Back at the mall with her 86-year-old mother a few weeks later, Jonell casually strolled by Van Gundy's and saw the diamond necklace still in the window. "Mom, I want to show you something," she said. Inside the store, she asked for the necklace once more. "Try it on," she told her mother. The older woman's eyes widened as she clicked the clasp. "It's beautiful," she said. She thought the piece was a classic. Now the price had dropped considerably, to $22,000, and the store was taking bids on any item on display. Jonell reflected on how odd it was that we stand shoulder to shoulder enjoying a museum masterpiece or a great landscape, yet we can't share a personal luxury. And she got an idea. I could wear a fabulous item like this if I bought it with other women, she mused. No one needs a 15-carat diamond necklace all the time. But what about every now and then? I can't spend $22,000, but I can spend $1,000. If I can convince 11 other women to go in with me, I could bid $12,000. The necklace had come down $15,000. Why not another $10,000? At home later, Jonell called friends, colleagues, women in her walking group. Most said no. No money. No time. No interest. But within a few weeks, she'd found a group of seven women to go in with her on the necklace. Close enough, she decided. By the time the Visa bill arrived, she'd have found the others. Tom Van Gundy, 54, won't forget the day in September 2004 that Jonell strode into his store with a group of women, giddy with possibility. "Wow! It looks like a million bucks," said Mary Karrh, a 53-year-old accountant, when she spotted the necklace. Everyone huddled around as she tried it on. Her words surprised even her: "I can see myself wearing this." "We need pictures," Jonell said. One of them grabbed a disposable camera; soon each was posing for a photo wearing the diamonds. They were amazed that they were even thinking of buying such an extravagance, even if only as a time-share. "It's gorgeous," they said. Finally, Jonell handed Tom Van Gundy a slip of paper with the bid from the group. She was nervous; she wanted him to drop his price nearly by half. With her real estate background, she was confident in negotiating, but she also knew a low bid might not succeed. Van Gundy eyed the women's offer: $12,000. He winced. Usually he handled negotiations himself, but on a big-ticket item like this one, he needed clearance. He said to Jonell, "I want to run some numbers," and walked to the back room, where his wife, Priscilla, the store's chief financial officer, sat hunched over the booksJonell reflected on how odd it was that we stand shoulder to shoulder enjoying a museum masterpiece or a great landscape, yet we can't share a personal luxury. And she got an idea. I could wear a fabulous item like this if I bought it with other women, she mused. No one needs a 15-carat diamond necklace all the time. But what about every now and then? I can't spend $22,000, but I can spend $1,000. If I can convince 11 other women to go in with me, I could bid $12,000. The necklace had come down $15,000. Why not another $10,000? At home later, Jonell called friends, colleagues, women in her walking group. Most said no. No money. No time. No interest. But within a few weeks, she'd found a group of seven women to go in with her on the necklace. Close enough, she decided. By the time the Visa bill arrived, she'd have found the others. Tom Van Gundy, 54, won't forget the day in September 2004 that Jonell strode into his store with a group of women, giddy with possibility. "Wow! It looks like a million bucks," said Mary Karrh, a 53-year-old accountant, when she spotted the necklace. Everyone huddled around as she tried it on. Her words surprised even her: "I can see myself wearing this." "We need pictures," Jonell said. One of them grabbed a disposable camera; soon each was posing for a photo wearing the diamonds. They were amazed that they were even thinking of buying such an extravagance, even if only as a time-share. "It's gorgeous," they said. Finally, Jonell handed Tom Van Gundy a slip of paper with the bid from the group. She was nervous; she wanted him to drop his price nearly by half. With her real estate background, she was confident in negotiating, but she also knew a low bid might not succeed. Van Gundy eyed the women's offer: $12,000. He winced. Usually he handled negotiations himself, but on a big-ticket item like this one, he needed clearance. He said to Jonell, "I want to run some numbers," and walked to the back room, where his wife, Priscilla, the store's chief financial officer, sat hunched over the books