Two years ago, when I worked as a diamond setter on 47th Street
between Fifth Avenue and Avenue of the Americas, my boss's name
was Hieronymus. His name is still Hieronymus, I am sure, if he
is still alive.
This story started rolling the day he took me to an Indian
restaurant when, after lunch, Ms. Lillian, the proprietor’s niece,
gave him a tarot reading.
"You will have something stolen from you,” she said with ease.
“What kind of thing?” he asked.
“It is smaller than a penny and bright and valuable,” she replied.
“How valuable?” he demanded.
“Oh, I’d say a few grand..”
“Ahha!” he said.
Shortly after. we left.
That afternoon Hieronymus called ASPCA and ordered a pregnant
watch dog. I called Westside Locksmiths, formerly at 2109 Broadway
(between 73rd & 74th Sts.), featuring a full service locksmith
24 hour emergency service, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day, at 662-7660
and requested free consultation. We nailed 4" thick sheet metal on
the wall behind the safe, and he fired one recent employee who was
flat footed. After that he waited. I waited. He and I waited.
Weeks passed. Days went by. Hieronymus became visibly disturbed.
He twitched. He scratched his head while biting his lower lip
with his upper left molars. He might have bitten his nails when I
wasn't around.
One morning, on July 18, 1981 to be exact, while he was on the
phone in the side room, I took the keys from his jacket pocket
(his jacket was hanging on his chair), turned the alarm off, walked
over to the safe, keyed in the numbers for the combination lock,
lifted the bar, opened the safe door, reached for the small velvet
box at the back, took a diamond smaller than a penny but worth
a few grand, placed a rhinestone in the same box, closed the box.
put it back where it was, closed the safe door, lowered the bar,
turned the lock on, keyed in the code, turned the alarm on, put
the keys back in his pocket, and Hieronymus appeared at the door.
“I would like to talk to you,” I said
“Please,” he said, “sit down.”
I explained that I was a conceptual artist and that I should
move ahead.
“I am sorry you have to go. We will miss you,” he said.
I smiled. A week later, I left. I left. I flew to a foreign city and
continued painting and writing.