Bidding War

by Julia P. Lynde

  We murmured at each other for a few more minutes, then she said, "I think it's time I untie my legs, and maybe you want to climb into jammies. What time tomorrow?"

  "Is five thirty okay?"

  "Five thirty is perfect. Should I bring anything?"

  "Just yourself."

  "Bottle of wine?"

  I thought about it. "No. If I let you touch me, I don't want to be able to blame alcohol."

  "See you tomorrow." And then we hung up.

  * * *

  Moira's call came just a few minutes later. I was still in bed, three quarters naked. As soon as I answered, I felt myself begin to blush.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked immediately.

  "Yes. Just."

  "Yes?"

  "I'm. Um."

  "Are you alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you naked?"

  "Not entirely."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm just-"

  "Do I need to come over?"

  "No!"

  "Oh dear. Honey?"

  "I got off the phone with Gwendolyn a few minutes ago."

  Moira began laughing. "She talked you into phone sex."

  "Oh god, I'm so embarrassed."

  She continued to laugh.

  "Don't laugh at me! I'm going to hang up!"

  "I'm not laughing at you," she said. "I'm laughing that you're embarrassed, and that she beat me to it. Why do you think I was calling?"

  "Oh god!"

  "Was it good?"

  "Don't ask me that!"

  "Pamela, I've spent all day thinking about how I was going to talk you into this, and I had an entire script worked out. Now it's wasted. At least you can let me live vicariously."

  "I'm sorry," I told her.

  "I'll forgive you if you answer my questions."

  "No! It's too embarrassing."

  "Three questions."

  "No."

  "Yes or no questions. Throw me a bone, Pamela."

  "Fine," I said. "Three yes or no questions."

  "Was it good?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you ever had phone sex before?"

  "No."

  She was silent for a while.

  "Did I lose you?" I asked after looking at the phone and seeing I still had a connection.

  "I'm running through questions, but I can guess the answers to most of them." She paused. "I have a three-way question."

  "You get a yes or no."

  "Was it the best orgasm you've ever had, about as good as the best, or somewhat behind your best?"

  "Oh god, Moira."

  "Tell me," she said quietly.

  "I have a g-spot."

  She began laughing again.

  "Don't laugh at me!"

  "Honey, you didn't know?"

  "No."

  "And now you know how to find it."

  "Yes." I paused. "Aren't you jealous?"

  "Of course. Some. But this whole thing was my idea. I can hardly complain, can I?" It was her turn to pause. "I wasn't at all confident I could talk you into this, so a hand in the bush, so to speak."

  "Oh my god, that was so bad."

  She chuckled.

  "Can we please change the topic?"

  "What are you wearing?"

  "Moira!"

  "Are you naked?"

  "No."

  "But you certainly aren't fully dressed."

  "Moira."

  "I am wearing a black teddy and panties."

  "You are not, you're probably in an ugly sweatshirt and sweat pants."

  "Wager?"

  "No. I'm wearing panties and a skirt."

  "That's it?"

  "Yes."

  "Are the panties wet?"

  "Moira!"

  "Mine are, just thinking about you."

  "Moira!"

  I started to laugh. "I can't believe you caught me, then figured it out, then got me to tell you about it. I'm not supposed to kiss and tell."

  "You didn't kiss. You touched."

  "Moira!"

  "Honey," she said quietly. "Do you really want me to stop teasing you? Honestly?"

  "No," I said in a small voice. "But I'm still blushing."

  "That's flushed, dear. Good sex does that."

  "Oh god."

  "Honey, set the phone down, get naked, put a bathrobe on and fresh panties. I'll wait."

  "Um."

  "No clean panties to put on?"

  "I need to clean up."

  "I'll wait right here."

  "I could call you back."

  "No. Hurry though, or I might think of fresh ways to tease you. Now that you're no longer a phone sex virgin, it might be easier to get you to do it a second time."

  "Moira, please," I said.

  "Please, what?"

  I sighed. "I'll be back in two or three minutes."

  I set the phone down and shed out of my clothes, then ran to the bathroom. I used a wash cloth to clean up a little, then dried myself. After that, I was back in the bedroom pulling out jammies and tossing on my bathrobe. I climbed back into the bed and picked up the phone.

  "Was I gone too long?"

  "Not at all," she said. "What are you wearing?"

  I laughed. "My defenses are up, Moira. Granny jammies and the ugliest bathrobe on the planet."

  "Oh, so much fun to take them off you again," she said.

  "Were you really calling for phone sex?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh god," I said. "I'm not sure which of you is the worst."

  She laughed. "You mean the best." She paused, then said quietly, "Gwendolyn has a reputation in that department. I don't."

  "Would you disappoint me?" I asked her.

  "I'm better than the guys you've been with, by several orders of magnitude."

  I didn't know how to respond to that.

  "Did you put up a fight?"

  "A little. Clearly not enough. Now she probably thinks I'm easy."

  "Probably."

  "Moira!"

  "I'm just being agreeable."

  "Bitch."

  "Don't call me that," she said quietly.

  "Serious?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay. Just not again. I know it was meant in the nicest possible way, but I have bad experience with that word. Don't use the other nasty words around me, either, unless you really, truly mean them."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay."

