Highest Bidder

by Le Carre, Georgia

  “I refuse to believe that,” Mom said, pulling away.

  My mind went to what the women in the bathroom had said and once again, my heart began to ache. I felt my chest constrict with sorrow, so I dropped my head and tried to get myself back together.

  Thankfully, dinner was announced. The waiters came around and I occupied myself with my phone while my mother made conversation with the people at our table. On a whim, I sent a text to Maddie.

  I kissed him.

  But her response did not come. She must be away from her phone. Bored, I picked at my food, the salty duck confit, and the near perfect gratin of potato, the delicious lime soufflé.

  Brent looked quite occupied on his table with all the people around him, desperate to catch his attention and pull him into conversations.

  As I watched him, I wondered just how much of me he recalled. He hadn’t even turned around to search if I was present in the room.

  You shouldn’t care, my mind reminded me, and I nodded in agreement. Maddie’s response came.

  What the hell are you talking about?

  I filled her in on what had happened and all I got was radio silence, even though the message had been clearly read. Eventually, her reply came back.

  Can I call you?

  I replied. Yes, but I won’t speak.

  A few seconds later, I answered her call and was greeted with a long-suffering sigh. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Don’t overreact, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue.

  “Wasn’t it meant to be just one night? You’re both supposed to go your separate ways.”

  “We have,” I muttered.

  “Then why did you go to him again?”

  “I didn’t—” I began.

  My mother had begun to frown at me.

  With a smile at her, I excused myself. Holding the phone to my ear, I spoke as quietly as I could, “I didn’t go to him.”

  “Who initiated it then?”

  Spotting a waiter passing by, I sighed and went after him. “Maddie, you didn’t call me just to scold me, did you? I was hurt about my dad. I overheard some bitches discussing him and he made me feel better. There’s nothing else to it.”

  “Then what about the kiss?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I just wanted to know what it would feel like. He definitely won’t contact me after this, so you can relax?”

  “So why did you even bother telling me then?”

  Her sullenness made me smile. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just bored.”

  Just then, I noticed a man coming up to me, a smile plastered on his face. At first, I ignored him, but I realized our eyes were locked and his smile wasn’t faltering. I had absolutely no idea who he was, so I turned around to check if there was someone behind me.

  There wasn’t.

  “Let me call you back,” I said into the phone.

  Freya

  The man was tall and well built, but his choice of the evening’s attire was quite garish; a blood red velvet blazer and a silk dress shirt, open down to his chest. When he arrived in front of me, he got straight to the point. “May I have this dance?"

  I blinked with astonishment. Men didn’t come up to ask strangers to dance at these kinds of events. Besides, I thought everyone knew I was toxic. I recovered my equilibrium pretty fast. Smiling, I gave him the only answer I could, “No, thank you.”

  Ignoring my refusal, he made to reach for my hand so I quickly pulled away. The last thing I needed was more gossip at my expense.

  “Oh, I do apologize. I’ve just been watching you for a while now, and I’m eager to have a little chat with you. Just one dance?” he pleaded.

  I didn’t want to be rude, especially given that the caliber of the event we were at did not encourage scenes. Regardless, I truly did not want to dance. “I don’t want to dance,” I repeated politely. “However, if there is something I can help you with I’ll be happy to?”

  His grin brightened even further, and although he seemed harmless, it still made me feel slightly paranoid that I was the butt of some joke.

  “Don’t you remember me?” he asked, showing me his palms.

  My eyes narrowed. “No. I’m sorry, should I?”

  “No?” He shook his head. “It’s been a few years but I recognized you instantly. I’m Liam Lucan. We met in the kitchen of my father’s manor house almost a decade ago. I believe you might have even saved me from certain death at my brother’s hands.”

  My eyes widened. He was Brent’s brother! God, I had absolutely no recollection of him. I could remember every detail of Brent’s face from that day, but Liam’s was a complete blur. I felt myself soften just a bit towards him. “I’m sorry, but you must have grown up a lot because I don’t remember you at all.”

  “That's alright,” he said, and held out his hand. “A dance?”

  I looked at the hand and sighed inwardly. I guess one dance won’t hurt. I could do with a friend in this hostile place. I was about to take his hand, when my phone rang. “Excuse me,” I said and pulled it out to glance at the number. There was no ID. Under normal circumstances, I might have ignored it, but not right now. It was the perfect excuse to escape.

  “Hello?" I answered, and at first, there was no response.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  There was a lot of background noise, but when he spoke, I knew exactly who it was.

  “Don't,” Brent’s commanding voice came through, “do it. Stay away from him.”

  I froze, taken aback that first of all he knew or had even bothered to store my number, and secondly, that he knew what was going on. I looked in the direction of his table, but couldn’t get a clear line of vision with all the people moving around. “Why?” I asked into the receiver.

  The next sound that followed was a rude beep. He had hung up.

  I pulled the phone from my ear and turned back to look at his brother. I was going to step away, but a sudden surge of anger filled my heart. I didn’t even want to dance with him, but Brent’s tone pushed me in the opposite way. Based on what I recalled hearing between the two of them that day I had interrupted their savage argument, I had no business stepping in, but I needed to know what exactly Liam wanted to say to me, or perhaps, I just needed to piss Brent Lucan off.

