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useless things. From all that I’d heard, the Gem Show contained the worst of each. But Frank was eager, and I tried to keep an open mind. “You ready?”
    “I am. Let’s do the public stuff first, eh? Then you can decide if you want to try the dealers-only part.”
    “Why would I want to do that?”
    “Less crowded, and maybe better quality bits. I can get you in.”
    “Let’s see if I survive the first round, okay?”
    Frank chivalrously sprang for a couple of visitor passes, and we hovered for a moment near the entrance. I took a deep breath: the noise coming from the huge exhibition hall was daunting—and it got worse once we walked in.
    The bare-bones room was the size of a football field—at least it looked that big to me—and the entire floor was taken up with row upon row of booths with giant banners and bright lights, all shining on boxes and baskets and bins of gems. Rough gems; cut gems, mounted and unmounted; beads, strung and unstrung. Shoehorned in between was the occasional booth selling fittings and findings and supplies. The place was packed with people, most of whom appeared to be conducting family reunions in the middle of the aisles, making it hard to move in any direction. Maybe that was the point: the vendors figured if you had to stand in front of one booth for any length of time, you’d eventually end up buying something. All credit cards accepted. I shut my eyes for a moment to listen to the din. Lots of voices, with a mix of accents. When I opened my eyes again, I noted signs for vendors from all over the world, but particularly Asia—Hong Kong, Shanghai, Burma, Thailand.
    “Wow,” I said, stunned.
    “Too right,” Frank replied, clearly eager to get started. “What do you want to see?”
    “I have no idea. You pick.”
    Frank studied me. “You’re not the pearl type, and there’s no point in looking at the diamonds in this lot—I can show you better in the dealers’ section. And you don’t do beady things. So let’s take a look at the colored gems—plenty of interesting stuff there. And if you want to ask questions, go right ahead.”
    “Yeah, sure,” I muttered. I followed him meekly as he plunged into the throng. It wasn’t easy to keep up with him as he wove his way along. He wasn’t hurrying, but he wasn’t dawdling. He stopped at a double-wide display, where the table was covered with small closed boxes holding cut stones, the boxes arranged by color to form a rainbow spectrum across the table. Even I had to admit it was impressive. And it reminded me of frit, the ground or powdered glass I use to add color to pieces. Maybe there was something I could use here after all. “Okay, Frank, tell me what we’re looking at.”
    Frank launched into an analysis of the stones spread out before us, while the vendor behind the table watched with an amused smile. Finally he said, “Can I show you something? Looking for anything special?”
    Frank looked at me and winked. “What’ve you got in peridot?”
    Peridot? I bent forward for a closer look. So this was the stone that guy Denis had been talking about this morning.
    “You want Afghan, Burmese, local?” the vendor replied.
    “Show us what you’ve got,” Frank countered.
    The man directed us over to a counter area where there was a black velvet pad under a bright light. He collected several small plastic zip bags holding light green stones, then opened them one at a time, spreading the stones out on the velvet. They ranged from rough crystals through cabochon and faceted stones, and the colors varied from a pale yellow green to a more intense grass green. Most of the stones were fairly small, no larger than a half inch. I poked idly among them, listening with half an ear while Frank asked what I supposed were knowledgeable and pointed questions. The dealer replied glibly, but I had no idea whether he was shooting bull or knew his stuff. Frank seemed to be enjoying the process at any rate, and in the end I was