  I paused. "Just so I understand. When I used that word on Bonnie at the auction-"

  "That's when it's appropriate."

  "All right. I understand now."

  "Good. Thank you." She paused. "Glad you didn't fight too hard?"

  "No."

  "Are you lying?"

  "Yes."

  She laughed.

  "Changing the subject now."

  "Tell me about these jammies you have on."

  "That, I believe, would be the same subject."

  "Are you really telling me that Gwendoyn got to have phone sex with you and I don't?"

  "Yes."

  "We'll see."

  "She paid more. Thus, she got phone sex."

  Moira laughed. "I rather doubt that was what went through your mind while she was telling you what to do."

  It was my turn to laugh. "No, it's not."

  She let me off the hook at that point. I was both relieved and a little disappointed, but I'm not sure I would have cooperated with her if she had kept after me. We talked about our days.

  "I got two new clients today. One buyer, and one seller and buyer."

  "Very nice," I said. "Three potential commissions."

  "Exactly." She paused. "And the buyer might like the seller's house."

  "Hogger time!"

  "Maybe. I have to do my job though and show other properties."

  "Of course."

  "I actually don't like hoggers. I consider it a conflict of interest. I prefer to be able to advocate for my clients,
and when I am representing both sides, I can't fight for either side properly without under-representing the other side. If both the buyer and seller are sufficiently sophisticated, it's okay. But this buyer is a first time buyer. If she likes the house I'm listing, I may refer her to someone else to represent her."

  "Give up half the commission?"

  "I want her represented properly."

  "Is the asking price fair?"

  She paused. "I shouldn't talk about this to you."

  "We never had this conversation. I have no idea what you're talking about." I paused. "We both know the rules. Hmm. Prepare a non-disclose agreement for me, and I'll sign it on Saturday. I want you to be able to talk to me."

  "I wonder if that's legal. Hmm. Anyway, the sellers bumped me several thousand dollars from my recommendation."

  "So no, you don't think it's a fair asking price."

  "I don't think a first time home buyer coming in with minimum down payment is going to get a loan on this house at the asking price. It won't pass an inspection at that price. That is my opinion, and the bank may have a different opinion."

  "You know the banks are always more conservative than the agents, especially lately." I paused. "You shouldn't take the hogger."

  "No. The worst part is, I like the buyer more. I'd rather work with her, but the seller is upgrading significantly, and it would cost me a huge commission on the other side."

  "Hmm. Maybe she won't like it?"

  "It's exactly what she's looking for, and if it were priced properly, it's exactly what she expects to pay."

  "You're screwed."

  "Yep."

  "So show it to her, and when you do, be as honest as you can without talking about the price. Tell her if she decides she is interested, you'll need to get another agent involved so that she can be properly represented. Let her decide."

  "I'd love to sell her this house, but not at this price. Yes, you're exactly right. I'm so glad I talked to you. Are your nipples hard?"

  I laughed. "Nice try." I felt them. "Yes."

  She laughed. "Tease."

  "That word isn't on the naughty list?"

  "Not when it's accurate."

  "How about vagina?"

  "No, that word is okay, too. If you're talking about a particular body part and not referring to an entire person."

  "And slang for that part?"

  "Absolutely not. I hate vajayjay," Moira said.

  "Don't say that to Oprah."

  "Cunt is okay, though," she said.

  "It is not!" I said, shocked.

  "It is, when referring to a misogynist man you don't like."

  I laughed.

  "I did that once. It was another agent, a total bigot in my office. He had been steering buyers away from my listings and had been making calls to my clients, asking them if they were satisfied with the level of service they were getting from such an inexperienced agent."

  "Oh shit."

  "He did that to the wrong client, and she was pissed. She came straight to me and told me about it, then volunteered to run it up the ladder as high as was necessary to get him fired. So then we called two of my other clients, and they'd gotten calls, too. They hadn't told me because they didn't want me to get angry."

  "What happened?"

  "I got all of them to show up for our weekly meetings at the office. All the agents, the boss, the boss's boss, and then I introduced my three clients. Two women and one couple. They took turns repeating the phone call they had received. As soon as the first one began talking, he called her a lying dyke. She was engaged to be married to a very nice man."

  "What a moron."

  "When they were done, I stood back up, thanked them, then turned to him and said, 'You are a fucking cunt.' I turned to the boss. I was about to issue an ultimatum, but he held his hand up. He turned to my clients. 'Would you go to court with those statements?'"

  "'We've written them down,' they said together. 'Signed and notarized'."

  "The boss's boss turned to me and asked, 'Have you lost clients recently who have then become his clients?' I had checked and told him yes, I had lost two that way, but I didn't have proof they didn't switch without prompting."

  "The boss's boss turned to the asshole and said, 'You are fired immediately. We will be referring this to corporate legal. I encourage you to shut your mouth and hire an attorney. You are going to need one. Any current clients will of course remain with the brokerage, as their agreements are with the brokerage, not you, and if you contact any of them and attempt to retain them, you will give us additional fuel when we take you to court. Get the fuck off our property. If you are ever seen on our property again, you will be charged with trespassing'."

