The Two Mrs Watsons

The Two Mrs. Watsons



The department store looked like a dream. The subtle, recessed lighting created inviting pools that were filled with subtle, recessed items. The cosmetics had logos and shapes which screamed "Expensive and good!". There were sweaters that were soft as butter, in colors that never met up with any natural rainbow. There was glittering jewelry in glass cases. The glass was so clear and clean that it was invisible. The objects inside appeared to be floating in space.

No one approached, wielding an obnoxious perfume bottle. In fact, no one approached at all.

Everyone seemed to be wandering in a dream, as if the place were a drug. Voices were sotto. Postures were exquisite. No one was obese, had bad teeth, or cheap haircuts. No one spoke too loudly or too ethnically. Everyone gleamed.

It was a nasty day. The rain was coming down in sheets. Sideways. Linda Watson, a chocolate brown woman of incredible bearing and stature, blustered into the department store, shaking droplets off of her broken umbrella.

She was wearing her last purchase, a Dolce and Gabanna number involving pants, beautiful overcoat, and blouse. That outfit must have set her back at least eight grand. Her sensible "rain shoes" were worth eight hundred. Her jewelry was from Tiffany's and her hair (under her "rain hat") had the most delicate weave imaginable. That weave had to have cost hundreds and taken hours.

Linda Watson was a lawyer with the biggest law firm in The City. She had just prevailed in a painful settlement with a major bank in a class action lawsuit, and was on the hunt for a new basic black number that she would wear to the post litigation celebration at Francois' on the Bay. That meant heading for the escalator and meeting an appointment with her "lady" in Couture. Her "lady" was a little French sprite who could eyeball a customer and determine size, proper cut, color, and (most importantly) ability to pay.

Normally, folks with Linda's money would have the store bring some things to her apartment, but Linda loved to stalk her prey in it's natural habitat.

But coming to the store also meant being obviously and obnoxiously followed by store security. This particular fellow looked like he went home to a 5th floor walk up, barely graduated high school, and hated black people. Sure enough, he was on the escalator. Right behind her. Talking into his walkie talkie. His nose right up her butt.

Linda couldn't make out his words but she got the gist. As she got to the top, she spun around and looked at the joker. Blocking him from getting off. "You'd better think twice, you pervert!" she hollered, causing two other security guards to appear out of nowhere. They barked at the punk, causing him to slink off into the hinterlands. She never saw him again.

"I'd better not ever see anything like that again...do you hear me?" Linda yelled, walking rapidly without looking backward. She had one more floor to go. "Yes ma'am!" The older security person assured her. "He's new. He needs to go." All three had stepped onto the second escalator.

The Couture department was on the third floor. She could have taken an elevator, but Linda liked the escalators. They allowed her glimpses of the new stuff on each floor.

"Oh save your excuses." Linda huffed. "You never should have hired the clown when there are better security people who need jobs. Who is he? Somebodies relative?"

"Yes, ma'am." The older security person whispered.

"Well, you'd better put the word out to whoever hired that idiot. Their job is on the line, here."

"Yes, ma'am."The older security person said, unconvincingly. It was clear that he didn't have any say.

Linda Watson had the Department Store Chain as a client and she was a very powerful woman. For a regular customer to be idiotically stalked and obviously racially profiled indicated that things were out of control in that store. This meant that the manager was in over her head. Good.

Linda took a last peek down to the first floor, and was satisfied with what she saw there. She planned to hit the accessories department after she picked up her clothes, which had been through their final alterations.

She plastered on a huge smile, entered the couture department and was greeted by a tiny little woman who looked suspiciously like Coco Chanel's illegitimate granddaughter. She sounded like Coco Chanel's illegitimate granddaughter, too.

From there, everything went fine. Linda Watson was treated like a queen.



&&&

Pamela Wu Watson sat in the little tea shop next door. She delicately sipped her tea and nipped her sandwiches, waiting for the Town and Country women, with their spoiled daughters, to make the 10 a.m. assault on the Department store.

Pamela Wu Watson was a third generation Chinese American. Her grandparents came over to work in slave like conditions on the intercontinental railroad. After they settled in San Francisco, her grandparents proceeded to make their fortunes in the import-export business.

Pamela didn't care about import export. She cared about her insanely wealthy husband and her inability to have children. She cared about when he would dump her for a more fertile option in a wife.

Pamela had been exploring employment options and had found a lucrative temporary career field. As a result, Pamela had salted away over half a million in "egg and butter" money. That, and the alimony that she was guaranteed via a prenuptial agreement, would have her set for life.

But today was for shopping and Pamela's closet took up a 500 square foot chunk of her husband's massive apartment. Her shoes alone accounted for twelve linear feet of storage space. She could sell her thousands of items on E-Bay and live on the proceeds for ten years.

With the nasty weather, today would be a good day for shopping. The store was now crowded with loud, overcompensated women and their ill behaved daughters.

It was time for spring break outfits, first fittings for prom dresses and for general mayhem as the wealthy patrons scoured for the items that would make a splash in their suburban and ex-urban communities. This was an all day affair for some of these shoppers who had driven for hours to get to the department store, the only one of its chain in the entire region.

Wearing a huge overcoat, hat, shades and scarf, Pamela entered the store. She was surrounded by a cloud of wet, yakking, silly, excited people. She made her way to the second floor and proceeded to search for the ultimate spring wardrobe.

And she didn't intend to pay a dime for any of it.

Pamela Wu Watson was the most successful and prolific department store thief in recent history.

The security guards didn't even glance at her. They were busy dealing with a beautiful and angry Black woman on the second floor.



&&&

An hour later, Linda Watson left the store, assisted by two clerks who were rolling a rack of clothes. They loaded the entire rack into her SUV and closed the doors, thanking her profusely for being a good customer.

The chief of security came out, promising her in the most heartfelt way that the profiling punk was history.

That evening, after a dreadful day of batting cleanup on the Bank settlement and clearing up other matters, Linda Watson dragged herself into her apartment. Her butler had drawn a hot bath, prepared a light dinner, and poured her favorite: a champagne cocktail.

Her butler informed her that her personal shopper would be arriving shortly. Should she set up in the bedroom or the great room?

"Have her set everything up in the dressing room." Linda said. "As tired as I am, everyone insists that she's the best personal shopper I'll ever know. I'm excited to see what she's found!"

Linda had her bath, dried off, put on some underwear and a robe and went to her dressing area. It looked like a dress shop! There were purses, sweaters, two ball gowns, three suits...shoes...jewelry...hats...scarves...

Pamela Wu Watson knew that her latest client was hooked. The woman would probably buy everything at a hundred percent profit for Pamela!

Pamela was beaming as she began her sales pitch...