If you’re like me, you’re particular about buying furniture, especially pre-owned furniture. Especially sofas, so when I found a sofa that looked perfect, I immediately contacted the seller. Her name was Angelicia.* She was from New York and had taken an leave of absence to take care of her dying mother and now, to sell her mother’s house and belongings. She was selling it in an online sale group on Facebook.
Her mother had moved in with her unmarried sister after her own husband died. Years later, when the mother’s sister also died, she inherited the house that 1960 left behind. It was full of 1960 french provencial charm. When I stepped into the house, it was like stepping into the kind of home you would have expected Lisa Douglas, the character from the 60’s sitcom, Green Acres, to have had in New York before her husband Oliver uprooted her to go live on a farm in Hootersville. I almost expected Zsa Zsa Gabor to come out from around the corner in a fancy chiffon dressing gown trimmed in ostistich feathers and dripping with diamonds.
Yes, Angelicia’s aunt apparently had the same taste as me. French, sumptuous and white. I had offered to buy the couch immediately, from the Facebook post, but Angelicia told me she had promised another woman that she could come in the morning to look at it. There was nothing I could do but hope she didn’t show.
Unfortunately, she did show. She bought several other things I had also wanted, but I was able to purchase other things, until my money ran out. The house was an hour away and my husband and I had come in our van prepared to pack it with our treasures. I can’t say that I got any “steals.” I paid Angelicia what she wanted. She and I stood and talked quite a long time and I got to know the woman, her mother and aunt as she shared their stories of the happy life they had all shared. A happy childhood, good parents who loved each other, and a father who had a good job and was really quite brilliant and well read. She pointed to the things on the walls from all their travels and hers. It had been a good, comfortable life. I told her she was very blessed. I was genuinely happy for this family. I can’t say that I’ve met many people like Angelicia. Apparently, death was the only sadness this family ever had happen to them. Quite extraordinary, to say the least.
Angelicia, like her aunt, never married. Not by choice, the right man just never came along. But she didn’t seem to mind. She had a good life in New York. She said that this house and the furniture in it wasn’t really her taste, nor was it her mother’s, but her mother grew to love it, the fancy chandeliers, the white wall to wall carpet, and custom french valances with silk brocade draperies in every room. After a while, it just all seemed to normal.
I walked though the split level home, appreciating every subtle detail. If it had been in my neck of the woods, I told her, I would have bought the house and everything in it, I loved it that much. I stood in the Diningroom and could almost hear the dinner party as she told me about her aunts fantastic meals. She had all the china, crystal and large Lenox collection on the table. I had to pass.
At that time, I had injured my knee quite badly and was wearing a knee brace and using an arm brace crutch because the dystonia was also very bad and quite painful. She and I talked about dystonia and what is was, the car accident and brain injury that came because of it, and how hard it was to get around. I was looking for a comfortable couch that I could easily get up from without too much effort. Her couch was perfect.
” I’m so sorry,” she said, ” But if it makes you feel any better, the couch is for the woman’s husband. He has cancer.” I was wondering why a man with cancer would want a fancy french Victorian sofa, but, okay. She told me she sold it for $300.00.
Cringe. It was worth 1000 times that.
There were a pair gorgeous mauve brocade beregere chairs for $200 each, perfect in every way, but the color. My husband didn’t like them and like I said, they really were the wrong color, so again, I had to pass.
I ended up buying a set of three french hand-painted nesting tables, a regency hall table with mirror, a french boudoir chair and a french serving cart.
I suppose that she flew back to New York and resumed her career as a flight attendant. She truly was a lovely soul. I’m sure had circumstances been different, we would have maintained a friendship just like the neighbors who called out and came up to her when we were outside. Even their dogs were happy to see this tall, svelte woman, still very striking over fifty as she called to them by name.
As we spoke about her mother, father and aunt, her eyes were full of mixed emotions. We spoke about the role of adult daughters becoming the caregiver of their mother’s and the sadness that comes with it. She told me that she never really liked the house or the things in it, but just like they had done to her mother, they had grown on her and now, though my eyes, she had come to see the beauty in her aunt’s things.
I was glad that she and I really hit it off. I told her the value of some of the things she had and where to sell them.
She promised to let me know the next time she would return. That was exciting, so I as I paid her the money we hugged and shared a tearful knowing look that only caregivers know, and with a wave goodbye, we promised that we would see each other again, because I’d be back.
Sadly, that never happened.
I must confess I forgot about ” the couch that got away.” I did find a replacement that I bought off another equally lovely woman who was also about my age and caring for her mother, but it wasn’t quite right. It turned out to be too big, and I will probably end up selling it.
Not satisfied, I would periodically, go looking online for the perfect white sofa. One morning, to my surprise and amazement was THE SOFA and the two chairs! They were being advertised by a shoppe owner for you guessed it, four times the price as what Angelicia had sold them for.
So how did they get there? Did the woman who bought them lie about having a husband with cancer or did the husband die or what? I had to find out.
Turns out, the woman lied to dear Angelica. Now hears what is so disgusting about that. She didn’t have to. To Angelica, a promise was a contract. There was no why she was going to sell that sofa to anyone else because, unlike this woman, she had integrity. Sadly, her integrity was taken advantage of by a liar and a greedy, selfish, despicable cheat. When I called the shop owner to inquire about the sofa, I got yet another lie. What lie? She told me the Angelica’s story as if it was her own. No husband with cancer, but now it was her mother who owned the sofa and she had been her caregiver. What to do, what to do.
So I went to her shop with my husband and we had a conversation with each other about this beautiful sofa and how to looked just like Mrs So and So’s at her house at such and such street. And we talked about how beautiful her house was and all her beautiful things. Having heard us, the shop owner came over, and indeed did confirm that this was the same sofa. She directed us over to other items from Mrs. So and So. “Funny,” I said, ” because her daughter told me that she sold all this to woman whose husband had cancer. She felt sorry for her and gave her a terribly good deal. And yet, here it is, in your shop not a week later.”
The shop owner turned bright red and her voice got loud and angry, ” You get out of here right now,” she huffed as she motioned us to the door.
Oh, did I mention that the shop was full of customers? Every single one heard us, and more importantly, her.
Moral of story; whenever you lie, cheat and steal, someone ultimately knows. If not now, down the road. Sometimes it ends up in the paper or online and as anyone who subscribes to newspaper archives will tell you, the sins from 100 years ago are now all available online. But beyond that, God saw what you did. Do you really want to explain yourself to Him when He asks you why you lied to the righteous Angelica and traded your approval from Him for $1200?
