Jonell's confidence was not misplaced. By the time her Visa bill arrived three weeks later, she'd lured the last of the women. With Priscilla, there were now 13.
They were longtime friends, new friends, and friends of friends, their ages ranging from 50 to 62. They were childless and mothers of four, empty nesters and Little League moms. They were card-carrying conservatives and lifelong liberals. Some had advanced degrees; others, high school diplomas. Their careers included finance, farming, medicine, and teaching. They were Catholic and Jewish, feminist and traditionalist, blonde and gray. All were buying into possibility.
"We are what we do," Jonell said to the others, "not what we own."
Her thinking included sharing a necklace among a group of women, creating a circle of friends, even reaching out to others beyond that. Jonell had a gift for motivating people. She'd been involved with, among other causes, the National Charity League, in which mothers and daughters served the community together. When people got together for a purpose beyond themselves, Jonell knew, fresh ideas and energy flowed. Who could predict what a group of women could accomplish together?
They agreed that each of them would wear the necklace for four weeks of the year, during her birthday month, and that they'd meet as a group when it was time to pass it on. They'd split the cost of insurance, and any woman could borrow the necklace for a special occasion. They planned to record their adventures with Jewelia -- they'd decided to name the necklace after Julia Child, an idol to some of them -- in a scrapbook. And by the way, one of them wondered, how did they all feel about donating towels to the homeless? (They agreed, the first of their many charitable acts together.)
Only two women had the same birthday month. Since Patti Channer, administrator of a dental practice, would celebrate her 56th birthday in just nine days, she was first.
Patti wore the $15,000 necklace to bed the first night but twice woke up feeling panicky. Was it still in one piece -- nothing broken? This was the first time since she was 13 and filched her sister's gold charm bracelet that she'd worn something that didn't belong to her. By morning, she started to relax.
During her month with the necklace, Patti wore it on the golf course and to a family wedding in Oahu. She wore it to the orthopedic clinic when her husband, Gary, underwent shoulder surgery. She wore it while helping to hose down a neighborhood fire.
And she talked about it. "I liked the story of the deal and getting the necklace for the price we did," she said. "But the story of sharing it is a truly great conversation topic."
Patti's first job in college was in an Abraham & Straus department store. She'd always considered herself a consummate shopper; her closet teemed with shoes and bags. But in time, her experience with the necklace transformed her, as it did all the women.
"When I was younger," Patti says now, "I shopped to fill the holes in my life. Today I shop just to look. Since owning the necklace, I've started to give away my accessories. The truth is, there's nothing I need anymore."




Advertisement






















