dangers of Columbia for precious emeralds. Having handle jewelry for over ten years, I sometimes act as if I were dealing with chopped liver at a deli counter. We are, however, occasionally blessed with something to get excited about, an opportunity to deal with truly valuable gems.

Several years back my boss and good friend, Richie Boy, was introduced to a big player from the West Coast. A CEO of several companies, this man had expressed interest in purchasing a Christmas gift for his mistress, a blonde from Palm Beach who was married to another millionaire.

His call was for a very rare ruby. It had to be over five carats, a natural from Burma, internal perfect, and the color of the blood seeping from a pigeon’s nose. The vein, not the artery. In his own way he was a bit of a poet.

Richie Boy phoned several dealers and within a day came up with a stone. It wasn’t cheap. The dealer flatly told us, “875,000 dollars and I don’t want to hear any bitching about the price.”

The dealer bought the stone down. It was not big, but the color was a sublime blood red hue, and clean. Not a single flaw. Richie Boy asked me, “What do you think?”

“It doesn’t look like a house in the Hamptons with a beach view, but what do I know.”

Richie Boy agreed and decided to get two diamond necklaces for back-up. He then called the client, who said he was interested, but wanted us to meet him at the St. Regis Hotel. His room was on the tenth floor.

Richie Boy’s father, being from the old school, immediately announced that we were being set up. Neither of us disagreed, since we would be carrying over a million dollars in jewelry into a hotel room to meet people we didn’t really know.

His father wanted to kabosh the entire deal. Richie Boy, however, loaded his 9mm, I stuck a single buckshot shell into a snakebite pipe, and with this reassurance, we set off for the hotel. Since we were insured for the full value of the merchandise, both of us doubted we would pull the trigger, but the arms made us feel better.

As Richie Boy stuck the jewelry inside his suit coat, his father swore we were crazy. He was right, but we walked over to the St. Regis Hotel, half-expecting to be shot in the head, except we arrived at the hotel without incident. Two guests tried to get on the elevator with us, but both Richie Boy and I glared a warning for them to take the next car up.

Richie Boy and I walked down the corridor like we were being set up: Hands on our guns. When we reached the customer’s door, we rang the bell. A woman laughed and several seconds later the door opened. Both of us stared, because the blonde wasn’t wearing any clothes. Her boyfriend was on the couch, in a bathrobe.

“Lady, could you move away from the door,” I asked in a low voice.

The man frowned, “Who are you?”

Richie played it right and took the two diamond necklaces from his jacket. “He’s the protection for these.”

He draped the diamonds on the woman’s bare neck and she went over to the man’s side. Even though they weren’t dressed I still didn’t trust them, but by the end of an hour Richie boy had sold one of the necklaces. We took a cashier’s check for more money than either of us could earn in several years, but Richie Boy wasn’t happy, because he hadn’t sold the ruby.

“There was no way you were going to sell that stone,” I said.

“And why not?”

“Because no man, and I don’t care how rich he is, will buy a million-dollar gift for another man’s wife,” I said.

“Don’t be so negative,” he said. “You never know.”

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