Loose Diamonds: …and other things I've lost (and found) along the way

By Amy Ephron

In Loose Diamonds, an engaging collection of essays and observations, Amy Ephron, the acclaimed, award-winning author of the One Sunday Morning and A Cup of Tea, paints a rich, vivid, and comic portrait of modern living from a modern woman’s perspective. Fans of the writings of Amy Sedaris and Joan Didion’s Slouching Toward Bethlehem will enjoy Ephron’s funny, incisive take on the intricate weave of a woman’s world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Sep 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9780062100740

Amy Ephron

Amy Ephron is the bestselling author of the acclaimed novels One Sunday Morning and A Cup of Tea. Her magazine pieces and essays have appeared in Vogue; Saveur; House Beautiful; the National Lampoon; the Los Angeles Times; the Huffington Post; Defamer; her own online magazine, One for the Table; and various other print and online publications. She recently directed a short film, Chloe@3AM, which was featured at the American Cinematheque’s Focus on Female Directors Short Film Showcase in January 2011. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Alan Rader, and any of their five children who happen to drop in.

Book preview

Prologue

I always like the windows of antique jewelry stores that say, etched on the glass in old-fashioned letters:

Estate Jewelry, Antiques, Loose Diamonds

I’ve never bought loose diamonds but the idea of them appeals to me, sparkling stones that I imagine come wrapped in a velvet cloth. I also think Loose Diamonds would be a great name for a racehorse, not that I ever really aspired to own a racehorse but I imagine it would be fun especially if you had a horse that won. (Loose Diamonds is a lean ebony horse that runs as fast as the night.)

Loose Diamonds has also always seemed to me a funny analogy for L.A.—an actress waiting for a part, a young woman who has a dream—as if they’re all looking for a setting, a permanent surrounding, in a town that’s all about impermanence. And yet, there is something unsettling about the notion of all those things running around loose.

I like jewelry with settings, jewelry with history, jewelry that’s right for its time. It always upsets me when I walk into a jewelry store and there are antique settings for rings from which the stones have been removed. I can’t help but wonder where the diamonds have gone.

Loose diamonds are never displayed in the windows of antique jewelry stores, only stones with settings, perfect pieces from different periods of time—a Victorian necklace with pale-blue iridescent opals and fresh pearls; a perfect Deco bracelet, industrial and moderne; diamond Cartier watches from the ’20s (or more recently the ’60s); beautiful hand-strung pearls, their origin beyond question—for sale to anyone who wanders by. Unless you asked, you wouldn’t know that in the back of the shop, quite often, settings have been broken down, the gold melted and sold for scrap, and the loose diamonds waiting for someone to come along who wants to give them a new permanent surrounding.

They say that diamonds cut glass. I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. If you were to use glass as a canvas and diamonds as a tool, it’s always seemed like it would be a dangerous way to make art. (I believe in art for art’s sake but not if there’s personal risk involved.) Diamonds burn at a very high temperature, 6,442˚ Fahrenheit—for comparison’s sake, as we know, paper burns at 451˚ Fahrenheit—so, I’m not sure what kind of explosion would have to occur for a diamond to burn. Since diamonds are entirely made of carbon, they leave no ash, just CO2, as if they’ve vanished into thin air . . .

One

Loose Diamonds

When I was eight, my friend Jenny and I invented a game. We’d both read The Secret Garden. Next door to my house was a ’20s Spanish house edged by a stone wall with an ornate iron gate, hidden from the street. One day, armed with silver spoons that we imagined we would use to dig up weeds and uncover baby crocuses, we unlatched the gate and sneaked into the garden next door.

We weren’t prepared for what we found—it was like something you would find in a villa in Puerto Vallarta (not that either one of us had ever been to Puerto Vallarta). There were ornate hand-painted Mexican tiles set in patterns in the walls and a tiled terrazzo floor (not a silly lawn like we had next door) and a big fountain that was peaceful and magical, which we instantly deemed a wishing fountain. There were perfectly trimmed olive trees and cutouts in the walls with religious statues and concrete friezes, and it exuded the kind of peace and calm you would expect to find in the patio of an Italian church. And we felt like we’d discovered something.

But there was also that little rush we felt when we opened the door of the garden and snuck in. That afternoon in the Caballeros’ garden is the closest I’ve ever come to breaking into a house (if it isn’t empty, that is, and there isn’t a For Sale sign on the lawn).

