Bringing Home the Birkin

by Michael Tonello

  I positioned myself across the street, where, courtesy of the giant plate-glass windows, I had a perfect view of the Incurable Romantic working at the cash desk. Nothing ventured, nothing gained—I phoned the store, and when he answered, I made the leap.

  “Hello, I was in the store earlier this morning and one of those nice salesladies showed me a cream crocodile Birkin for my wife. Just my luck, she already has that color so I won’t be buying the bag this time. Would you please tell the lady who put it on hold for me that I don’t need it? I don’t want you guys left holding the bag, heh-heh.” I tried to come off as an obnoxious, dime-a-dozen businessman. (I always saw those jokers in the stores, buying Bolides for their brides and Paris Bombays for their bimbos.) I guess I sounded authentic, because he thanked me for calling and said he would give her the message. Half an hour later, I returned to the store and Hannah rushed to me brimming over with the good news.

  “Michael, one of the croc Birkins is available.” My ruse had worked (love those Greek gods) and I felt not even a twinge of guilt. In fact, I felt elated—my performance of surprise was truly Oscar-worthy. It wasn’t as if those Birkins were “reserved” for some nice woman who had waited two years for one—they were on hold for resellers who were just like me. What really bothered me was that they hadn’t even taken the plunge and bought them—they wanted to sell them before ever forking over a dime. No-risk Birkin buying? But that took all the fun out of it, didn’t it?

  My Birkin lust only partially sated, and my entrepreneurial dander up, I decided to double-dip. I left, but my game was hardly over. Five minutes before the shop closed, I had Mom (always a good sport, that one) call the store from Florida and cancel “her” hold on the braise croc Birkin. Another Birkin was safe until morning. The next day I bought the braise croc Birkin “for my sister,” along with two more cashmere shawls. Time to get gone from Greece, that was for sure—imagine if one of the “competitors” had walked in.

  I tried to come up with a Confucius quote I could throw on my sig file for the victorious e-mail I sent Sarah from the Athens airport, because I knew that would crack her up. I couldn’t find one that worked, though, so I went with Virgil: “Fortune favors the bold (Birkin-buyer).”

  31

  Hermès, We Have a Hostage Situation

  After my Broadway performance in Athens, things returned to normal. By normal I mean my sense of what had become normal to me, not what anyone’s mother would ever consider remotely normal (although mine was adjusting). I had turned into an impersonator, auctioneer, currency exchange rate expert, and Birkin mogul, burning through two passports in the process. The only thing missing was a Gulfstream 5, but who the hell can afford the gas for one of those anyway? Buying Birkins by the baker’s dozen was now like buying eggs. God knows what my bank thought, with huge sums of money traveling in and out of my account on a weekly basis as I bought, sold, and financed Birkin purchases worldwide. I had two laptops now, two cell phones, and the BlackBerry. On the days I wasn’t traveling, Juan would leave in the morning at eight and get home at four, and I would be sitting in exactly the same place, surrounded by my technology. I wasn’t complaining, though—Birkins were yielding me a tidy profit. Mom and Dad ran the primary shipping center, with 50 percent or so of the bags I got going to Sarah, and the rest to my other clients. My shoppers bought, I bought, and even Juan bought. Almost all croc, now, too. And thank God we had the cat—at least I wasn’t alone all day anymore. Dali would curl up next to my laptop, climb in and out of the empty Hermès boxes, and generally do cute kitty things, providing a much needed distraction.

  Luc remained my best shopper, although thankfully I didn’t have to see him much. He was as egotistical a being as I had ever met, and on the rare occasions I saw him in Paris, I always footed the bill for everything. But bags from him showed up like clockwork for a year or so, so the business relationship was nothing to complain about. We did hit a glitch at one point, and I received an e-mail in his rudimentary, grade-school English.

  From: “Luc”

  To: “michael”

  hello

  big truble. my banque called and asked me all questions about money transfers from you. I MUST send a letter to my banque telling them what all money is for.

  This time we should get me my a mex card sweetie cuz my banque is only going to be more truble for us later.

  have a good evenning and be sure do do this tommorow

  kiss

  Lava would have to freeze before I would ever even consider giving this narcissistic knucklehead my AmEx card. However, I opted for a more tactful response:

  From: “michael”

  To: “Luc”

  Luc,

  can you phone Hermès in Paris and ask them if they accept Travellers Checks? if they do, i can send you Amex travelers checks and you can pay without involving your bank. i can send the travelers checks to you by federal express in one day. let me know…

  mt

  Luc never wasted time where money was involved:

  From: “Luc”

  To: “michael”

  Hi sweetie

  This is perfect, called Hermès and there is no problem for cheques—you are geenyus!!! I can have bag tomorrow so can you send cheques today? More good news I am dating a rich man in USA. CALL ME NOW.

  Kiss-

  My immediate thought was, Luc must be milking this poor guy dry. I really hated the idea of listening to Luc prattle on like a sixteen-year-old girl about his new squeeze, so I got the AmEx checks and FedExed them right out.

