Bidder Rivalry

by E. F. Mulder

  Bidder Rivalry

  By E.F. Mulder

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2016 E.F. Mulder

  ISBN 9781634865005

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Thank you to everyone at JMS Books, and a special thanks to David, Tucker, Becca, and M.

  * * * *

  Bidder Rivalry

  By: E.F. Mulder

  Chapter 1: Gideon

  Chapter 2: Rudy

  Chapter 3: Gideon and Rudy

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1: Gideon

  Little Gideon sank into the huge, comfy, brown corduroy recliner as if he’d melted. He was a lanky boy, with black hair that had dried sticking out in every direction from being all wet with sweat because of his fever. He squinted at the artificial spruce right beside his chair. If he closed his eyes just so, the hundreds of glistening multicolored lights looked like laser beams coming right at him. With the 21st Century only ten years off, he wondered if Christmas trees would soon shoot laser beams for real.

  The tree was really pretty, Gideon thought. Dozens of glass ornaments he and his siblings weren’t allowed to touch were nestled in amongst paper birds, toilet paper roll Santas, and Popsicle stick reindeer Gideon had brought home from kindergarten, first, and second grade. This year, his sister, Beth, who was currently trying to bang out “Jingle Bells” on their mother’s piano, had contributed several snowflake chains she’d made her first year in school. The best one she’d cut out was white. Later, she’d done one in green, then red, and finally purple, because that was her favorite color.

  “Beth, sweetie, can you play for us later?”

  Gideon wasn’t sure he liked purple snowflakes. He wasn’t sure his dad liked Beth’s piano playing either, but he kept both of those thoughts to himself.

  Curtis, who’d recently entered preschool, wasn’t much into arts and crafts. The paper candy cane he’d created looked more like a red snake. Maybe that was why their mother had hung it on the side of the tree right next to the chair.

  “Hmm, hmm, hmm. Hmm, hmm, hum…” Gideon’s mom had “Jingle Bells” on the brain, too. She only stopped humming it long enough to speak, as she put her hand upon Gideon’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Daddy, look.” Curtis was running around the living room using a wrapping paper roll as a light saber, while their orange tabby, Cheese Doodle, darted in and out from under the tree skirt to attack his feet.

  “Your cheeks are as red as Santa’s and you’re still a little warm.” Gideon’s mother put her lips where her hand had been. “I think staying home with Gramma is a good idea.” She walked away then, humming once again. It sounded way better than Beth’s playing.

  “Beth! Enough piano! Go put on your socks.”

  Gideon’s Dad definitely thought so, too. Both were pleased when Beth obeyed the order promptly.

  “Daddy, look.” Curtis hopped up on the couch and swung his weapon at the stuffed fabric angel hanging from the ceiling fan. “Gid, come play with me.”

  Curtis called Gideon “Gid” most of the time. He always had, because the other two syllables had been too tough to master when first learning to talk.

  “Your brother doesn’t feel well.” Gideon thought his mother was as beautiful as the Christmas tree. Her dress was red, and her hair was loose, thick waves of gold, like the scalloped garland that hung around the perimeter of the room. Gideon hardly ever saw his mother’s hair down. She worked in a vet’s office and wore it up on top of her head most of the time.

  “Daddy! Look!”

  “I see you, Curtis,” Gideon’s father said, even though he hadn’t taken his eyes off the game on the TV.

  “Curtis Star! Get down off of there. Ted?”

  “Yes?” He glanced sideways barely a moment.

  “Tell your son to get off the couch.”

  “Get down, Gideon.”

  Curtis planted one foot on the cushion and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not Gid!”

  Gideon’s father looked back and forth between his boys, at Curtis who stood right beside him, and then at Gideon in the big chair across the room. “You sure?”

  Two of them smiled.

  “Yes.” Curtis frowned.

  “If you say so.”

  The frown turned to a fit of giggles as Gideon’s father tackled Curtis, like the defensive players on the screen, and started tickling him.

  Gideon’s mom smiled, too. “Hmm, hmm, hmm. Hmm, hmm, hmm…” She paused at the rubber mat beside the front door, then turned and looked back toward the recliner. “Give your father his shoes, Giddy.”

  Now Gideon frowned. Wearing Superman pajamas his grandmother had made for him last Christmas—Gideon liked Superman, Curtis liked batman—he had traded a pair of navy blue corduroy slippers for his father’s lace-up dress shoes.

  “Beth, put on your boots.”

  Beth skipped in from the hallway and headed for the shoe mat. “Hmm, hmm, hmm. Hmm, hmm, hmm…” She was humming now, too. “Jingle Bells” was one of three songs she and her classmates would be performing that afternoon. Beth loved to sing. Curtis was more into toy saws and hammers when not fighting imaginary battles. As for Gideon, he didn’t really know what he liked yet. So far, he mostly enjoyed watching his dad and Curtis work on projects in the basement, or being the audience member when Beth put on a little show out in the yard or in the living room, even if her piano playing sounded the same as when Cheese Doodle walked across the keys.

  “Ted, tell your son to give you those shoes.”

