Although his intention had been to shave, when Aurelian looked in the mirror, and saw how the roughness of the hair on his face made him look older than his eighteen years, he changed his mind. Perhaps looking a few years older than he was would work in his favor. Nobody had wanted to hire an eighteen year old, after all, but twenty may be something he could sell. Instead of shaving, then, he rinsed his face, splashed on what was left of his eau de toilette, ran a wet hand through his hair, and returned to the kitchen of his shared house.

Near the kitchen window as he was, he could feel the outside cold as it hit the glass and slowly poured into the room. Was it the cold that made its way in, or the heat that escaped? Something of his schooling reminded him that heat escaped, but it felt as if the outside chill was making its way inside, and not the other way around. In any case, it did not really matter, other than to remind him that it was very cold outside. Walking the streets, looking for help wanted signs, would be cold. He would come back at the end of the day nearly frozen, just as he had been doing. Nothing would keep a cold like that away from him; it wouldn’t even leave him alone in his own house.

Soon, he was on the bus and headed to the center of the city. He had been up and down the streets before, and could hardly remember where he had been, to whom he had talked. In his first days of looking for work, it had been a systematic process, with addresses and names, but over the weeks it had turned into a desperate, random walk up and down streets in search of someone in need of a strong, young back. He got off the bus where he always did. Ten feet away was the kiosk of the old Basque jewelry seller.

"Aurelian!" Jacques cheered when he saw him. He waved for him to come over, and Aurelian obliged. Jacques poured some coffee from his thermos into a Styrofoam cup and offered the steaming cup to Aurelian.

"How has it been?" Aurelian asked.

"Pretty cold," Jacques replied, rubbing his hands together. He wore a pair of black knit gloves that had no fingertips. "Say, have you given what I said any thought?"

Aurelian sipped his coffee. He had gotten to like Jacques the Basque over the weeks. The idea of selling jewelry for him on commission had not at all appealed to him before, but even though Jacques was a street vendor, he still managed to eat.

"I still don’t know," Aurelian admitted. "I don’t have your magic tongue. I can’t sell. I’m not slick."

Jacques patted his belly. "This can make you slick."

"I want to try a few more places before I decide," Aurelian said.

At this, Jacques brushed his graying hair from his eyes. "You have a pretty face," Jacques said. "People trust a pretty face. It’s an honest living, selling jewelry."

Aurelian knew that what Jacques meant was that people were willing to trust a handsome face that the knock-off watches he kept out of sight from the police would not stop working after a few months of use. Jacques sold earrings, necklaces, and trinkets openly, but made his greatest profit from the fake designer watches.

"Let me try those places first," Aurelian finally insisted before finishing his coffee. "Thanks for the coffee."

With the coffee’s warmth in him, Aurelian made his way a few blocks down to a store he had not yet entered. Posters. He knew art. He was, after all, an artist. He could sell posters. Most of the posters in the front window were not art, but he may be able to find work here. He pushed the door open and hoped for the best.

He approached the Chinese lady at the cash register after brushing his hair back with his hand.

"Yes? May I help you?" the cashier asked.

"I was wondering if you need any help around here," Aurelian began.

The cashier looked Aurelian up and down quickly before replying, "We only hire Chinese."

"I know art and have a pretty good idea of ...," he tried to say.

"We only hire Chinese," the lady repeated.

Aurelian wanted to scream, but instead turned around and walked out of the store.

"Of all the stupid!" he growled. The air was so cold he could almost see his words leave his angry lips. Far down the street was Jacques, showing off his wares to passers-by. He returned to the kiosk, pretended to be interested in the jewelry for the benefit of the customers, and when they were gone, shrugged at Jacques.

"Can you believe?" he sputtered.

"What?" Jacques asked.

"They only hire Chinese," Aurelian said, pointing in the direction of the poster store.

At this, Jacques could not hold in his amusement. "You are not going to find work walking up and down the city streets looking like a lost dog, Aurelian," he finally said.

"Maybe I should take a bus to Montreal," Aurelian returned.

"Montreal? Last act of a desperate man. You know why I am here? Why any of us are here? Because it may seem cold here to you, but right now, over there, it’s damned cold. Worse than you’ve ever felt. That’s why I’m here." He poured some more coffee from his thermos and offered it to Aurelian.

Aurelian accepted his second cup of coffee. A young couple, probably tourists, approached the kiosk, and since he had the coffee in his hand, he could not pretend he was a prospective customer. Instead, he motioned to Jacques that he would take on the salesmanship for a bit.