  This new arrangement worked like a charm, and we continued like this for the next several months, with Luc getting bags every other week or so. I never asked any questions, but I was quite certain that there was no way for him to be getting all those bags from the Faubourg store. I bet he was peddling his wares at other stores. Busy little pollinating Birkin bee. Frankly, I didn’t care if he gave blow jobs from Biarritz to Berlin, as long as the bags kept coming.

  One day, when I was in the car, doing yet another road trip of the southern France Hermès shops, Norah Jones cranked up, Luc texted me:

  Sweetie I am in nyc now and stan the boyfriend gave me a platinum visa for buying bags and you can wire money to his bank in PA. great news right. Shuld I try for Birkin in nyc?

  I immediately texted him back:

  Great news about Visa card, this will make it so much easier for you. No, forget about Birkins in NYC, way too expensive!

  Luc’s heartbroken and writes me:

  Going to Bangkok next week will try for bag there. Stan is not going just his Visa you fuck the sugar daddiess but you dont have fun with them?

  The aptly named Bangkok? Oh my God, poor Stan, this guy was really being taken on some Nantucket sleigh ride. I had no doubt Stan was going to get some crazy Visa bill after Luc “Bangkoked.” As it turned out, Stan’s Visa wasn’t up to single-handedly shouldering the production costs of “Luc Does Thailand”: halfway through his trip, I got a frantic call and I (another sleigh ride victim) had to wire him $300.

  However, unlike Stan, I was in it for the Birkins, not the booty.

  Safely back in Paris (presumable travel itinerary: Charles de Gaulle airport, Bangkok, Charles de Gaulle, free clinic, Luc’s apartment), Luc e-mailed me:

  From: “Luc”

  To: “michael”

  Sweetie-

  Back in paris now. Spoke with Sonja and there two bags this week and Philippe say blue roi croc will be coming very soon (he thinks I am reelly beutiful and you know he loves me still) OH my berthday comes in 2 weeks and I want a towel for the beech at Hermès.

  Kiss

  I bet he did want an Hermès beach towel; those suckers cost about $500. I restrained myself from sarcasm (for once).

  Wildly excited, Luc called a few weeks later while I was still
in my pajamas, making my first cup of Earl Grey. As usual, too cheap to pay for the call, he told me to phone him back immediately.

  “Sweetie, I have exciting news, the bleu roi is ready! See, sweetie, Philippe loves me. I told you—I can get anything from him,” he bragged. I wondered in the year and a half or so I had known Luc, how many times he had said that exact sentence. I largely ignored his preening and concentrated on the important stuff.

  “How much is the bag?” I asked.

  “I am reading the letter, oh, here it says $22,000. You should bank wire the money to Stan right away and I will buy the bag tomorrow with the Visa card. Sweetie, how much money we gonna win with this?” I mentally cringed. Any figure I quoted to Luc I knew he would try to hold me to. (As time passed, Luc had grown greedier about his portion of the “proceeds” on our purse sales—he now demanded 50 percent of the profit of every bag he bought with my money.) But just to get him off the phone, I made an educated guess.

  “Okay, mmm, probably we’ll split about $5,000 profit.” I had two clients who had previously asked about a bleu roi croc, and they had been willing to pay me well for it at the time. But months had passed. For all I knew they could be having three-ways with Mr. Hermès now, swimming naked every night in a pool of bleu roi croc.

  “Sweetie, be sure it’s five thousand.”

  I immediately realized my mistake as those words left his mouth. He would probably get a tattoo of that number on his ass. Shit, what had I done? I quickly said good-bye before I could do any more damage. I wasted no time—I sent out several e-mails, offering this bag to my best clients: Birkin 30cm, porosus crocodile, bleu roi, palladium (silver) hardware. I knew the bleu roi was highly sought after, so I didn’t anticipate any problems.

  The next morning, I awoke to the following:

  From: “Luc”

  To: “michael”

  sweetie-

  I got the bleu roi here now. I need very big faver just this one time sweetie can I keep the hole 5000 for me? I need to have surgery and need more money than the 5000 so if I can keep the hole money we win just this one time pleeze?? Ok, let me know ASAP. Oh do you think we can win more than 5000 that wuld be reely great.

  BIG kiss

  I could not believe this bullshit. Let me get this straight: Luc buys the bag with my money + I sell the bag to my client = Luc gets the whole profit? I’m no math major but that particular equation did not add up for me at all. Who did I look like, Father Christmas? If Luc could buy and sell the bags on his own, obviously he wouldn’t be in business with me. The whole point was that we needed each other. And now he wanted to cut me out of my own business? Huh? And if that wasn’t bad enough, I didn’t even like the guy. Every interaction with him made me cringe. Really, only a fool thinks that a person who uses everyone else isn’t using him.

  So I bit my tongue for what I decided would be the last time. After this, I was done with him. I realized as “harmless” as Luc seemed, he was still too manipulative and greedy for my taste. No amount of crocodile was worth this to me. I decided as a parting gift I would be the bigger person in this whole bleu roi situation. Then I could sever all ties with a clear conscience.

