Bidding War

by Julia P. Lynde

I looked at her. "You're a surgeon. Think you can use something crude like a chef's knife without cutting your fingers off?"

  "I think I can manage."

  I slide the vegetables to her along with a cutting board and knife. "These are for the salad, so make them whatever size fits comfortably in your mouth. If you embarrass yourself and take a nick from the knife, I will tell everyone."

  She laughed. "I will strive to avoid embarrassment." She eyed the knife dubiously then held out her hand, palm up. "Scalpel."

  I laughed.

  I attended to other tasks and kept an eye on her. She was slow and deliberate with the knife. I grabbed another knife and cutting board and began cutting up some of the vegetables with her. I didn't say anything.

  "A surgeon with cuts on her fingers does not engender confidence in her patients or colleagues," she said.

  "I imagine not," I said.

  "And thus said surgeon is slow and deliberate."

  "I wasn't criticizing."

  Together we finished the salad, and we tossed everything into my wooden salad bowl. I set it aside, but she reached over and stole some of the cucumbers.

  I fussed with a few things then sat down. "We have a little time," I said.

  "Good." She reached down for her go board.

  "Oh no," I said. "That waits until dessert. I know what sort of wager you want, and I need to focus on dinner."

  "Teaching game," she said. "I want to go over the game we played last weekend with you. Just in the breaks you have."

  "All right," I said. "But I'll be fussing more over dinner, too."

  She set the board up on the island, including my nine black stones. "All right," she said. "We started like this." She played a white stone. "Do you remember your response?"

  "No, but you didn't like it."

  "Not exactly true." She placed a black stone on the board. "This is a very aggressive move, the sort a very strong player might play."

  "So a good move."

  "Aggressive. It's not the same thing. It's a good move if you can pull it off." She played through our sequence. "How did it go for you?"

  "Poorly." She made me explain the results.

  "Good. Exactly. Now let me show you why a very good player could do it." She showed me a completely different sequence. "Someone at my level could play that way against a professional level player, although a professional player might play that better than I just did. Do you see?"

  "I wouldn't have seen that."

  "No." She rearranged the board to how our game had gone, then she played the next corner. "You learned from your first corner, so you played this differently. This went better for you. When I saw you were doing well, I left that corner and played here."

  She went through our first forty or fifty moves, showing me what I did right and what I did wrong. Then she cleaned the board and showed me what I could have done to her opening move, playing at my level.

  Throughout all this, I was also checking on things. The soup and parsnips both went onto the stove. The chicken was looking good. We both ate a little more bread. I slapped her hand when she reached for more of the salad.

  That earned me an interesting look. "Don't do that again," she said very quietly. She didn't sound angry. "It gives me the idea you might like it returned. That probably isn't accurate."

  "So you're not mad."

  "No. Anything you do to me is permission to do to you, that's all."

  "Oh. Right. Sorry." I paused. "My grandmother used to slap our hands when we'd try to steal before dinner. I was channeling her."

  She grinned. "I hope you aren't comparing me in age to your grandmother."

  "Maybe my mother."

  "Oh, you will pay for that comment," she said. "I promise."

  I giggled.

  After that I was stuck at the stove for the duration. Everything came out exactly as I wanted. I pulled the chicken out of the oven.

  "Oh my god," she said when she saw it. "That looks amazing."

  "Thank you," I said. I gave it some time to cool a little while I dished out the soup into two bowls. I slid them to her and asked her to put them on the table. She set the bread and salad over there as well. I then attacked the chicken, quickly cutting it into manageable pieces. I set the legs, wings and thighs on a platter, then deboned the breasts, put a little of the pureed parsnips on each of two plates, added the breasts, then poured the rest of the parsnips over the tops.

  Everything went onto the table, and it was time to sit down.

  "Amazing," she said, taking a deep whiff. "This is amazing, Pamela."

  I smiled under her praise.

  She started with a little of the soup, closing her eyes to the first spoonful and humming in joy. She was equally effusive when she tried the chicken. I beamed at her. I was proud of my cooking, but I hadn't had a new recipient of my efforts for a while. Sam, Bonnie and Suzanne were always receptive guests, but it was heartwarming to hear Gwendolyn make such pleasant noises. After all, she probably ate fabulous meals at expensive restaurants all the time.

  I asked her about that.

  "It's not the same, is it? You made this for me. Not for some nameless customer. You individually fondled every broccoli, and I can only imagine why it's so creamy."

  "Gwendolyn!"

  She put on an innocent expression. "What? Did your mind just go in the gutter?"

  "It was shoved there."

  "Not by me." She grinned at me. "I was wondering what you might taste like."

  I started to blush horribly. "That's curry. Curry. It comes in a jar."

  "Then why are you blushing?"

  I covered my embarrassment by spearing at my salad. She sat across the table and chuckled at me.

  "It really is amazing, Pamela," she said once my blush had faded. She wasn't holding anything phallic at the time and her tone felt sincere. "I'm sorry I teased you."