Two years ago, my husband and I came home and our house was in a strange kind of disorder. All the papers on the desk had been thrown about. There was a black flashlight on one of the white linen couches in the living room. The fireplace poker was lying on the bed. But the house wasn’t trashed exactly and it took us a moment to realize (in fact, my son had been home for two hours and hadn’t noticed) that the computer was absent from the desktop and the doors to the little Chinese bedside cabinets were open and . . . empty and all of the jewelry boxes were gone. And inside them, every single piece of jewelry I had was also gone. Except the few things I’d worn out that night and a pair of aquamarine earrings and matching necklace from Tiffany’s that I’d carelessly left on the counter of the master bathroom sink.

After the police and the police photographer arrived—it was 3 A.M. by now—I suddenly focused on the fact that the computer was gone from my desk. I dropped to my knees and screamed, as if I were praying, in true Hollywood fashion: All I want is my spec screenplay back. This rolled over the LAPD, who have clearly seen every hysterical meltdown known to man, and they just stared at me with glazed eyes.

The police photographer called me the next morning, I didn’t want you to think we were all insensitive, he said. I’m a Buddhist. But I can’t say that around the guys. And I’m praying for you.

His prayers (and mine) were heard apparently. Four days later, when a new computer had been installed, I checked my email and there was a message, the gist of which was:

I think I may have bought a stolen computer; if you are, in fact, Amy Ephron, please let me know if there’s anything you want on it before I wipe the disc clean.

After a somewhat complicated negotiation that involved begging, tears, and some version of a mild threat, or at least the implication that something really terrible would happen (to me, if to nobody else) if I didn’t get my work back, a disc with a copy of my hard drive miraculously appeared in our mailbox.

But there was still the pesky part of the loss of all that jewelry; not the monetary loss, even though I’d never be able to replace it due to the price of gold, the scarcity of antique jewelry now, the precision of each of the pieces. But even if I could replace them, I could never replace the tangible memories that each piece held.

The gold stud earrings my mother had given me when I’d first had my ears pierced, against her wishes. A conciliatory gesture in a way. As she said, "If I was going to do it, I was going to wear gold."

The ’20s marcasite-and-crystal bracelet, a deconstructionist masterpiece, that I wore religiously like a piece of armor in my early 20s, given to me by a comedy writer in New York who’d just been given a year-long contract, because writing could be a legitimate way to earn your keep.

The pearls I never wore (I’m not really a pearl kind of girl), given to me by that guy in New York I was almost engaged to (until he, too, figured out, prompted by his mother, that I wasn’t really a pearl kind of girl).

The thin, 18-carat Cartier bands from my first marriage. Of course, I didn’t wear them anymore, but I liked to know that they were there in a box where they belonged.

The antique emerald and diamond ring my first husband gave me on the occasion of my second daughter Anna’s birth—not showy but (39 hours of labor later) hard-earned and which I’d promised Anna I would give her one day. Apparently not soon enough.

Victorian opal earrings found like a piece of treasure on a Sunday morning at the Toronto jewelry mart on the pier. I never wore them in daytime. They were nighttime earrings. All of it gone.

We weren’t alone. There’d been an epidemic of burglaries in L.A. Everywhere we went, someone said, Oh, that happened to me. Sherry Lansing and Billy Friedkin were suing ADT home security. Even retired judge Diane Wayne and her husband, Ira Reiner, who was the former district attorney of L.A., had been hit . . . Diane says the only thing she misses is one pair of Michael Dawkins earrings that were so comfortable she wore them every day. She says they weren’t particularly valuable. But she can’t replace them because they were silver and gold and he doesn’t make those anymore. I wonder if she misses them only because they were comfortable or if she misses them because she wore them every day, to dinner, to events for her children? She wore them when she was sitting on the bench, and they made her feel as if she was balanced and part of a functioning and protective society.

I, however, was attached to each piece. (And even if I could replace them, I’m not the sort of person who goes out and gets a new cat.) The Elsa Peretti triple diamond bracelet on the delicate gold chain. The Elsa Peretti single diamond bracelet. And when you wore them together, it looked like you were wearing something. The beautiful gold necklace, 20-carat gold, multistrand, so that it looked almost like a delicate rope around my neck, falling just below the collarbone. The emerald-cut diamond and sapphire earrings . . .

I never had big flashy diamond studs that sparkled from a mile away or a rock the size of the Ritz or an emerald cocktail ring, garish but impressive, but who would want them, even if you could? I mean, who came up with the theory that an engagement ring should equal 15% of your fiancé’s annual salary? (I tried to sell that one to my present husband, but it didn’t fly.)

