“No need,” I tell her.
“I’m really sorry, sir.”
“It’s fine.”
I hang up the phone. I’m not really disappointed, just surprised. I thought that the flower delivery company and Sylvia would be familiar with the date by now.
I stroke my beard. Maybe it’s a sign? I’m not a superstitious man, but I know that things can happen out of turn sometimes, and when they do, it’s usually for a reason. Or so my mother used to say.
I might just go to that auction after all.
~
Like before, the auction is set to take place in a warehouse in New Jersey. At least, that’s what it looks like on the outside. On the inside, it has been converted into a kind of arena. In the middle, bathed in spotlights, is a stage where the prizes are put on display. They’re usually brought up from a room below. The audience occupies seats behind walls of one-way glass. The green seats in the front rows are for the potential bidders and the rest are for the spectators.
I unbutton my jacket and take my front row seat. Then I glance at my watch. It’s 8:52. The invitation said the auction would start at nine.
I glance around. A few pairs of eyes glance back, some out of familiar faces. Someone smiles. I just nod. This isn’t like one of those high school clubs I never bothered to join where everyone greets each other in the hall and hangs out at each other’s houses. It’s a club for grown-ups. We socialize, but we don’t make friends. We talk- mostly about business- but we stay out of each other’s hair. We play, but we don’t get carried away.
I turn my attention beyond the glass. I may be here, but I still don’t know if I’m going to bid on a prize. That depends on what I see. I’m not looking for anything in particular, just a spark of something special. Something that calls out to me.
With Nadine, it was her sad smile, that expression on her face that reminded me of a lost little girl. But maybe I shouldn’t go down that route again, not after how that ended. Maybe this time, I’ll try someone different.
The lights go dark. After they come back on, the show starts. The auctioneer, a man in a dark suit and a white mask, makes it known that there are four prizes available for the evening.
Four. Usually, there are more than five, sometimes even ten. Is Fiona struggling to find women? I wonder. Whatever the reason, I can sense the tension in the air. With fewer prizes, the competition has just turned up a notch. This is going to be interesting.
The first woman has long, golden hair flowing past her shoulders. That piques my interest. She seems to be scared, though. I can see her hands shaking as she runs her fingers through her hair. It must be taking all her courage just to stand there.
I’ll pass. The last thing I need is someone who might bolt in one way or another.
The next woman has dark skin and shoulder-length black hair. There’s something exotic about her, but I don’t like the fact that she’s trying too hard to seduce the audience, doing a little dance and showing a bit of skin here and there. She does realize this is an auction, not a bar, doesn’t she?
Apparently, though, the others like her moves. She ends up sold for a whopping three million dollars after a long bidding process.
On to the third. This one is a brunette. Petite. She looks like a good girl. Kind, sweet. Why she’s ended up here is beyond me, but she seems completely at peace with it.
Even though she doesn’t call out to me, I’m a little intrigued. I frown. Do I bid on her, or do I wait for the last one and hope she’s even better? What if she’s not?
I pass. If the last one isn’t good enough, I’ll simply pass on her, too, and wait for the next auction. I’m in no rush, not like the other men in the green seats.
Finally, the last woman comes out. A blonde, her golden hair cut like a boy’s. A pixie cut. Fitting, because even though she stands with a certain grace, I sense nothing soft about her. She holds her chin and shoulders high. Her hands rest on her sides, not on her belly like the first and third prizes or on her hips like the second. She appears confident but not arrogant, well-behaved but not submissive, ready for what awaits but not resigned to it.
Interesting.
Then she turns her head. Somehow, even though I know she can’t see me, our gazes meet through the glass. Her blue eyes gleam- not with a plea or an invitation or an offer but with a challenge, one that makes my blood run hot. I know that look.