"Inventing" The Cuban Chain
"Who's our… interesting… friend here?" Brandon asked, keeping his tone light.
Before the young artisan could respond, the older man waved his hand dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying fly.
"Bah! No need ask dem. I tell you myself," he grunted, his Vietnamese accent thick and unapologetic.
"Call me Minh. Head artisan"
Minh's piercing gaze locked onto Brandon, sizing him up with a mix of skepticism and impatience. The unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth bobbed as he spoke.
"What you want? No waste my time."
Brandon couldn't help but admire the man's directness. There was no pretense, no attempt at flattery or deference. Just raw, unfiltered honesty.
The other artisans watched the exchange with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, clearly accustomed to Minh's abrasive style but unsure how their guest would react.
Brandon studied Minh, intrigued by the artisan's abrasive demeanor. He'd encountered similar personalities in the music industry - brilliant, eccentric, and often difficult to work with. But their talent usually made up for their lack of social graces.
"I've got an idea for a new piece of men's jewelry," Brandon began, but Minh cut him off with a snort.
"Men's jewelry? What are you, a homo?"
Minh scoffed in his Vietnamese accent, the unlit cigarette bobbing between his lips.
Brandon chuckled inwardly, remembering how such language would've been met with instant cancellation in his old world. But here, in this parallel universe, it seemed social progress lagged behind.
Instead of losing his temper, Brandon saw an opportunity. He met Minh's challenging gaze with a calm smile.
"How about a bet, Mr. Minh?" Brandon proposed, his voice steady and confident.
"If you disapprove of my idea when it's finished, I'll give you a month's pay and never show my face here again."
Minh's eyebrows shot up, interest flickering in his eyes.
"And if I approve?"
"Then you personally tend to whatever new ideas I bring in the future," Brandon said, extending his hand.
"Deal?"
Minh eyed Brandon's outstretched hand, a mix of skepticism and curiosity playing across his weathered features.
The other artisans watched with bated breath, clearly unused to seeing their cantankerous leader challenged so directly.
Minh's weathered face twisted into a grimace, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied Brandon. The unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke.
"I know you Ms. Oppenheimer's friend," Minh growled, his Vietnamese accent thick and unapologetic.
"But this my workshop. You want respect, you earn it."
The other artisans held their breath, eyes darting between Brandon and their irascible leader. Brandon felt a surge of admiration for the old man's bluntness. It was refreshing, in a way.
"Fair enough," Brandon nodded, extending his hand once more.
"So, do we have a deal?"
Minh eyed Brandon's outstretched hand for a long moment. Then, with a grunt that might have been approval or resignation, he clasped it in a firm shake.
"Deal," he muttered.
"Now, what this big idea of yours?"
Brandon surveyed the workshop, his mind racing with excitement. He turned to the artisans, who watched him with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
"Alright, let's create something new. I need white gold wire and a steel rod," he announced confidently.
As the artisans scrambled to gather the materials, Brandon silently thanked his photographic memory from his past life.
'Thank God I watched how Cuban links were made on YouTube that one sleepless night'
Minh observed from the corner, his eyes narrowed.
"Cái gì vậy? What this fool doing?" he muttered under his breath.
Brandon heated the gold wire, softening it before carefully coiling it around the steel rod like a compressed spring. The artisans gathered closer, whispering among themselves.
"What's he doing?" one asked in a hushed tone.
Brandon then sat at a workbench, clamping the steel rod securely.
"I need a jeweler's saw," he requested.
With precision, he sawed the coiled white gold straight down the middle, leaving cut-open rings of gold.
'Better leave the rest to the pros,' he thought.
"You," Brandon pointed to a nearby artisan.
"Link these gold rings together by interlocking them, then smolder the sawed-off lines with white gold."
As the artisan worked, Minh's internal monologue continued,
'Oh? Interesting… But let's see if it work.'
After a while, the artisan handed the chain back to Brandon.
He clamped one end to a vise, then grabbed a large pair of tweezers to secure the other end. With careful precision, Brandon twisted the interlinked gold chain until there was no space left between the rings of gold.
He stepped back, satisfied with the Cuban chain taking shape before him.
Brandon turned to Minh, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Do you have a rolling mill?"
Minh nodded, his weathered face still etched with skepticism.
He jerked his chin towards the corner of the workshop.
"Over there."
Brandon strode to the machine, the unfinished Cuban chain dangling from his fingers. He could feel the eyes of every artisan in the room following his movements. The air crackled with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.
With practiced ease, Brandon fed the chain through the rolling mill. The machine whirred to life, flattening and shaping the links. He repeated the process several times, each pass bringing the chain closer to perfection.
As he worked, Brandon stole glances at the artisans. Their expressions morphed from confusion to fascination. Whispers rippled through the workshop, growing louder with each pass of the chain through the mill.
"What is he making?"
"I've never seen anything like it."
"Is this... men's jewelry?"
Brandon suppressed a smile.
In this parallel reality, the concept of men's jewelry seemed revolutionary. He grabbed a file and began smoothing the edges of the chain, adding the finishing touches to his creation.
The Cuban chain took shape before their eyes, its intricate links gleaming under the workshop lights.
It was a simple design, really - just flattened interlocked rings of gold.
But in this world, where jewelry had been the exclusive domain of women, it represented something entirely new.
As is a lot of things in the world, sometimes the simplest of ideas may be the chasm that separates one from a whole new world.
Minh stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the chain. The ever-present unlit cigarette twitched in the corner of his mouth, betraying his interest.
Brandon held up the finished product, letting it catch the light.
The workshop fell silent, all eyes fixed on the glittering chain.