Valentine’s Day is celebrated by lovers around the world. Men buy cashmere scarves, lingerie, roses, Swiss chocolates, and jewelry for their girlfriends and lovers. This romantic holiday does not possess the same value as Christmas or their partners’ birthday, but you can’t do nothing, unless you’re seriously considering a break-up or enjoy living in the doghouse for an unforeseen period of time and this Valentine Day a friend recommended my store to an associate.

Alex showed up at noon. A smile on his face. His budget was $3000.

“How long you been going out this woman?” $3000 was more than most men spent on their wives all year and 2009 was not a particularly good year for most of us.

“Six months.” Alex sounded like they were still having sex.

“Really.” $3000 was more than I’d spend on one go for a casual relationship. “What she do?”

“She’s from the Ukraine. Studied at University of London and works at the Bank of America.”

“Oh.” According to my calculations Alex was about one zero away from making this woman happy with jewelry and I pulled out diamond hoops for $15000.

“Way too much.” Alex owned a high-tech company. Business was okay. His budget was his budget. Most men were avoiding jewelry stores like toxic waste dumps, so I showed him a pair of Italian diamond earrings. They had 2 carats in diamonds set in 18K white gold flower design. I had sold several other pairs over the last month. I had guaranteed each male customer a happy ending, but suspected that might not be the case for Alex, so I asked my diamond associate for her assessment of the diamond earrings. She’s Russian, young, and adores jewelry. Her engagement ring came from Jacob and Company. Her mother-in-law runs Moscow’s largest jewelry store. She examined the earrings and asked Alex, “How long you been with your girlfriend?”

“Six months. She’s petite. Like a ballerina.”

“The earrings cost $3000.”

“They are beautiful. Italian too.” Danni was telling the truth. We always do, mostly because it is easier to remember than a lie.

“I’ll take them.” Alex paid the $3000 without haggling for a lower price. We gave him a nice box. It was a classic ring-box-go sale.

“If you don’t get a happy ending, I’ll give the money back.” It was our standard offer.

After Alex left, I called my boss. Richie Boy was at the Palm Beach Antiques Show. He wasn’t happy with the sale. There was only $500 profit. “He’s a friend of a friend.”

“Oh, great.” He had to share the profit with me.

“Better than nothing.” I hung up the phone and put the money in the safe minus my commission. My Valentine’s Day plan was food and sleep. The previous night I had suffered through a downpour of margaritas. The train to Brooklyn was crowded with couples carrying Valentine Day gifts. They wore smiling faces. My effort had made Alex happy. I spent $10 of my commish on a Mexican dinner and fell into bed with Pier Brendon’s THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. Within three pages I was out cold and didn’t wake until 8am.

It was Sunday morning. I called my wife in Thailand. She was happy to hear from me and my daughter wished me much love. The store in the Plaza wasn’t opening until noon, so my wake-up process lasted longer than normal. I read a little more of the book. England had really put it to India. I left my hovel in Williamsburg at 11:30. The subway was empty and I arrived at work a little past 12. My co-worker, Jo-jo, was waiting on the couch. His face wore a veneer of exhaustion. He said he had yet to go to bed.

“No big deal. Sundays are a snooze at the Plaza.” No one in Midtown usually got up before one. “No one will come here before 3.”

I was wrong.

Alex showed up several minutes later. The chagrin on his face revealed the answer to my question, “How’d it go?”

“Not good.” He sat down with the weight of disaster.

“Let me guess.” The $240 in my pocket didn’t feel like mine anymore.

“Last night we were going to the ballet. She came out of her bedroom in a dress which looked like it was woven out of the wind. On her ears were two-inch long strands of diamonds. They were antiques. Looked like her family stole them from the czar. I handed her the box.”

“The box.” I had luckily given him an expensive box. “It cost over $20.”

“She looked for a name.”

“Oh.” There was no name on the box. It was elegant, but anonymous.

“She opened it and her face dropped like I had called her mother a bad name. “She examined the earrings and said, “You have to be kidding.” She didn’t stop either.”

Most women like her don’t when they’re on a good roll realizing the man was defenseless.

“She said they looked like they cost $600. Said they were for a kid.” Alex was reliving the pain from his failed offering with this retelling.

“Enough already. I blew it. It’s my fault.” I went into the safe and counted out his money. He handed over the offending gift and I returned his cash. The bills were still crisp. I shrugged and said, “I don’t know what to say.”

Actually that wasn’t the truth. Several bad words floated at the tip of my tongue.

“I don’t know whether to leave her or not.”

“There’s only one thing you can do at a time like this.” It was Valentine’s Day. Both my wives had called to wish me love. Alex’s day of romance had been ruined by this unfeeling chuva which is a bad word in Yiddish, so I said the only thing possible, “do what you think is best.”

It was non-committal and exactly what he wanted to hear, because any advice form me would be seen in a negative light. I had ruined his Valentine’s Day.

“Thanks for taking care of this.” Alex held up the money. “This girl might come by to check out this place. she’s that type of girl.”

“No problem.” I waved good-bye. “I’ll be polite.”

After Alex walked away, Jo-Jo said, “That sucks.”

I ordered Jo-Jo to T the G or follow Alex for several blocks. He came back and said the lovelorn executive had beelined into Van Cleef.

“Sucker.”

“Yeah.” I phoned Richie Boy with the bad news. He took it with grace. We’ve lost bigger sales this year.

“That fucking cunt. A guy gives her a gift for $3000 and she shits on it. I can’t believe it.”

“First time it happened to me.”

“Stay long enough in this business and you’ll see everything.” And not all of it was good, for around 2:30pm a small blonde in designer clothing entered the store. A wide-brimmed hat hid her face. She was no ballerina in my book, but Alex must have been a different performance of SWAN LAKE than me. She examined the jewelry and I pulled out the earrings.

“You mind if I ask you a question?”

“No.” The thirtyish woman was dowdy, but she wasn’t telling the truth. She wanted out of here.

“If someone gave you this for Valentine’s Day. How would you feel? Good? Bad? It cost me $2300. Maybe it’s a little girlish for you. Women in their 40s like something bigger.”

“I’m not 40.”

“50.” I was being mean. Someone had to be for Alex.

She huffed out of the store. Jo-Jo gave me the thumb’s up. He was happy that I revenged her slight. I would have been happier with Alex’s money in my pocket, but sometimes you have to settle for what you can get. Some days that’s all there is, because beauty is in the hands of the holder.