Notes

The Watch Thief
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The first time I stole a watch was at a party in Beverly Hills. The owner was a plastic surgeon who was known to collect women, cars, wine and watches. The idea to steal one of his watches crossed my mind as he was fanning the smoke from his birthday candles.
I spotted the Breitling on his wrist and thought, That’s a nice one, I wonder what else he has.
The crowd was rich and drunk, which created a special kind of rowdiness. The house was enormous. The hip-hop was loud and there were people in every direction, many scantily clad and talking at high volume.
It was easy to slip up the stairs and find the master bedroom. I entered the walk-in closet and opened a series of drawers filled with silk pocket squares, tie pins and rings before I came across the drawer of watches. There were thirty-two of them lined up liked toy soldiers.
The collection must have been worth hundreds of thousands. I was amazed he kept them in a drawer, where someone could just take one. I draped several of them over my wrist, considering which was my favorite, and narrowed it down to the Rolex Cosmograph Daytona and the Patek Philippe Calatrava. I would not allow myself to take both. That would be wrong.
In the end, I settled on the Patek and dropped it down my cleavage.
The next month, at another Hollywood party, the urge struck me again. My husband was deep in conversation with a young actress who was sure he was going to make her a star and I felt the urge to check out our host’s watch collection. I had heard it was rather impressive. Once again, I walked up the staircase, found the master bedroom and helped myself to a Cartier tank with a black leather strap.
This went on for several months and no one seemed to notice. My collection of stolen watches continued to grow. I began to anticipate the holidays and the endless stream of parties my husband and I would attend.
I imagined the unexpected goodies I might find in the watch collections of our hosts and hostesses. Since no one seemed to notice their watches were missing, I planned to be more bold and take two each time. For the thrill of it.
The Saturday before Christmas, we attended actor Tristan Tanner’s party in the Hollywood Hills. Tristan’s passion for watch collecting was well documented in the media and I was trembling with anticipation when we arrived. I knew from interviews that Tristan was partial to Swiss watches and that his collection was filled with several vintage and limited edition pieces. Even if the most expensive ones were locked away, I suspected that he, like the others, kept several in a drawer in his closet where he could admire them.
When the party was in full swing and the crowd was in the holiday spirit, thanks to the endless flow of Dom Perignon and “party favors” being distributed by a young actor dressed as Santa’s helper, I made my way up the grand staircase and into the master bedroom. I opened several slim drawers filled with various accessories until I found the watch collection.
I felt sweat beading on my upper lip. As I stood looking down at the watches, music and laughter wafting up from downstairs, I knew something was wrong. There was a Timex with a Mickey Mouse bezel, a Swatch with a lime green strap and a worn-out Anne Klein with a cracked crystal.
The overhead lights flipped on and Tristan Tanner stood in the doorway of the closet. I froze like a specimen under a microscope.
“Finding everything you need?” he asked.
“I was just . . . “
“I know what you were doing,” he said. “Looking for a watch to steal. Isn’t that what you do these days?”
I didn’t answer.
He pointed to the drawer. “Like my little collection? Word gets around you know. I was expecting you, although, I’m surprised it’s you. Who would have guessed the Hollywood watch thief is an Academy Award-winning actress?”
I felt a flutter of panic. “Are you going to call the police?”
“No,” he said, “because I understand why you do it.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been collecting watches for over forty years. It used to be about the thrill of the hunt. Auctions in New York, estate sales in Monaco, shops in Geneva. There was no place I wouldn’t go for a watch. He held up his arm and pointed to his wrist. “See this? Laurent Ferrier, limited edition. I spent months trying to get my hands on this beauty. I found it in a tiny boutique in Vienna. Now it’s my most prized possession.” He paused. “It was the thrill of finding it that made it so special. But those days are gone. Now all a person has to do is go on eBay and voila. So yes, I understand why you resorted to stealing. But it has to stop.”
“Are you going to tell my husband?”
“I’d prefer not to, he’s producing my next film.”
I nodded, anxious to make my escape. “I’ll leave then.” I walked toward the door of the closet. Just as I was passing Tristan, he reached out and grabbed my arm.
“Not so fast!” he said. “Drop the Swatch!”
I sighed and handed it to him. “I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s just a Swatch.”
He held it up. “Have some respect. This is Swiss made.”
I began to cry. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Tristan.” I cried harder. “I think I . . . need therapy.”
“Yes, you do,” Tristan said. “Alright, there, there,” he said. He wrapped his boyish arms around me and let me sob against his chest for a good minute.
I pulled away. “Thank you for your kindness,” I said. Then I turned and left the room. As I descended the staircase, I dropped Tristan’s prized Laurent Ferrier down my cleavage and wiped the last of the tears from my cheeks. I didn’t win an Academy Award for nothing.
© 2021 J.J. Shannon

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