  Gideon’s dad said not a word as Gideon continued to shake his foot, making one of the size eleven black oxfords bounce.

  “Curtis, are you getting ready, or are you playing?”

  Curtis was definitely playing. Once their father had set him loose, he’d started running in circles around the room.

  “Ted, help him put his boots on.”

  The scene was a bit chaotic as the family readied to attend Beth’s very first elementary school holiday pageant.

  “Come. Sit.” Gideon’s dad grabbed for Curtis as he ran by in hot pursuit of some make-believe intergalactic foe.

  Curtis squirmed. “No!” But he didn’t resist very hard.

  “Get his boots, will you, Giddy-Up?”

  “How come you don’t have to wear boots?” Curtis asked their father.

  “Dads don’t wear
boots—or dress shoes if they can help it.” He offered a wink as Gideon walked past.

  “I like these shoes.”

  “I know you do. You wear them more than I do. Grab my sneakers while you’re over there.”

  “Ted! You are not wearing sneakers to a concert.”

  Though the request had come as a conspiratorial whisper, Gideon’s mother had heard it.

  “No one’s going to be looking at my feet, Jennifer. They’ll all be staring at my little beauty, as she stands there and sings like an angel.”

  Beth’s green, red, and gold plaid dress made noise as she twirled, basking in her father’s compliment. Her hair fanned out around her like a golden wreath. It even had a satiny red bow around it, just like the one on the front door, and her shoes were so shiny they reflected the lights from the tree.

  “Beth, take those off.” Gideon’s mother sighed. “I said your boots. You can change into shoes when we get there.”

  It was snowing outside. Not a lot. The grass was still visible even after an hour. As Gideon watched the flakes flutter down in the glow of the porch light, he sort of hoped the concert would be snowed out. If it was postponed until the weekend, he’d be able to go. Two feet or more might even guarantee a white Christmas. Sure, Christmas was still ten days away, but if that much fell, surely it all couldn’t melt before the big day.

  “Do I have to take shoes?” Curtis asked.

  “No. You can just wear your boots.”

  “Why can’t I wear sneakers, like Dad?”

  “Your father isn’t wearing sneakers. Gideon!”

  Gideon turned away from the window, covered in festive, seasonal clingy pieces of plastic in all sorts of holiday shapes and colors. Gideon and his siblings had stuck them all on, though their mother would likely rearrange them later. She hadn’t seemed too pleased when Curtis and Gideon put Rudolph in the nativity with the sheep and the cows.

  “Can we put up the stockings when you get home?” he asked.

  Gideon’s grandmother had made them, too. Everyone got one the year they were born. He didn’t remember getting his—or when Curtis or Beth got theirs, for that matter—but they were really nice. They were going to make one for Cheese Doodle, since this was his first Christmas. Gramma Star promised they would. She was going to show Gideon how.

  “We put up stockings on Christmas Eve, so they’ll be special. Now…Give. Your. Father. His. Shoes.” Gideon still thought his mom looked really pretty, even if she was scowling. He looked at her in awe, and also with defiance, waiting until she disappeared around the corner into the bathroom again before picking up his father’s sneakers from the big gray rubber mat. It held ten pairs of shoes when full, a pair of sneakers and a pair of shoes for everyone in the house. Boots were kept on another mat, one by the back door in the kitchen. They came out with the first snowfall and usually went back in the closet sometime before Easter. Gideon knew his mother had more shoes in the bedroom. Both pairs of hers were still on the mat, yet she had shoes on her feet. Both pairs of Gideon’s were still on the mat, too.

  Gideon’s father mostly wore sneakers, even to work. He was a Shop teacher. Gideon used to think that meant his father taught kids how to buy groceries. Only recently had he discovered it was all about working with wood and tools. That made more sense, since Gideon’s dad did a lot of that at home.

  “Giddy-up…my sneakers?”

  “Oh.” Gideon had been lost in thought again.

  “Thank you.” His dad stood and accepted them with a smile.

  “I wish I could go with you.” Gideon hung his head.

  “I know, buddy.” Gideon got a whiff of aftershave when his father scruffed his hair. “My little doppelganger.” People always told Gideon he looked just like his dad.

  “My DNA had very little to do with this one.” That was what his mother always said, whatever it meant. All Gideon knew was that Curtis and Beth had light hair and hazel eyes, whereas his hair and eyes were both dark, almost black.

  “You still had a fever this morning.”

  “I know, but I’m all better now.” Gideon didn’t quite feel “all better,” but he figured the lie was worth a shot, since he didn’t want to stay home and miss all the fun.

  “We’ll bring you home some Mickey D’s,” his father promised, grabbing for him.

  “Dad!”

  He’d lifted Gideon right out of the shoes. “You’ll have fun with Gramma. You can put the icicles on the tree.” Gideon’s dad walked him toward it. “No one else likes doing that.”

  It was true. Curtis and Beth didn’t have the patience to hang the little silver strands one at a time, like Gideon did.

  “And we’ll get the whole concert on tape.”

  “Alright.” Gideon slumped, still in his father’s arms. “Just Beth’s part would be good, though. Not the whole concert.”

