Those Rainbows
Previously: Dash Reilly’s father has a late-night chat; Jeannie has a rough night.
Need to catch up on The Spring? Visit the chapter index here:
8:37 AM - Friday, November 6, 2014
Shreve Building, 210 Post Street, San Francisco
The tiny street vestibule of the Shreve Building held just enough space for a vast urn of flowers and a high security desk for check-in. The guard’s eyes grew, taking in her SFPD uniform as she signed in with the time; Jeannie glanced up and gave him the kind of smile which she knew would be both charming and dismissive of further questions.
Originally built to house the Shreve & Co jewelry store, the Shreve Building always leased its upper floors as office spaces, with most being occupied by small jewelers, wholesalers, watch repair services, gemologists, engravers — every type of trade in the jewelry sphere. In recent decades, small interior design firms or fashion stylists had begun to move in, people who sought a small, affordable spaces close to downtown. Meanwhile Shreve & Co1 still held on to its original store space at the ground floor, it’s navy awnings and gigantic marble pillars being a hallmark of San Francisco luxury for over a century.
The back end of the vestibule held an elevator and a steep set of white marble stairs that wound their way upward for ten stories. Calling the elevator, Jeannie looked around at the marble interior adorned with small accents of brass, remembering that the Shreve Building had been completed only about a month when the 1906 earthquake hit San Francisco. Its unique steel-and-brick construction preserved the structure, even though what was inside burnt completely. When word of the fire spread, the legend is that Shreve employees rushed to the store to save customer orders and merchandise, sometimes dumping entire display cases into wastepaper baskets to rush the process. These baskets were then put into the state-of-the-art fireproof vault which was sealed up in the nick of time. Once the fire was out, the company waited days for the vault to cool entirely before re-opening it, knowing that everything inside could combust if the heat met the air too quickly. Luckily, the vault held, saving Shreve’s inventory and all of its customers’ sentimental items.
Pressing the button for the 7th floor, Jeannie huffed out a sigh, realizing she had zero sentimentality in her, but a whole lot of combustion.
The seventh floor felt petite and quaint — it was scaled for 1905, not 2014. Ceiling slightly low, original light fixtures, and a glossy black trim around the office doorways, each treated to a pane of frosted glass and gilt-painted letters to announce the business inside. If Jeannie saw the office door for Spade & Archer2, she wouldn’t be surprised. Moving to the end of the hallway, she rang the buzzer to the right of the door emblazoned with two interlocking letters: GY.
The intercom snapped with static from somewhere inside. “Jeannie?”
“Yeah it’s me.” A loud buzzing sound was heard which then created a loud “thunk” noise, unlocking the door automatically. Once inside, there was another small vestibule surrounded by more panes of frosted glass, as well as a vitrine displaying the “GY” logo, and a number of exquisite jewelry pieces. Another buzzer sounded, another “thunk” noise, this time unlocking the inner door which was actually a modern and inconspicuous vault door of its own, moving easily for invited guests and impenetrable for those uninvited.
Entering the second door, an elegant studio was lit by the morning sunlight coming through the corner windows. Everything was beige, cream, and white, except for a few orchid plants and large potted palms. All of which were designed to set off the black-velvet lined vitrines that ran around the room, showcasing the incredible jewelry of one Georgina Yee.
“Ohmigod — you’re in uniform!” Georgina — Gigi, sprang up from her delicate antique burl wood desk in the corner - a moment of warmth in the sea of whites.
“It’s part of the job.” Jeannie sighed, tilting her head with a smile at her friend. “You look perfect, as always.” Gigi gave her a tight hug and then waved her off at this, even though it was true: Gigi had impeccable style. Always elegant, always simple, always sumptuous somehow. Her long hair was pulled back into a low, sleek ponytail, a pair of huge diamond stud earrings her only jewelry.
“I want to hear everything.” Gigi looked at Jeannie meaningfully. “You look tired though — do you want a coffee before we start?”
To one side of the studio a small curtained room held an efficiency kitchen with an espresso machine and an electric kettle on the counter. Both a small Smeg refrigerator in cream, and a large black wine fridge flanked the other side. Gigi pulled a pair of Fornasetti cups down from a cabinet and began pushing buttons to make coffee.
“You might need to re-think your nutrition priorities here, small fridge, GIANT wine fridge?” Jeannie laughed.
