When I tell you this is so not Camille, I’m not kidding.
“Why are we here again?” I asked as we entered a store the size of an airplane hangar.
“I told you, I saw a girl with a little Chanel type jacket who got it from here. It was twenty bucks.”
“Camille, you own real Chanel, why would you want a knock-off?”
“Oh I don’t know, to give to my niece, or just to have.”
This made no sense since her only niece is gay and prefers menswear, but thought it best to not bring that up. There had to be some other reason, and like they say in 12 Step…more will be revealed…and it certainly was.
As we confronted the many racks of little jackets that I’ll admit, were very good copies, the truth, which always makes an appearance, did just that.
“Camille, how many are you buying?” I asked, watching her grab three at a time.
“A few…forty or so.”
This stopped me in my tracks. “Forty? Okay, spill it. What are you up to?”
“Alright alright, but no lectures. I’m going to sell them…on eBay….
I took this in for a second thinking, well that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with her making a few bucks….UNTIL…
My plan is to sew Chanel labels in them…imagine the profit.”
“Imagine your jail term. Are you nuts? You can’t do that. It’s a crime, and a big one at that. Have you been watching To Catch A Thief again (her favorite film)?”
“Camille, think about what you’re saying. You’ll be the Bernie Madoff of fine knits. They’ll lock you up, and just remember those ugly dresses they make you wear…you hate gray…not to mention being somebody’s bitch while you’re in there. You’ve never been very good at taking orders.”
She pondered this for a second looking around the vast space like an irritated eagle. “Excuse me,” she called out to a stock boy, “could you please put these back for me…I seem to have an emergency.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “What emergency would that be exactly?”
“I need to get to Joanne before she starts tearing out those labels.” (Joanne’s another nutty friend of mine who actually likes gray)
“She’s at Bergdorf right now snipping.”
“I don’t believe it. Call her…NOW.”
“No, it’s better I tell her in person. She’s going to be so disappointed we’re not going to be rich.”
As we hurried toward the exit Camille suddenly stopped to face me. “Just tell me one thing. If you weren’t such a traditionalist…a bore really… unable to bend those Connecticut rules of yours, don’t you think it was a brilliant idea?”
“Yes,” I said, “if it wasn’t so completely illegal.”
This seemed to please her as we frantically jumped in a cab.