"I think this necklace would suit your wife very nicely," Aurelian said, putting a silver necklace up to the neck of the woman. "It makes her beautiful eyes sparkle."

The woman smiled happily at the compliment she had been given, and Aurelian then went in for the sale.

"Look at that! She’s smiling! You don’t want to take that smile away from her, do you?" he said, tapping his back pocket as if there were a wallet in it.

The man, seeing that he could not back down gracefully, went for his wallet. "I suppose it’s quite beautiful," he mumbled in defeat.

"Beautiful? This trinket?" Aurelian said, remembering what he’d heard Jacques say before. "This necklace is nothing. It’s all in the one who is wearing it. She is beautiful. The necklace just sparkles on her." He glanced at Jacques, and then at the man who was fumbling with his wallet. "You see him? He goes home at nights, bent over a magnifying glass, twisting and turning this jewelry into something that is meant to be worn by beautiful people. You won’t find a necklace like it anywhere else, because he made it by hand, you understand? His philosophy is that no two are the same. Just like no lady is quite as beautiful as your wife here."

"How much?" the man asked, flipping through his bills.

"Well, this one is fifteen dollars, but I’ll let you in on something else," Aurelian said. He reached under the kiosk and produced a fake Rolex. "Yes, yes, you know it’s not real. I know it’s not real. The beautiful lady knows it’s not real. But it looks real, and it keeps good time. You’re visiting from England? I can tell from your accent that you’re from England."

"Yes," the man replied. The woman was now looking over the watch very carefully.

"She comes back from Canada wearing that necklace, you come back wearing this watch. Fifty dollars for both. The necklace is one of a kind—a steal at fifteen dollars."

"Does it keep good time?" the man said, looking at his own simple watch.

"Keep good time? Who cares? Of course it does, but with something like that on your arm, who cares? Does French cuisine really taste better? No. There’s a little bit of food on a big plate. Probably cold by the time you actually get to eat it. But you pay for what? To eat French cuisine. Right? With something like this, you pay for the name. You pay for what people think."

Aurelian could see that the lady was amused by his presentation.

The man produced fifty dollars, put the necklace on his companion, put the phony Rolex on his wrist, and walked off with a smile on his face.

"Who said you can’t sell?" Jacques blurted out once the couple was out of hearing range.

"Yes, but what did I just sell?" Aurelian returned, sipping his coffee. "Something that will turn her neck green and his wrist purple—if he manages to get it past customs on the way out of Canada."

"Yes, but think of it this way," Jacques replied. "He gets some loving tonight. They feel good about themselves. Every time he checks the time, he holds out his arm like a king, showing off his Rolex. All for the reasonable price of fifty bucks." Aurelian handed Jacques the money, and Jacques handed him back five dollars. This was the first money Aurelian had earned since as far back as he could remember. "They’re happy for a few days, you get five bucks. Not bad."

"It’s not me, Jacques," Aurelian contested.

"Not you? Aurelian, come on. Look how you did that sale. Not you? If this isn’t you, what is?"

"Jacques," Aurelian replied, "in a few months, you’ll be back in Montreal. The weather will be nicer, and you’ll be selling your wares over there. All these watches will stop working by about then, and you won’t be here when the ones who aren’t tourists come looking to flatten your nose. Me, I live here. This is my town."

"Ah well, keep an open mind," Jacques sighed. "They know what they’re getting for thirty-five dollars isn’t going to last. Nothing lasts."

Aurelian looked at the Jacques closely. His face was weathered. Years of selling on the streets had taken their fee from his face. Was that a face he wanted? Older than its years? Suddenly, he wished he had shaved. He drew his cold fingers across his chin and could hear the rasp of the stubble. Surely there must be some honest work in this city for a young man. Where was it then?

He sat in the small fold-away chair beside Jacques and waited for another couple to come by, and managed to sell them a pair of earrings. He sensed that they would not be interested in a watch. A few more came by without buying anything. By noon, he had made fifteen dollars more in commission. With his twenty dollars, he bought a phony Gucci watch from Jacques at cost and put it on.

"What do you want that watch for?" Jacques asked as Aurelian started to leave.

"When this watch stops working," Aurelian said as he walked away, "I will know you have returned to Montreal."

Jacques laughed and got back to the business of selling jewelry from his kiosk.

