The three of us pile some change onto the counter.  The flea market cashier counts it and stamps our hands.  Next.

Down the first aisle, M spots a bicycle and is off.  When I catch up a small crowd has gathered.  Other vendors as well as passersby are inspecting the bike and advising M of the superior qualities as well as drawbacks.  After some discussion, she agrees to a price.  The group nods in approval; this is a good deal for her.

Winding our way through the maze of tables and displays, a flash of deep red on a clothes rack catches my eye.  I reach for the sleeve.  Nice quality.  I move the hanger…no, could it be…?  I locate the tag.  Yes!  “It’s Halston!”  Not just any Halston and certainly not *cough* Halston Heritage.  This is Halston of the 1970s heyday.  As worn by style icon Bianca Jagger (before everyone had a stylist) and found in every fashion maven’s closet.

I knew it would fit before I put it on.  M loved it on me, “That’s perfect for you! It’s gorgeous!”  I sashayed down the catwalk between the tables, side-stepping the crates and power tools.  J observed, “It’s a little long.”  We turned to him in unison, “That’s the style!”  He tried again, “Red is nice.”  Sigh.

Thrilled at my good fortune, I looked around for the vendor.  Then I spotted her: an attractive grey-haired lady watching me.  I knew this was her coat.  It was in pristine condition: how long had she prized it and what made her sell it at a flea market?  I decided not to ask.  She offered me a reduced price seeing that it was going to a good home.  I handed her some folded-up bills, “You can have my grocery money,” I said, happily, “I’ll take very good care of this coat.”  She knew I would.

My delighted self belonged on the cover of Vogue: draped in my red hot Halston treasure, holding a styrofoam bowl of instant ramen noodles.

_____
[Photo: Bianca Jagger & Mick Jagger. Please notify me of any credit/copyright.]