  There was nothing like the sound of his father’s laugh, even right in Gideon’s ear. It was loud—booming—like the big bass drum at the summer parades around the county. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Walking like Frankenstein, with his arms around Gideon’s middle, his dad set him back down in the shoes once they made their way across the room.

  “Gramma’s here!” Curtis ran to the door before she even came in. The snow seemed to be falling heavier now. Gramma Star was covered in white. “Did you bring cookies?” Curtis asked her.

  “Of course, I did.” She brushed the flakes off her shoulders, kissed Curtis on the head, and then approached Gideon. “How you feeling?”

  “Good. What kind of cookies?”

  “Gideon…” His father never scowled. “Say hello to your grandmother first.” Even a scolding came with a grin.

  “Hi, Gramma.”

  “That’s better. What kind of cookies, Mom?”

  “I see where this one gets it from.” She rubbed Gideon’s head, then his father’s, too. “You’re exactly alike. The house looks beautiful, Jennifer.”

  “Thank you.” She flitted by like a butterfly. “How are the roads?”

  “Fine. Totally bare.”

  “We helped with the decorating,” Curtis said. “Me and Gid, mostly. Beth just stood there singing at us.”

  “I did not.”

  When Beth wasn’t looking, Gideon nodded his head. What Curtis said was true. “What kind of cookies?” he asked again.

  “Oatmeal, chocolate chip, with raisins and coconut.”

  “Can I have one?”

  Gideon’s mom swooped in again. “If you eat too many now, they won’t be special for Christmas.” She said that about a lot of things. It was really important to her that things be “special for Christmas.” Cookies, snow, the decorations, new pajamas—if anything was eaten, walked through, put up, or worn too many days ahead, apparently it would ruin the entire holiday. She handed the bowl back to Gramma Star.

  “There will be plenty more,” Gideon’s grandmother said. “All different kinds.”

  Gideon took the Tupperware bowl when she offered it.

  “We’ll all enjoy them together…after the concert.” His mother took it from him again and headed for the kitchen. She was hardly ever still, even when not preparing to go out.

  “Okay.” Gideon didn’t fuss. He knew Gramma Star would give him a cookie or three as soon as everyone else left. He was patient about a lot of things.

  “Are we ready?” His mom asked reentering.

  “I should take a picture,” Gideon’s grandmother said.

  “Yes.” His mother put some of her hair behind each ear. “Everyone together in front of the tree.”

  For the first time all afternoon, the entire family moved as directed.

  “Even me?” Gideon asked.

  His father stopped partway across the room. “Of course, even you.” He reached out. “Stand here right next to me.”

  “I’m wearing pajamas.”

  “Pajamas and dress shoes,” Gideon’s dad said. “You’re the spiffiest looking one in the bunch.”

  “Say
Merry Christmas!” Gideon’s grandmother instructed once everyone was in place.

  “Merry Christmas!”

  * * * *

  The picture didn’t come out perfect.

  Curtis was making a silly face, Beth’s smile was a bit exaggerated, and Gideon would swear his mother was looking at the dress shoes on his feet—his father’s shoes—instead of at the camera.

  “It’s perfect to me,” Gideon said aloud as he dusted the frame that held it some twenty-five years later. In the time that had passed, Beth’s dress was a little less vibrant, her blond hair and their mother’s a little less golden. Curtis’s eyes shone just a bit less mischievous, and the shoes Gideon wore looked more gray than black. “But still…yes…perfect.”

  Gideon remembered watching his family rush to the car as if it was yesterday. Curtis’s face was so animated, Gideon could almost hear him laughing, then and now. Beth’s arms were flailing, her mouth wide open, probably singing at the top of her lungs and conducting the rest of the choir she would no doubt nearly drown out. Gideon had watched the red minivan until he could no longer see it. Then he’d drawn a tiny Christmas tree in the fog his breath had left on the glass.

  “Milk or hot chocolate with your cookie?” Gideon’s grandmother had asked.

  “Mom said…”

  “I know what she said, but those sparkling, charming eyes of yours…who can resist them? Milk or hot chocolate?”

  “Milk.” Gideon had followed right behind his gramma, clomping toward the kitchen in his father’s shoes.

  He touched them in the photograph. “So many holidays have passed since then,” he said. “I can’t wait for everyone to visit this year.”

  ‘Twas two weeks before Christmas, 2016. Gideon was cleaning his tiny apartment in Las Vegas, Nevada, the one he’d moved into just after the new year.

  “Plug your ears, Priscilla.”

  Priscilla was a goldfish.

  “Daddy has to vacuum, and then we can put up the Christmas tree.”

  Gideon turned on the Hoover he’d purchased at a thrift store just down the street. Starting by the front door, he removed each shoe from the rubber mat there, eight in all, cleaned the whole thing with the brush attachment, and then did the tile underneath. Every shoe went back in its precise spot once finished, the smallest ones with the Batman logo on the heel first, then a sparkly pink and silver pair. Gideon’s ratty old sneakers were size eleven, the same as his father had worn two and a half decades earlier. There was always an empty space left beside the next pair, two scuffed brown penny loafers. Gideon hoped he’d finally be able to fill that space this Christmas.