“Yeah, well, it’s easier for me to just store all the champagne here — it’s like a storage closet and when I get low I just replenish. I had no idea how much champs I’d go through every month, but listen, it WORKS. Lube people up, and they BUY.” The espresso machine squealed and steamed.
“I believe you — good to hear business is good.” Gigi turned around with a big grin.
“It’s very good. The editorial in Robb Report sent a lot of people my way, and I guess the rest is just word of mouth.” Gigi sighed a little, busily making two coffees which Jeannie knew would be impeccable. “And now we’re heading into the holidays which will give me an uptick. So — if you see anything you like, let me know and I’ll drop Chris a hint?” She turned around with the two cups and gave Jeannie a wink.
“I’d be happy with those studs you’re wearing — what do those run? Actually - don’t tell me. If Chris buys them, I’d rather not know.” Jeannie took the cup of steaming coffee, completed with an artful foam swirl. “I know he can afford it, but —” Jeannie paused, taking a sip.
“But what?” Gigi asked, taking her own sip.
Jeannie knew Gigi missed absolutely nothing. Georgina Yee went to Xavier in her brother PJ’s year — two years above her and two years below Chris and Brandon. She went on to Penn to study art history and curation, where she dated Chris’ fraternity roommate (and now husband), Devon Michaels. After Penn, Gigi worked as an assistant jewelry curator at The Met, but after a year of airless museum offices and low pay, she quickly moved on to study jewelry design at RISD. This led to getting a gemology certificate in Antwerp, where Devon parked himself in coffee houses all day to develop his first start-up, which was soon acquired by Google. This gave them a bank roll to launch the brand Georgina had envisioned for herself. Precious metals and gems come at a cost. This beautifully appointed studio space was the cornerstone of her budding empire, and Jeannie was envious. If only life’s roadsigns had been as clear to her.
She suddenly felt ungainly and wrong, standing in her clunky polyester uniform with a bullet-proof vest, inside of this delicate space with her fashionable friend. The contrast was stark and she didn’t like it, even if she was probably being sensitive because she was tired and worn out.
“But — “ Jeannie sighed, tamping down the tears that were already rising, which she didn’t need at this hour of the day. “But, I don’t exactly deserve them.” She shook her head a little. “It’s — it’s been a really hard year for us — well, for me. And it hasn’t been easy for him.” Gigi’s face wrinkled with concern. “I’ve been a mess since Mom died —”
“I know, Jeannie.” Gigi whispered. “I wish I could have done more for you. I should have.” Jeannie shook her head.
“No, no it isn’t that.” She sighed again. “I — I’ve been so shut down — I felt like I was poison, you know?” She added quietly. “And I felt like I’d poison Chris somehow, and I couldn’t take it. I — I didn’t want to put it all on him, he didn’t deserve that.”
“Jeannie — Chris would do anything for you.” Gigi’s eyes were warm and kind.
“I know that.” Jeannie whispered. “I just want to be able to do anything for him. And I couldn’t.” She shook her head slightly, “it’s better now, we’re talking it through, but it’s been — it’s been a lot. And he hates my job.”
“But you love it?”
“I’m not sure. There’s parts of it I enjoy, most of it comes pretty easily to me because of the legal stuff, but a lot of it is just grunt work.” She shrugged. “This case has been interesting. Interesting but intense.”
“Sounds like it.” Gigi put her empty cup on the tiny countertop. “Let’s get to it — and I’ll mention the studs to Chris.” She added conspiratorially, moving into the studio. “I’ve been waiting for the day you two would come in to pick out wedding bands, but I’ll hook you up with something in the meantime.” She joked.
Moving back into the studio, Gigi moved behind her desk, bathed in sunshine. She pulled out a remote control which magically lowered a set of white diffusion shades, cutting the glare but leaving the light. She pulled out a flat, black velvet tray and placed it on the desk top in anticipation.
“What did you bring me?” Jeannie reached into jacket pocket and felt the plastic evidence baggie. “You said it’s evidence, do I need gloves or anything?”
