Divine by Mistake Read Online Free Page B

his pot. He was examining it with a proprietor’s smile as he waited for the assistant to pack the waiting box with enough tissue to keep it from breaking. Suddenly, his smile changed to an angry, distraught expression. Hmm—I stood up and moved closer.
    “My God! What the bloody hell is this?” He was holding the pot up above his head, looking intently into the interior.
    “Sir, is there a problem?” The assistant was as confused as I.
    “I should say so! This pot is cracked! It is totally useless to me.” He set it carelessly back on the table, and it rolled around on its bottom edge, coming precariously close to tipping over.
    “Sir, let me take a look.” The assistant grabbed the pot and held it up to the light, mimicking the Brit’s actions. His expression blanched.
    “Sir, you are correct. Please accept my apologies for this damaged merchandise. Your bill will be corrected immediately.” As he spoke, another minion rushed off to the accounts payable tent.
    “Excuse me…” I tried to sound nonchalant. “What will happen to the pot now?”
    All three turned to stare at me.
    “It will be reauctioned, as is, of course.” And he handed the pot to yet another assistant, who hastened toward the auctioneer area. I followed on rubbery legs, feeling suddenly like the proverbial moth to a flame—or more appropriately Okie-like, the mosquito to the heavy-duty two-acre bug zapper.
    “Oh, my. It seems we have an error in need of correcting.” The auctioneer’s voice was annoyed. “Before we continue to Lot #31, we need to reauction Lot #25. The reproduction pottery evidently has a hairline crack running the width of the base. Quite unfortunate.”
    I pushed my way through the crowd as he held up the pot, open end to the audience, so that we could all peer into its imperfect depths. I squinted and looked…and the opening of the pot seemed to ripple, like the surface of a black lake. I felt dizzy and blinked hard several times, trying to clear my vision.
    The auctioneer looked into the opening and shook his head, contorting his face into a grimace of disdain for such abominably damaged merchandise. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Do I have an opening bid of twenty-five dollars?”
    Silence.
    I couldn’t believe it—I wanted to shout, but contained my exuberance as he surveyed the mum crowd and quickly revised the bid downward. “Fifteen dollars? Do I hear fifteen dollars?”
    Silence. Just ten minutes before, the bidding war had been on, and it had brought three hundred and fifty dollars. Now it wasn’t perfect, and the guy couldn’t get fifteen bucks. Fate whispered in my ear.
    “Three dollars and fifty cents.” I couldn’t help myself. It was some kind of quirky justice.
    “Sold! For three dollars and fifty cents. Madam, please give your number to my assistant.” He grimaced. “You may collect your pot immediately.”

4
    “My number is 074. I’m here to settle my account.” The accounts payable person appeared to be an hourly employee…she moved very slowly. I tried not to fidget. I want my pot I want my pot I want my pot. I was turning into a psycho.
    “The total is $3.78…that’s with tax.” She even blinked slowly, reminding me of a calf.
    “Here ya go. Keep the change.” I handed her a five-dollar bill. She grinned at me like I was Santa.
    “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll have your merchandise brought right out.” Over her shoulder, “Zack, bring out number 74’s stuff.”
    Zack emerged from behind the building bearing a box like those I had observed the other pots being packed into. The lid was open and he held it so that I could see that it was my pot. But I didn’t need to actually see it, that now-familiar yucky feeling was back in my stomach.
    “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.” Before I could chicken out, I grabbed the box, slammed the lid shut and headed for my car. “I’m getting the hell outta Dodge.”
    Talking to myself kept my nerves at bay. Well,