I never aspired to the Taylor-Burton diamond . . . I was always more the school of Mrs. Harriet Annenberg Ames, the original owner of the Taylor-Burton diamond, who wore it as a ring and put it up for auction at Parke-Bernet in New York in 1969 with this statement: "I found myself positively cringing and keeping my gloves on for fear it would have

Reviews for Loose Diamonds

[ethel55_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a very slim novel of essays by one of those very talented Ephon women. The California seventies are well-represented here, from a moment with Squeaky Frome to a mysterious, reclusive homeowner. Amy's voice is easy to follow and while not always light hearted, very intriguing.

[kitkeller · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I got this book a few months ago from the Early Reviewer service. The title didn't grab me so I kept putting off reading it. Finally when I didn't have another book to pick up, I started this one. I was pleasantly surprised. It's a very interesting slice of life from the author's perspective. I especially like the chapter about meeting Lynette Squeaky Fromm. The details are great, and the writing style is very readable and entertaining.

[cdianek · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I like the essays format, and this collection was mostly enjoyable. I had some difficulty getting through some of them, but at their cores, each had a very relatable concept. I especially liked the short piece about her son; as a parent of two of those, one of whom will get married this year, and his younger brother turning 21 and traveling out of the country to kick off his last year in college, I'm feeling very emotional about both of my boys lately, and that essay struck me deeply. The others, like loose diamonds, scattered through the consciousness and shone light in several places (sorry for the hyperbole). Nicely done.

[bookwormteri · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I feel awful, but the whole way through this book, I found it really hard to like this woman. I am not her target audience. I need to shop on Rodeo Drive (or where ever rich people shop), drive expensive cars, and have led a really wealthy life to enjoy her work. Perhaps I would like her if I were Paris Hilton, with a brain.

[revzonian · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I'm not sure why I thought this was a novel, but after reading the first chapter into the second chapter, I had put it aside for a while. I picked it up last week and decided to try it again; I reread it and then realized they're a collection of stories, or what I consider long blog posts. I also got quite confused regarding Sasha, Paul, and Michael. I did enjoy the humor, though. Perhaps placing a timeline somewhere might have put the dating scene in perspective. Also, did the burglary occur during her marriage to Sasha or Paul?

[jlouise77_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Not a fan of this book. While I might like the author and it would be cool to hang out with her and have a drink or two and talk about her life, which sounds like it has been exciting to say the least, the book was rather boring. I can only relate it to if you have ever been seated next to a talker on a long flight and all they do it tell you irrelevant story after story and all you want them to do is be quiet. I hate to say anything negative, and maybe this is the way of short narratives, but I really felt talked at rather than to, the stories had no point and I hate to say it, but I honestly didnt care. Im sorry. :(

[metermaid1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Amy Ephron's voice is sometimes sentimental, sometimes hilarious, and always entertaining in this book. The short stories from her life's experience weave together an interesting story even though there is no concrete narrative. I would recommend this book to anyone who likes to hear a friend tell stories over dinner, as this is what the stories in this book remind me of.

[bizmamma_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Loose Diamonds is a short little book of observations on life by the sister of better-known Nora Ephron. While Ephron's life has been something beyond what most Americans experience, some of her reflections are still relatable. For example, when a friend gives Ephron a piece of her own family jewelry after Ephron loses her own inherited pieces, she muses, "I wear it all the time now, like a piece of armor on my wrist. And I hold on to a time when jewelry was passed down and small trinkets were treasured and garden gates were left unlatched and probably, if we'd tried it (although we never would), the glass door to the patio had been left open, too." Other parts of the book, however, are a little more disturbing: "But it's always a bad sign when the help starts misbehaving." Really? I am not sure if these quips were meant to be funny or not, but it didn't all sit well with me (or many other readers, for that matter). Still, the chapters are short, the pace is quick and easy, and most of Ephron's dry humor is, bluntly, funny.

[labibliophille · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Loose Diamonds is a collection of personal essays by the novelist, journalist, screenwriter Amy Ephron. Some of these essays have been previously published. I had not read any of them, so they were all new to me.As the youngest child of Hollywood screenwriters Henry and Phoebe Ephron, Amy had a privileged childhood. And yet, the private schools and all the opportunities afforded her by her successful parents and siblings have not prevented her from making errors in judgment that profoundly affected her life, and the lives of others.In these essays, Ephron is candid about her failings, but not so much her successes. She downplays the famous family. She drops the names of famous friends. She seems critical of her mother, while her father is barely mentioned. Surely these successful parents had some influence on Ephron's own successful career.These vignettes from Amy Ephron's life span decades, but she doesn't evidence any remarkable personal growth over time. Loose Diamonds is glib and easy to read, and there is little of substance.Thanks once again to LibraryThing Early Reviewers for sending this to me.