“No — it got swabbed and fingerprinted yesterday, but we know who it belongs to — I just need verification and you were the first person I thought of.” Gigi looked like a kid on Christmas morning, waiting for a treat. Jeannie popped the plastic bag open and poured it out onto the black velvet. Gigi became a ball of focus. Pulling out a small zip case from her desk drawer, she opened it to reveal a long set of tweezers, a pointer, an array of other tools, and a classic loupe. Opting for the tweezers, she adjusted the piece on the velvet while Jeannie got herself seated in the chair opposite. Arranging it right-side up, Gigi got very still, focusing intently on the glittering diamond bracelet stretched out on the velvet. Jeannie could hear her steady breathing as she took in every detail of the piece just through observation.
“Wow, Jeannie.” Gigi whispered. “You aren’t fucking around.” She glanced at Jeannie with a wicked gleam in her eye and a slight smile around her pout. Reaching for the loupe, she picked up the bracelet and held it close to the lens. “You knew I’d be into this, didn’t you?” Gigi asked, face obscured. Jeannie chuckled a little. “Tell me what you know so far.”
“Well, I could tell at a glance it was probably real and probably old — it looks like Art Deco to me, and that tracks because the party — look, I can’t tell you everything, but there was a Halloween party and it had a Gatsby theme.” Gigi scoffed from behind her loupe. “For a second I thought it was costume, but then I saw the rainbows in the stones.”
“I told you about those rainbows — “ Gigi murmured distractedly, her hand moving the bracelet from top to bottom. “They’re hard to resist.” Both were silent for another long moment while Gigi covered every last millimeter of the bracelet. Heaving a large sigh, Gigi pulled herself up into a tall posture in her seat, settling the bracelet on the velvet again. Her eyes were wide with delight, and she bit her lip almost as though she’d burst into laughter.
“Tell me.” Jeannie said, smiling a little too. “What do you think it’s worth?”
“High end? Probably forty-five thousand.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. We’re looking at probably 16 to 20 karats here, once I do a final count of the stones I can let you know. I can’t age the stones, but based on the cuts, they look like they’re early 20th century, especially these large hexagonal stones here?” Gigi used a long metal pointer form her kit to indicate the four larger stones embedded in the center of the repeating motif, “it’s kind of a rare shape. People don’t really do it any more. Those are flanked by baguettes which are nice enough to be their own feature, although here they’re in a supporting role. It doesn’t seem fair.” Gigi again bent her head with the loupe over the piece, investigating more details. “Do you see the way the platinum kind of bands around the motifs — “ her head came up as she used the pointer again, “it’s definitely a Deco thing. A technique they used to make the round stones look more geometric.” Gigi looked positively smug. “And the platinum itself is perfect. It has a stamp from Shreve too — they probably have something in their books.”
“Really?” Jeannie was surprised. “Like, who bought it and when?” Gigi nodded.
“Why don’t I do some photos in my light box — I can zoom in on details, get a stone count, measurements, and give you a better valuation. Then I’ll forward the images on to the archivist downstairs and see if they can dig it out. Would that help?”
“It would. It would help a lot.”
Gigi sighed looking at the bracelet. “Give me your hand — “ she demanded.
“What, me?” Jeannie felt herself blush.
“Yes, your left hand.” Jeannie pulled her uniform shirt sleeve back, extending her wrist out over the desk. Gigi pulled it down to the velvet and draped the bracelet over her wrist, turning it over to close the clasp.
The metal felt like cool liquid on Jeannie’s skin, and she instinctively tossed her wrist left and right to shift the piece around, the diamonds’ rainbows glinting at her hypnotically. The weight of it surprised her — it was delicate but substantial, wrapping her wrist in a solid band of deep white shimmer. It was designed for presence; like every major piece of jewelry it was meant to remind the wearer of their own importance.
“Wow.”
“You said it. My favorite part of the job — trying everything on.”
Founded in 1852, Shreve & Co was the oldest commercial establishment in San Francisco. Long-since sold to private investors for decades, the Shreve Building is a separate entity from the jewelry brand. In 2015, Shreve & Co lost its lease in the Shreve Building, being replaced by Harry Winston, who conducted a full renovation of the classic showroom space, cloaking its magnificent pillars and original displays with modern fixtures and false walls. Shreve & Co relocated to Post Street until it left the city in the spring of 2024, ending its 172-year tenure in the city. They still maintain a store location in the Stanford Mall in Palo Alto.
From The Maltese Falcon, published by Dashiell Hammett in 1930. The novel was made into a film in 1941, directed by John Huston.