  Putting my phone away, I accepted Liam’s hand, and was pulled onto the dance floor.

  It was mighty uncomfortable being in such close proximity with him, especially since I was now aware of Brent’s disapproval, but I sucked it up, ignored the sick feeling at the pit of my stomach and focused on not stumbling to the quick waltz. He danced expertly, but years of previous training came in handy, and soon I was able to take my overactive mind away from the dance moves to the strange man in front of me. I tried hard to, but I just could not detect any physical resemblance between him and Brent. Where Brent’s nose was high and aristocratic, his was narrowed and almost girlish. His eyes were close set and a bit shifty, and his dirty blond hair was not quite the best complement to his pale skin.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” I asked.

  He smiled at me and raised his hand to spin me around, which I found slightly irritating because I knew he had done that to avoid answering me. Refusing to ask the question again, I went on with the dance, stiffly enveloped inside the circle of his arm.

  He laughed at whatever look was on my face. “You really hate dancing, don’t you?”

  I didn’t bother to correct him that it had more to do with my partner, and overall circumstance, than the activity itself. “Yeah, I’ll be done after this song,” I said.

  “Your wish is my command,” he replied.

  I exhaled like a bull. I’d never disliked someone instantly in my life and worse, I didn’t even know why. Perhaps it was because of Brent. I submitted to the dance and not until it ended did he say another word.

  “Thank you, Freya, for the dance,” he said with a deep bow. “And thank you for saving me from Brent years ago. I’m so sorry
that I couldn’t do the same for you and your family. I truly apologize.”

  The hell?

  “What do you—” I started to ask, but he was already walking away, and I was left in the middle of the dance floor, with a very stupid look on my face.

  Freya

  “Brent didn’t cut in at any point?” Maddie asked a few hours later on the phone.

  “No, he bloody didn’t,” I fumed. “In fact, I didn’t see him again. I think he left.”

  “Wow,” she breathed the words out. “But what could his brother have meant by ‘sorry I couldn’t do the same for you?’ Perhaps it was just a thoughtless comment.”

  “Perhaps,” I replied, “but something keeps bothering me. I know these people, and that dance wasn’t for nothing. Also, when he said that line, all the dazzle from his face disappeared. He acted like we were in a life and death game and he was giving me an important clue.”

  “That gives me the chills. By the way, do you remember what you heard when you walked in on them years ago? What was the argument about?”

  I turned around on my pillow and lowered my voice so my mother wouldn’t hear me from the living room. “Ten years ago and I was eleven, so I could have got the wrong end of the stick, but I think Liam Lucan was accusing Brent of trying to kill his mother.”

  Maddie went very quiet. “Whoa! Brent Lucan a killer? No way. That’s not even funny.”

  “I’m not joking,” I replied.

  “Aren’t they blood related?”

  “No. Brent’s father married Liam’s mother after Brent’s mother died,” I replied. “But that’s a whole other bitter situation. Anyway, Brent had a marble figurine held high over Liam’s head and his neck gripped in his hand. If he had smashed it on him, he would surely have killed him. I got scared and ran in. I threatened Brent that I would expose him if he did it.”

  “That was impressively brave for an eleven-year old child!”

  “Not really. I’d never met his brother, but I knew Brent. I had seen him at a friend’s birthday party where he had been rude to me so I was annoyed with him, but I think I also secretly liked him and I didn’t know what to do with it. I guess in my childish mind, I thought I would have one over him, but as Brent walked out of the room he stopped in front of me and told me I was going to pay for what I’d just done. His face was so black and thunderous I felt my blood freeze over.”

  “My God, Freya! And you still slept with him?”

  “Um … the first time, or the second time?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she yelled into the phone. “The man sounds like a right psycho. Stay away from him! And his brother.”

  “What about the money?” I asked. “Should I give it back?”

  “No. Don’t you dare! I’ll never speak to you again if you do that. You earned that fair and square.” With the sense of drama worthy of a Kardashian, she hung up on me.

  I couldn’t help my amusement. It was short-lived however. As I pulled the covers to my chin, and gazed at the ceiling, I knew something without doubt though.

  Something was very wrong. And I intended to get to the bottom of it.

  Freya

  Auditing in Context, taught by Steve Barron, was one of the few classes I could usually sit through. The overweight, but still bikeresque instructor with silver white hair, cowboy boots, and distressed jeans held in place by a skull belt was usually visually entertaining enough to encourage a full attendance to what might otherwise be an extremely dull course.

  Today was a first for me, as not only was I on time, but I was not in the midst of a constant battle with sleep because of abject exhaustion. I was however, distracted. Very distracted. My financial woes were now a thing of the past, but next in line was my worry about Brent and Liam and how I figured in that mess.

  I was taking notes, but when I looked down at them, I saw they had stopped being legible quite a while ago. I threw my pen down in annoyance and exhaled noisily.

  Stacy, my Jamaican classmate turned to me with amused eyes. “Today’s class is not that bad.”