[quiltinfun06 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I didn't know anything about Amy Ephron before I read Loose Diamonds. I knew who she was but had never read anything she had written. I certainly can't say that anymore.Amy must feel better now that she has written this book filled with thoughts and words that must have been tumbling about in her head for years. For me the stories she shares are just that shared stories. There is nothing profound about them. At times they definitely are "TMI" and probably need not have been made public. I sure hope that she got permission from those she mentions in her stories. I would not appreciate finding my name in anything like this.I have often wanted to write but always felt I had nothing to say that anyone else would want to read. Amy's writing often feels like ranting to me. Frankly, I think I could do better. After all I have lived and loved and lost ( not diamonds) too. I wonder what her physic self thought about this book. Maybe she shouldn't have "quit being a physic" so soon.

[smallwonder56_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Amy Ephron is, like her sister, Nora, a witty, engaging, deft writer. I enjoyed Loose Diamonds...mostly. The book is funny--Ephron's take on things is a little snarky and and always well written. My one criticism is that, by the end of the book, I was really tired of hearing about expensive shoes, celebrities she's met at parties, her expensive car, and all the amazing places she's been. It's sort of like People Magazine--I like to leaf through it in the doctor's office, but 200 pages of it gets a little tedious.

[dablackwood · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This was and Early Reviewers book and I was very disappointed. It is a sort of memoir - different chapters telling stories from the author's life. The trouble for me was that the stories just weren't very interesting. I kept waiting for one to grab me, but that never happened. Ms. Ephron is a good writer, just not one that captivates my interest.

[grnpickle · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I received this book through Early Reviewers. It was a fun, albeit slightly random read. I enjoyed the author's voice throughout the stories from her history. Not as many laugh out loud moments as I would like but all in all a nice book.

[bjmitch_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book is just what I needed after finishing a long classic novel. It's Amy Ephron's collection of memories of her life. You may know her from her articles in pretigious magazines and her previous books. Ephron has a delightful sense of humor. She reminds me of a former neighbor who could go in her van to pick up a new chair she had ordered, and come home with a story about the experience that would have the neighborhood in hysterics. Ephron once pulled into a parking space in front of her son's school only to have a Mercedes rear end her - twice. The driver was another mother who had been dating (and dumped by) Ephron's ex-husband. Ephron could only assume she was taking it out on her for divorcing him and setting him loose among the women of the world.She also writes very movingly about her mother, a woman who kept up appearances even while falling apart. The day Ephron's first child was born is touching even though it turned into a surreal scene in the ICU with Elizabeth Taylor's daughter-in-law screaming in labor across the aisle. The dog (yes, in the ICU) kept barking, the assistant's mobile phone kept ringing, and the mother-to-be sat up and waved merrily in between contractions. It's hilarious.This short book should cheer up anyone. I read it in one day when we were running errands and I was often in the car waiting for my husband. Lots of fun. I do recommend it.

[vasquirrel · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved Loose Diamonds. It was too short. Or was it? For me, the essays, most only a few pages long, sparkle like loose diamonds. The topics are varied, but, instead of the virtual dump of material that so many collections seem to suffer from, every chapter in Loose Diamonds is a gem. There’s a maturity in each piece that allows this volume to be many things; charming, touching, humorous, ironic, and the list goes on. Found a great online interview also that gives some backstory. At about 160 pages in eighteen chapters, Loose Diamonds is a great weekend read. The only bit that puzzled me was a blurb in the front jacket cover that says, in part, “And through it all is Ephron’s mother, whose perspectives on everything-from shoes to egg cups-pervade this book, and whose alcoholism was a constant challenge, forcing Ephron out on her own at an early age.” While those may be the “facts” of Ephron’s relationship with her mother, I would disagree that these issues “pervade” Loose Diamonds, much to Ephron’s credit. This is not at ALL a “woe-is-me, I survived alcoholic parents” offering, and I hate to think that Harper Collins is grabbing for that over-saturated market with the jacket statement.

[michigantrumpet_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Amy Ephron's wry and knowing collection of essays/vignettes about relationships, writing, family and her rather unusual childhood. I empathized completely with her feelings of loss and sadness losing her -albeit much more expensive- jewelry to a burglar. I nodded in recognition over her childhood ponderings on The Secret Garden, Upstairs/Downstairs and Mary Poppins. I was hooked by the essay starting "I have a theory that single women who buy champagne by the case rarely end well." However, more discomforting were her several essays "settling scores" with some rather easily recognizable people. (I understand that each essay can't resonate equally with everyone. Some might find those essays to be deliciously and wickedly catty.) Overall, though, an enjoyable afternoon of light reading.