Going for the Gold
It’s a Paris jewelry boutique. A trim girl came in with damp hair, smelling of chlorine.
The saleswoman gave her a side eye. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Vous cherchez quelque chose?”
“Oui, yes,” the girl said. “ I need some earrings to go with this.” She whipped out the gold medal that she’d been hiding—so humbly—under her Ralph Lauren uniform shirt.
The shop woman straightened up.
“Absolument. Here we have large ones, with the Tree of Life design, some medium size studs with an Olympic discus, and very small studs with a little knot like our Legion d’Honneur.”
“I’ll take them all.” The girl handed over her credit card.
“Ah! Torri Huske! Felicitations on winning the 100-meter butterfly! It’s your first gold, n’est-ce pas?”
Torri gave a little bow. “Yes. That’s kind of you.”
The woman leaned in. “You know these earrings are not real gold, yes?”
Torri grinned. “It’s fine. Neither is this medal.”