  Knowing our position by the corner would be an appropriate shield, I rested my cheek on my palm and turned towards her. “Do you think people constantly seek out troubles for themselves? Like when one is solved they move on to creating the next?”

  She laughed softly.

  “You laugh, but I’m dead serious,” I said.

  “Are you talking about yourself? What ‘next trouble’ are you spinning?” she whispered back.

  I shook my head to end the conversation and turned back to my notes. Yeah, my new trouble is called Pining over a man who seems to have difficulty recalling your existence.

  Forty-five minutes later, we were done with the class and we were separated into groups for our next project.

  I found mine forming a small cluster of eight at the back of the auditorium. I was glad to find a familiar face in Abel Norman. We had once worked together on another project last year. He was tall, but so lanky that he always seemed as though he was leaning over, constantly on the verge of being snapped in two.

  “What happened to your hair?” I asked as I walked up to him. “It was neon pink.”

  “Yeah, changed it three weeks ago,” he said, his smile awkward. “Why are you talking to me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve passed by each other multiple times and you’ve looked right through me.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, I definitely did not see you. I would have said hello, otherwise.”

  “We’ve literally been in the others line of vision and you just walked past.”

  “I’m really sorry I did that,” I apologized. “For the past year, I’ve been working two jobs plus classes, so I was more like a zombie than a human being.”

  For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to prolong the beef, but then he shrugged and called a truce with his boyish grin. “We’re heading out to Blue boat for a pint and maybe to discuss the project. Come along.”

  “Where’s Blue boat?”

  “It’s the Pendle residence pub close to the library. You don’t know it?”

  My smile was apologetic. “Maybe it’s because I live off campus.”

  “You’ve been here almost two years now.”

  I smiled. “Stop making me feel like I’ve missed out on everything.”

  “You probably have,” he said. “But not tonight. Wanna go?”

  There were three other girls on our team, all of whom Abel was acquainted with, so I was introduced, and we were all on our way. It was only a fifteen-minute walk then I was seated with a glass of wine before me. The others teased me about being fancy, but I couldn’t stomach beer. Since I could afford wine now, all was well.

  “I heard you're bloody rich,” a man’s voice bellowed.

  My heart seized, and I turned around to see one of the boys from another team had come over. I could also see that he was just a bit tipsy as he tried to pull out a chair several times, but missed the handle. I didn’t want him to sit down, but fear fluttered in my chest at the possibility that someone had spotted me that night at the club and knew what I had received.

  “What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.

  “Your father,” he said with a wet mouth.

  Relief surged through my body as I rose to my feet and took my drink along with me. Unfortunately, in my rush to put distance between the idiot and myself I bumped into another student and spilled my blood red wine on the front of his rusty corduroy jacket. My eyes were agape with horror as l watched the liquid soak into his outfit.

  “I’m so sorry,” I apologized, horrified. “Can I get some napkins please?” I called out to the bartender, but he was too busy. I found some serviettes on a table and brought it to him. He took the serviettes from me and smiled. “It’s alright,” he said, taking his jacket off. “Now I have a reason to force you to have a drink with me.”

  I hesitated.

  “I may or may not have allowed that to purpo
sely happen.”

  I laughed. “You do know you’re not helping your case at all.”

  He laughed too. “What can I say? I’m a moron.”

  “Nah,” I refuted and took a seat. He was a nice guy giving out good vibes and I felt comfortable with him. If Brent was straight whiskey, this guy was a glass of fresh wholesome milk.

  We got to talking about how I chucked all the fun by living off campus and missed out on probably the most exciting time of my life. There was time to make up for it now that I’d met him, he told me with a grin. To avoid his eyes, I looked up to the bar’s muted television and Brent Lucan being reported on television.

  Time stopped.

  I couldn’t hear what the caster was saying, but I didn't need to. It looked like he had once again been spotted with Judi Mirren at some posh restaurant in Pimlico. It was nothing new as their relationship had constantly been the talk of the town over the last two years, and made to continuously blaze since neither of them had ever denied or confirmed any of the relationship rumors that constantly besieged them.

  I’d always been able to ignore it, as it had nothing to do with me, but not now. Technically, it still had absolutely nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t look away. I watched, the taste in my mouth going completely sour as he and the actress exited the restaurant together. He pulled open the door to a black SUV for her and then went over to the driver’s seat to buckle himself in. They zoomed off, but not before the cameras caught Brent’s irritated expression through the windscreen.

  I quickly took my hand away from my glass of wine before I cracked the stem in two. The hurt that twisted my insides numbed me to all else, especially the boy by my side who was carrying on with his monologue without noticing how utterly devastated I felt. Suddenly, the lively chatter of the bar and the excitement of my teammates a short distance away made me feel like I was an outsider who didn’t belong. I drained the glass, excused myself from the boy’s presence and went up to the bar for a refill.

  The joy was completely gone from me as I fought the tears that wanted to well up in my eyes when I faced the truth: I could never have him. Two more glasses later, I headed over to the bathroom. I had no need for the visit except to hover over the delete button against Brent’s number. I wanted to press it. I swear, I did. I tried to rouse all kinds of fury at him. He was rude, arrogant, brutish and cold and … I glared at the number.