  From: “michael”

  To: “Luc”

  Luc-I hope that your surgery is nothing serious. Of course you can have the entire profit from this bag (just this once) but please keep in mind that I have not sold the bag yet and I cannot absolutely guarantee the profit will be 5000. but I will sell the bag for the most I possibly can. Hopefully today I will have more news and will let you know ASAP.

  mt

  p.s. 22000 bank wired to Stan yesterday for the bleu roi

  I hoped this reply would stave him off for a while and buy me some time, but no such luck.

  From: “Luc”

  To: “michael”

  sweetie

  you PROMUSSED 5000. why is everything differint now? This is not rite when it is my turn to win the hole 5000 then it is changed. Stan also sezs you promussed me 5000 so do NOT change this now. Ok, let me know ASAP.

  Kiss

  Things were rapidly going from bad to worse. I was horrified that I had ever mentioned a monetary figure to this jackass. I quickly scanned through my other e-mails, and guess what? Sarah wanted the bag but would only pay $3K over cost, which meant I would need to kick in two grand to France’s answer to Henry Kissinger to shut him up. Another client e-mailed to say that mine was the third offer she had received for the exact same bag, thanks but no thanks. Great—Hermès had flooded their market and I was left on a sinking ship with an angry gay Soupy Sales as my mutinous first mate.

  I brewed a pot of tea (and briefly thought of hunting down a Valium) before phoning Luc to tell him where things stood. I explained the e-mails I had received as thoroughly as I could. I thought I was fully prepared for anything, but the great negotiator really pulled out all the stops this time.

  “NO, NO, NO, you say in the beginning five thousand and now you try to cheat me,” Luc shrilled.

  “But I don’t control the supply and demand—” I tried to interject through his hysterics, but he rolled right over me like a Farmer over a Grandmother.

  “No, you say five thousand before and Stan agrees, I told him whole thing. If you want to get the bag then come to Paris with my five thousand.”

  With that he slammed down the phone. Shell-shocked, I went to look for the Valium. And the wine. Hell, it was five o’clock somewhere…It took a while before it actually hit me: my bag was being held hostage. Poor little bleu roi, in the fetal position in some corner, duct tape over its clasp, blindfold over its clochette.

  Okay, no more wine. Time to take some action.

  From: “michael”

  To: “Luc”

  Luc, I am deeply disturbed and saddened by our phone conversation of earlier today. It seems you are forgetting the 1500 dollars that I have loaned you and how I wired money to you, no questions asked, whenever you requested. I am always the one who pays for meals, pays for phone calls, pays for bank wire fees, pays for Fedex, and on and on and until now have been happy to do so and have never once asked you for repayment of your debt. you should understand that just because someone offers me (or you) a huge amount of money for a specific bag today, that does not mean that the offer will still be valid a month from now, perhaps not even tomorrow. this is called supply and demand and it’s all a part of doing business. you have suggested to me that your boyfriend Stan is some big time intelligent business man, so why don’t you forward this email to him and ask him what he thinks. I have always been more than generous and open with you and cannot believe the position you are putting me in now.

  please read this twice, take a deep breath and THINK before you answer me.

  cordially,

  mt

  Not surprisingly, Luc did not think:

  From: “Luc”

  To: “michael”

  NO, if I not have my money, 5000, I will never give the bag back. END of story.

  -Luc

  I bitterly noted the absence of a “Kiss.”

  32

  Mr. Sherlock Hermès

  I was fit to be tied (although I never really understood that saying, it described my current emotional state nicely). I mean, an Hermès croc handbag wasn’t exactly the Lindbergh baby, but it was my bread and butter. And I still couldn’t believe Luc had decided to play Bonnie and Clyde with a Birkin. Was there no end to his lack of self-actualization? Did he not realize how stupid and petty this was? And how, well, how lame? I mean, Birkin-napping—can you imagine if Luc went to prison with that on his rap sheet? Not that I was going to call the cops: I couldn’t even imagine trying to explain this to a Parisian policeman. More than anything, I needed to vent, so I sent Sarah an e-mail, telling her the whole drama.
Then I was left alone with my thoughts. I had questions, I needed answers. Jesus, all of a sudden I was thinking like Sam Spade.

  Question #1: Did Luc plan this all out in advance?

  My immediate paranoid reaction was to assume he had, but then I decided that as manipulative as he was, he wasn’t really the planning type. Christ, Luc couldn’t even plan a basic breakfast, never mind a complex crime. Which brought me to:

  Question #1(a): Did “Stan the Man” plan all this for Luc?

  Again, it was hard to quiet my suspicious little soul, but if Stan was sleeping with Luc, how smart could he really be? He couldn’t be the sharpest tool in the shed to put up with Luc always running love trains through the living room. So, no. This whole harebrained scheme was almost certainly an imbecilic impulse of Luc’s.

  Question #2: Did Luc really have the balls to carry out this idiotic scam?

  Unfortunately, the answer was probably yes. I had heard him rant against people who were “mean” or “cheap” enough times to know he was expert in painting himself the victim. And once he had that idea stubbornly planted in his psyche, I became the enemy. He wouldn’t rethink his plan now; to do so would be to admit he was the jerk. Which never was going to happen.

  Question #3: What should I do now?

  Well, this of course was the most important question, and of course the one I didn’t have a ready answer to. My choices were: