Chapter NineNo Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Danny and Sophie began their search at the top of Bond Street, walking down towards Piccadilly, passing some of the world’s most prestigious stores, intimidating spaces with bright lighting, buffed marble floors and moneyed clientele unfazed by the sky-high price tags. In contrast, Danny’s wide-eyed enthusiasm was a give-away that he was a newcomer. He had smartened himself up for the day, wearing ironed cotton trousers and a short-sleeve Paul Smith shirt which he tried to tuck in, but which came free, rebelling against his efforts at respectability. As a pair they looked like backpackers who, after many months on the road, had decided to splurge the last of their holiday cash on a fancy hotel, wearing their only vaguely smart clothes to sip vodka martinis at a rooftop bar.
The entrance to the Tiffany store was guarded by a gym-sculpted security guard dressed in a tight black suit to show off his imposing physique. Peering from the opposite side of the street Danny and Sophie loitered nervously. Sophie observed, ‘Posh places prefer you to make an appointment.’
Sounding defeated before they had even begun Danny replied, ‘Maybe we should go somewhere else?’
Sophie shook her head.
‘No way. Tiffany was number one on your list. Come on, we used to gate-crash places with tougher bouncers than this guy.’
Danny noted, ‘But we were always drunk.’
Taking Danny by the arm Sophie led him towards the entrance and after looking them up and down the security guard opened the door. Inside Danny observed several couples seated on purple ottomans in semi-private cubicles, each with a sales assistant presenting jewellery on velvet displays. It was closer to a boutique hotel lobby than a regular shop. A glamorous Tiffany representative approached.
‘There are no available appointments today. We recommend returning at a time when we’ll be able to assist you. Is it for wedding rings?’
She evaluated them as a straight couple, not rich but aspirational, searching for an entry-level ring, clueless on cut and carat, relying entirely on the brand – an easy mark. Sophie looked at Danny and smiled. Except he didn’t see the funnyside. In a hurry to correct the mistake, fearful that he was somehow undercover when he should be proudly announcing that this purchase was for a gay wedding, he said, ‘I’m looking for an engagement ring. For a man.’
The assistant repeated the words.
‘A man?’
Danny nodded.
‘A man, yes. My partner is a man. I’m marrying a man.’
Sophie added, wryly, trying to defuse the tension, ‘In case you missed it, he’s marrying a man.’
The assistant struck a placatory tone.
‘I’m sorry. We don’t sell engagement rings for men.’
Danny took a moment before blankly stating, ‘I don’t understand.’
Appreciating the sensitivity, she lowered her voice.
‘Tiffany doesn’t sell engagement rings for men.’
After a silence Sophie was the first to regroup, her good humour evaporating.
‘You sell rings, don’t you? Rings that men can wear? A ring that a man could say was an engagement ring. I mean, once the customer leaves the store, you don’t follow them around telling people it’s not an engagement ring.’
Feeling that she had done her best, the assistant crossed her arms.
‘You can certainly buy any ring you wish and give it to whoever you choose. I’m simply trying to explain thatTiffany doesn’t sell engagement rings specifically designed for men.’
Danny asked, ‘Why not?’
The question perplexed her.
‘They don’t exist.’
‘In this store?’
‘In any of the stores on this street.’
With the heat of humiliation spreading up his neck and into his cheeks, Danny wanted to grab Sophie’s arm and run out. Instead, he managed to politely say, ‘I guess we won’t be making an appointment then.’
