Like most goodies in my mother’s closet, the Fendi baguette was a gift. They dated not too long ago, my mother and this new guy, and he surprised her with a bag when he had dinner at a French restaurant. My mom floated through our front door, modeling me and my brother like a Home Shopping Network star. It was the size of an envelope, covered with leopard prints, and, she said, made of pony hair. horsehair , my brain repeated. I run my stubby fingers through the fur like a pony. This makes me feel a little queasy; at 11 years old, I preferred cornbread yellow dust bags.
Of the gifts my mom received from her flash-pan paramours, Fendi baguettes seemed the least likely to be heirlooms. It’s flashy, impractical, and—since we’re talking early stuff here—it’s also downright trendy. My mother, though especially charming to me, was no Carrie Bradshaw. Most single mothers in Boynton Beach don’t have an It bag. (Fur, especially, doesn’t really make sense in South Florida.)
So, she stashed it along with all her other gifts: Bulgari necklace that looks like a joint A mezuzah of locked jewels, the Movado watch comes on a thin black leather strap. My mother always coveted nice things, but she didn’t really know what to do with them; they were too good for our everyday reality, but seemed to portend some peculiar existence just around the corner. She has this bag and all she needs is a life to match. But when money got tight, she always pawned these gifts, usually with a shrug.
A year after my mom got the bag, I first watched my favorite Sex and the City episode where Finn Dee Baguette plays the leading role. In “Sex in Another City” — the two-part finale that sees the girls living their bizarre lives in Los Angeles — Samantha buys a convincing gold metallic from Angelino’s car trunk Baguettes.
“No, you didn’t,” Carrie screamed at brunch.
“About $3, 000,” Charlotte stammered.
“Or $150,” Samantha said with a lecherous smile, “ fake!”
150
150
