The guests at Monday night's gathering in Toronto do not look desperate for cash. They are young, attractive women with new Gucci bags and Cartier Tank Française watches. The talk, about kickboxing classes or getting the kids ready for summer camp, is as breezy as their style.
But as the night progresses, it's punctuated by some decidely unbreezy shouts of glee, as sisters Louise and Sue Alexander tell them that their jewellery scraps are worth enough to buy a new pair of shoes, pay off the income tax - or upgrade to some better bling.
"I can't believe how much money we're making. This is so much fun!" says Marla Kravice, the first guest to receive a cheque - for $560. Next up is Lucy Saltzman, who lets out a "Whoo-hoo-hoo" when told her bounty is $1,100.
Welcome to the new gold rush. At a time when the price of the precious metal is high and the recession has us counting our pennies, entrepreneurs
are travelling from home to office to church, offering instant cash or cheques in exchange for old gold.
Think Antiques Roadshow meets Tupperware party. And like the sex-toy soirées that became popular a few years back, these girl's-nights-in appeal to clients who might be too squeamish to visit a bricks-and-mortar version of the business.
Most of the women in Tova Mannett's dining room, for example, say they would never consider taking their valuables to one of the increasing number of jewellers advertising "cash for gold."
The Alexander sisters launched Gold Party Princess in February, contributing to a growing trend that includes My Gold Party and Fast Cash Gold Parties in the United States. Toronto also boasts Gold Parties 4 U; in London, Ont., women can call London Gold Buyer to book a fête.
"We're giving them a very good price," says Louise, who is in her late 30s and previously worked as an appraiser and designer for a high-end local jeweller. "Yes, we're making something, but it's not a high markup; we're working on volume."
"We have no overhead," Sue adds.
Indeed, it's a convenient arrangement for all. The host invites a group of friends (usually a minimum of six), provides food and refreshments and sits back while the experts assess and weigh the pieces. Most party organizers give the host a 10-per-cent commission from the total payout, plus reimbursement for food and drinks. The organizers earn their take once the gold gets melted into bars at a refinery.
Because gold is hovering just under $900 a troy ounce right now, business is booming. And while the Alexanders decline to disclose their profits from this party, they say their typical payout is between $3,000 and $6,000.
Most pieces offered for sale on Monday are not brand-name bling or family heirlooms, but flimsy chain necklaces and abandoned earrings that have languished in jewellery boxes for years. Some of the pieces are gifts from old beaux; Michelle Idoine, for example, is happy to sell a ring engraved with "Love David" (her husband's name is Adam).
The Alexanders have guests show photo ID and sign an agreement that they are legally able to sell the gold. Their tools range from the professional to the basic; a rubber eraser, for instance, helps remove body oils so Louise can get a better reading on karat value. A magnet reveals whether something is the real deal or simply metal disguised as gold.
The results can be unexpected. Felicia Greenberg is shocked to discover that her grandmother gave her fake gold earrings when she was a young girl.
"This was my first pair of earrings!" she says.
But the mood over all is so upbeat that at least three of the guests are planning to host their own parties.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, local jeweller Russell Oliver has some criticisms of gold parties. He notes that, in a store, there is always the option to bargain. "[Guests] may feel trapped," says Oliver, famous for his "Cash Man" ads on Toronto TV. "They won't want to bargain because they won't want to be seen as greedy."
He may have a point. On Monday night, no one attempts to haggle and only one guest calls her husband to get a second opinion before selling.
There is debate at the party about whether to reveal the extent of the winnings to husbands (Louise says she's had requests to write two cheques after a single sale - one for a joint account and the other for a personal one).
In the end, the group agrees on coming clean. "My husband is going to be so happy he let me out tonight," says Heather Greenberg, who responded earlier with a "ka-ching" when she found out she would get $750.
Honesty is probably a good tactic in tough times. Then again, there's always the "divorce party" the Alexanders are presiding over this weekend. It is their first mixed party, aimed at both men and women who are looking to unload items of unsentimental value.
The sisters themselves sold some gold before starting the business, which they expect will be ready for franchising in the next six weeks.
"Our mother passed away almost 14 years ago, so Louise and I inherited all her jewellery, which included such things as her Medic Alert bracelet," Sue says.
"All these years later, we couldn't bring ourselves to part with it," Louise continues. "But then we decided Mummy would be thrilled if we melted it to help start our business."
Mannett's party happens to coincide with their late mother's birthday; to be sure, there is much to celebrate.