Once Aurelian was far enough down the main drag to be out of site, he sat down and checked the time. The watch, even though he knew it was a fake, felt nice on his wrist. It would look good for at least a week, before the shine started to wear off.

"Nice watch!" the young lady who had been sitting a few feet away on the bench said.

Aurelian turned to smile at her. She was a pretty, well dressed woman, probably a few years older than he was.

"Thank you," he said. "It’s a Gucci."

"Yes, I know," she replied. "If you don’t mind my saying so, it doesn’t fit your clothes."

She had a huge smile on her face when she said it, so Aurelian did not respond badly.

"Well," Aurelian mumbled. "I’ve been out of work for a while. Clothes come after being able to tell time. The watch was a gift. From my Uncle Jack."

"Your uncle has good taste," she replied. "Out of work? What do you do?"

Aurelian didn’t want to lie anymore and replied, "I was an artist."

"Was an artist? So young, and you’ve retired?" She inched herself a bit closer to him.

"Well, it’s a long story," Aurelian admitted. "Probably too long to bother you with."

Again, she moved a bit closer. "My name is Anais."

"Aurelian," he returned.

"I don’t mind listening to your long story," she finally said, after having stared in his eyes for some time.

Aurelian stood and pointed to the café ten feet in front of them. They went inside and he ordered two café au laits for them and he related to her how he had lost his job as a designer’s apprentice because he had refused to sleep with his boss.

"That’s a new one," Anais said. "Doesn’t it usually work the other way around?"

"Well, my boss was a woman," he explained. "A fashion designer. She made a move on me, and I decided to keep it professional. So she had me assigned to cleaning the screens. She knew I was allergic to the chemicals, and I was soon out of there. What do you do?"

"I work at the jewelers across the street," she replied. "We sell Gucci watches, among other things."

Aurelian wanted to stick his hand under the table when he heard this. If she looked closely enough, she would know that the watch was phony.

"Not phony ones like that," she finally said, relieving the tension. "The real ones."

"You could tell?"

"Oh, those are pretty good fakes until they start to wear down. I’ve seen you with Jacques," she explained. "Over the last few weeks, during my lunch break, I’ve seen you with the Basque down the street."

"Ah," Aurelian returned, sipping his drink.

"Jacques the Basque is infamous with us. A few of his customers have come in expecting us to get his watches working again," she said. "Not likely. You get what you pay for."

Aurelian looked at his watch. "I suppose so."

"You know, we need someone on the floor," Anais suggested. "If you need a job, why not come in and apply?"

"You think?" Aurelian returned.

"Selling the real thing," Anais added.

Aurelian had to ask. "If you knew the watch was a fake, why did you start talking to me outside?"

Anais blushed. "Well, I thought you had a pretty face," she finally admitted. "It takes a pretty face to sell even the real thing. Probably harder to sell the real thing than the phonies." She showed Aurelian her watch. "That’s the real thing."

Aurelian looked at her slender wrist more than the watch on it and wanted to touch her perfect skin, but restrained himself.

"So I should come in with my best clothes, and a resume?" he asked.

"And be sure to shave," she said. "The boss hates the shadow. I’ll lie and say I know you back from school or something, to help you get in."

"Why?" Aurelian asked. "Why would you do that?"

"You lied to impress me, didn’t you? Uncle Jack! Jacques the Basque!"

"But why would you want to impress me?" Aurelian asked. He put the money on the table for the coffees. "I’m just an out of work artist who almost became a street vendor."

Anais looked into Aurelian’s eyes with her cool, green stare and smiled without saying a word.

"Well?" he demanded. Too many weeks of getting nowhere and watching hustlers had made him cynical.

Anais reached out to touch his face with her soft fingers. She drew a circle on his rough cheek with her right index finger, making a raspy sound. Her touch made Aurelian feel as though he was going to pass out. Or was that the fact that he had only had three coffees in him all day, and no food?

"Because you have a pretty face," she replied before standing up. She walked out of the café, crossed the street to the jewelry store, and disappeared into the door.

After a few minutes, the waiter at the café came to the table and asked if there would be anything else. Aurelian removed his watch, handed it to the waiter, and said, "Here’s your tip," before leaving. Soon, he was again at Jacques’ kiosk.

"Where’s your watch?" Jacques called out to him.

At first, Aurelian didn’t know what to say. Finally, he blurted out, "I sold it to the highest bidder," and continued on to the bus stop before heading home.

Buying a Good Feeling - by S.L. MacNiven