  "The boss's boss turned to the boss and said, 'Get that asshole out of here'."

  "As soon as they left, everyone in the room stood up and gave me and my clients a standing ovation."

  "Wow."

  "So, um. He had it coming."

  "Big time." She paused. "It gets worse. I'd represented my cousin. I called her and told her about it. And she said, 'Oh hell. I got a call from some guy at your office. He asked a question like that. I thought it was a service call of some sort, like your boss or something.' So then I called all my clients from the last two years. He had called a bunch of them. I gave all the info to the boss and let him deal with it."

  "What happened?"

  "I was assured he was no longer a licensed real estate agent and blamed me."

  "So he was real big on taking responsibility for his own actions."

  "Yes."

  "Huh. Well, now I know under what circumstances I can use that word."

  She laughed.

  We talked for another hour before Moira caught me yawning.

  "Bedtime for you," she said.

  "Sorry."

  "No, it's late. I'll see you on Saturday."

  "I am looking forward to it."

  "Good night, Pamela."

  "Good night. Moira?"

  "Yes?"

  "I should have held out for you."

  She laughed. "Gwendolyn was probably better than I would have been. I tend to giggle."

  "Good night."

  * * *

  Friday I worked in the morning but left at lunch. I went grocery shopping for fresh groceries. When I got home, I changed into grubby clothes and began a batch of bread. While it was rising, I went through the house, making sure everything was perfect. I set out new candles.

  And changed the bedding.

  I made a flourless chocolate torte for desert. That took time. I would make fresh whipped cream and a strawberry ganache at the last minute.

  The main course was going to be a rosemary herb encrusted chicken. I timed the bread so it came out and the chicken went in. If I had a double oven, I would have cooked the bread to finish just moments before Gwendolyn arrived, but I didn't, so I made do.

  I had both a soup and a salad course planned. The salad was easy, and I could work on that after Gwendolyn arrived, but the soup took time. I was making my favorite, curried broccoli soup, which involves peeling the broccoli stalks. It always took me forever. I prepared that then set it in the refrigerator. I'd finish it on the stove later.

  Then I prepared for pureed parsnips. Yum! They would go great with the chicken.

  At four fifteen I checked my plans. Everything was on task, and I had a window with nothing to do, so I popped into the shower. I washed, shaved my legs, and washed my hair with my favorite, albeit most expensive, shampoo. I dried, fluffed, primped, dried some more, primped some more, and got dressed.

  I wore my little black dress, nylons, and my favorite black boots. I adorned with shoulder duster earrings and a matching necklace. I looked hot, if I may say so myself. Plus I could wear the boots while cooking where I wouldn't have willingly worn heels at the stove.

  I roamed through the house, checking on things. I wasn't sure what she wanted to do after dinner. Okay, I knew exactly what she wanted to do, but we weren't
going to get to that right away, and I might still chicken out. I had some Netflix movies, so I set those out. I set out cards and a couple of games. We had options for a sweet evening in.

  I was working on the salad when the doorbell rang. I peeled off the apron before answering the door.

  "You look fabulous!" Gwendolyn said as soon as she saw me.

  "So do you," I replied. She was dressed in bright, eye-catching red, with black hose and heels. She looked stunning. She was carrying a cloth shopping bag, and I saw the corner of her go board sticking out of it. "You brought it."

  "I did," she said. She stepped in and as soon as the door was closed, she had me pressed against it and was ravishing my mouth, her hand on my breast.

  I let her and moaned into the kiss.

  When finally she released me, I was breathless. I fluttered my eyes open and looked at her. "Rule one. You may not seduce me before dessert. After that, no promises, but I want you to enjoy dinner. I went through a lot of work, and if you are focused on getting me into bed, you won't pay attention to what I cooked for you."

  She smiled. "Agreed. Once dessert is on the table, however..." She let the threat linger. I laughed.

  "No promises, Gwendolyn. That kiss was hot, but fifty-fifty I'm going to panic if it starts to feel too real."

  "I can live dangerously," she said with a smile.

  I took her hand and pulled her to the kitchen. "It smells absolutely amazing," she said. "Did you really cook everything?"

  "From scratch, even the bread and the dessert."

  I gestured, and she took a seat on a stool at the small center island I use for prep space. While describing the meal, I took out a plate, ground some black pepper into it, then poured olive oil over it. I set it on the island near her, then grabbed the loaf from the counter and cut several hunks off, setting them on a second plate. I tore a hunk from one of the slices, dabbed it through the olive oil, then offered it to her. She took it straight from my fingers and began moaning in pleasure.

  At the sounds, I immediately felt my juices begin to flow. Oh dear. But I surely did love cooking for someone who was outwardly appreciative.

  "That's amazing!" she said. "There's an herb in it?"

  "Rosemary." I got my fresh rosemary out, stripped some into my mortar, then ground it with the pestle and held it under her nose. She immediately went into orgasmic bliss.

  "That's rosemary?" she asked. "I've always wanted to do someone named Rosemary."

  I laughed. "My favorite herb. It's in the chicken, too."

  She took more of the bread. "Is there more to do?"