She bought it in a curtained room off the main floor of a Tampa convention, wire transfer, twenty-two thousand, and it was in a lit display case in her salon office by Friday. The light was on a timer. Women who came in for a spray tan were told about it, gently, the way people are told about a grandchild.

At her sister's wedding she explained it to a groomsman for nine minutes while the band set up. He nodded in the right places. Later that year an auction house valued it at thirty-one thousand and she declined to sell, because selling would mean somebody else owned the only one, and then she would just be a woman with money.