It's going to take forever to pay off my credit cards,” Tiffany complained to Cara at the salon.
“So speed up the process,” said Cara as she swept a pile of hair from the floor. “Girl, you got a fortune in clothes hanging in your closet. Sell ’em on eBay.”
Tiffany looked at Cara as if she had suggested Tiffany cut off an arm.
“You can make money doing that. My sister in California is.”
“What's she selling?” asked Tiffany.
“Stuff she finds at garage sales. Last year she got all kinds of cool junk: Victoria's Secret powder, knockoff purses, Gucci sandals.”
Tiffany's eyes bugged. “Serious?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Gucci sandals at a garage sale—now, that was worth looking into.
“I'm thinking I might start an eBay business,” she said to Rachel later that day. “Want to hit some garage sales this Saturday?”
Rachel nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I haven't been to a garage sale in years. Sure, I'll ride shotgun.” She studied Tiffany a moment. “You're not a morning person. You do know you have to get up early if you're going to get the bargains, right? A lot of these start at eight.”
Tiffany set her jaw like a soldier preparing for battle. “I shop the Thanksgiving sales. I can do this. I'll be at your place at seven-thirty.”
True to her word, Tiffany was on Rachel's front porch at 7:28 on Saturday morning, clad in a top, jeans, and flip-flops. “Caffeine,” she mumbled. “We've got to hit The Coffee Stop.”
“Oh, no we don't,” Rachel corrected her. She brought Tiffany in the house and poured her a cup of coffee. Then she squirted in some chocolate syrup. “A poor woman's mocha,” she said, handing it to Tiffany. “No dribbling our money away anymore. Right?”
Tiffany grunted and took a sip, then looked surprised. “You know, this isn't bad.” After consuming half the mug Tiffany's brain joined the party. “This is going to be fun,” she said as Rachel's minivan coughed its way down the street. She stopped talking and listened. “What is wrong with this thing?”
“Nothing that a good mechanic who wants to work for free can't fix,” said Rachel with a shrug.
“Maybe we should take my car,” Tiffany suggested. “It's newer.”
“Don't be a snob,” teased Rachel. “This one is free and clear.”
“Yeah, but will it get us where we want to go?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it better,” Tiff said, and downed the last of her mocha. “I've got twenty-five dollars to spend. I hope I can find something with it. I have to prove to Brian that this can work.”
“I take it he's not excited about your moneymaking scheme,” Rachel observed.
“He thinks I've found a new way to spend money. But you have to spend money to make money. Jess said that,” Tiffany added.
“A lot of people have said that,” Rachel informed her. “Let's hope they're right.”
Tiffany proved to be a garage sale power shopper. She had an eye for finding valuable trinkets and she was fast. She found a Lenox figurine for five dollars and beat a senior citizen to a jazzy, pink rhinestone clock.
Rachel felt the woman's scowl like a laser beam. Tiff was oblivious.
“Wow,” said Rachel, as they drove away. “You don't mess around.”
“This is business,” said Tiffany. She tapped the little clock thoughtfully. “But I may keep this.” Rachel frowned at her and she added, “Or not.”
Soon they were almost out of money and time, as Tiffany had appointments at the salon. “Okay, one more,” said Rachel, “then we'll go home. This should be a good one. It's right on the lake.”
She was right. She could tell even as they pulled up. The house was relatively new and not only was the garage open for business, the owners had spread some wares along the driveway, too. “Treasure Island,” Rachel predicted with a grin.
“I hope so,” said Tiffany. She was practically salivating.
The same older woman whom Tiffany had beaten out of the clock earlier was climbing out of her car when they pulled up. At the sight of Tiffany, she began to speed-walk down the driveway.
“Oh, no you don't,” growled Tiffany, leaping out of the minivan before it had even stopped.
“What are you doing?” Rachel protested. But it was too late. Tiff was already gone with the wind. Rachel sighed and parked. This could get ugly.
Sure enough, Tiffany and her older competitor were now actually racing … until Tiff slipped and went down. “Oooh!”
Every head turned. Actually, every female head turned. The few men present had already noticed her.
“What did you step on?” Rachel asked, coming alongside her.
Tiffany inspected the bottom of her flip-flop and scrunched her face like she'd just seen something truly grisly. “Dog poop,” she squealed, completely unaware that her competitor was now strolling triumphantly into the garage.
The owner of the house hurried up to her. “Are you okay?”
“It's on my foot. Eeeew!” Now Tiffany was shaking her hands like they'd been contaminated, too. She kicked her foot in an attempt to fling off the offending mess.
“Oh,” the woman groaned. “Our neighbors have a dog. I'm so sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” Tiffany said, her face screwed up in disgust.
“Here,” offered the woman. “We can hose it off. Follow me.”
Tiffany limped after her, “eeewing” all the way.
She was still shuddering and “eewing” when she and Rachel got back in the minivan. “I am never doing that again,” she announced.
Rachel was surprised to see Tiff throw in the towel so quickly. She'd had great success herself, finding a name-brand top she knew Claire would love and several romance novels. This kind of shopping wouldn't break the budget. “That was a short-lived business.”
Tiffany looked at her like she had said something crazy. “I'm not bagging garage sales.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Tiffany lifted her foot. “I'm never wearing these. You've got to dress for the job.” They were about to drive off when she caught sight of the older woman leaving with a Tex-Mex–style pitcher. She gasped and pointed. “Crate and Barrel.”
The woman smirked as she walked past.
“From now on I'm wearing running shoes,” Tiffany muttered. “And I'm staying off the grass.”