  "No you aren't," I said. "But I admit, it was an effective tease."

  She smiled. "Do you cook like this all the time?"

  "Not for myself. Sometimes for guests. Sometimes not quite so elaborately. The girls come over a lot, and a lot of the time I just whip something up." I paused. "What I could do in a kitchen like yours though. My house is too small for full sized dinner parties, so there are never more than four of us."

  She smiled then changed the subject, but I frequently caught her eating with her eyes closed. She was one of the most gracious guests I've ever fed.

  "Leave room for dessert," I told her finally, explaining what I had made.

  "Ooh," she said. "That sounds divine."

  "It is. Very decadent. I'm going to need hours at the club. But it's worth it."

  We finished the main meal, and Gwendolyn helped me clean up the table and put leftovers away. I made coffee to go with the dessert and rinsed the dishes, but would wash them after she left.

  "Perhaps we should go curl up on the sofa for a while before dessert?"

  "That would be lovely." We picked up our coffees and carried them with us. She set her coffee down, then crouched down in front of me and began unzipping my boots.

  "Hey."

  "I thought you wanted to get comfortable. I'm helping."

  I hobbled over to the sofa and sat down, and she pulled my boots off, caressing each foot for a moment. Then she took off her own shoes and joined me on the sofa. I curled into her, and she immediately lifted my chin and kissed me.

  It was a long, seductive kiss, and she was in control of it the entire time. My heart began beating, and I realized, all the teasing was about to become reality.

  Was this what I wanted?

  When she broke the kiss, she stared into my eyes, still holding my face so I couldn't look away. My eyes flicked back and forth between hers.

  "That was just a kiss," she said quietly. "Thank you for the lovely meal. It was amazing."

  Then she released me and wriggled into a more comfortable position, leaving an arm around my shoulders and inviting me to give her my hand.


  We sat like that for a few minutes, cuddling and drinking our coffee. My heart slowly calmed down, but I was nervous, more nervous than I had been while cooking.

  "Gwendolyn-"

  "Shhh," she said. "I am digesting."

  "Gwendolyn-"

  "Shhh."

  "I'm scared."

  She sighed.

  "I am on the edge of panic," I said. I was. I didn't know what I was doing, but I had a pretty good idea what she was doing.

  "Pamela," she said quietly. "We are just sitting on the sofa like we have before."

  "I know, but I know what you want next."

  "Dessert."

  "You want me for dessert."

  "I want that lovely chocolate torte you promised me. And a game of go."

  "With a wager?"

  "A fun wager. Playful. You'll like losing."

  I laughed, then sobered. "So you don't want me for dessert?"

  "I don't want anything you don't give me willingly," she said. "As far as I am concerned, you could kick me out this minute and I would feel you had more than given me my money's worth from the auction. I thought the most I would get were three chaste goodnight kisses plus maybe a few stolen ones, for which you would berate me terribly."

  "So you wouldn't be hurt if I sent you away?"

  "Yes, I would, especially if I thought you did it because you were afraid of me." She paused. "If all you want from this moment forward is friendship, then friendship is what we will have. But if you chase me out now, friendship might be difficult. It might be easier after dessert and a game of go."

  I laughed.

  "I have no intention of chasing you out." I paused. "Go slowly, okay?"

  "I am. And playfully. Is that all right?"

  "Playfully is good." I snuggled into her a little. "What is the wager?"

  "You said playfully is good." She paused. "If I win, you will allow me to tie your hands together."

  "No!"

  "If you win, I will do anything you order until it is time for me to leave."

  I thought about it. "Anything?"

  "Anything that remains between the two of us and isn't foolish." She paused. "I won't let you tie me up though. I'm not sure I would respond well."

  "Just tie my hands together. Not to anything else, not taking clothes off, not trying my legs?"

  "Right."

  I thought some more. "If I thought I had a remote chance of winning, I'd say yes."

  "Thirteen stones."

  That shut me up for a moment before I asked. "Seriously?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you letting me win?"

  "Honestly, I don't know," she said. "It depends on how well you took to the lesson I just gave you. I would have beaten you last weekend at thirteen stones, fairly easily. I have absolutely no idea now though." She paused. "I would still win at nine."

  "Are you going to be upset if I win?"

  "No. Will you try to enjoy it if I do?"

  "Yes. All right. Thirteen stones." I sighed. "I really am not very good at this game."

  "You'll get better fast. You're smart, and you understand it better than most beginners. Even if I win today, I'll never give you thirteen stones again and expect to win. We'll have to keep future wagers at nine stones and tame until you start winning a few."

  "This wager isn't tame."

  "It is, in a way. I'm not making you get naked for me. I am only tying your hands. You can still tell me 'no' afterwards."

  I thought about it. "I don't want to go straight from our game to bed. I want more of an evening than that."

  She thought about it for a moment. "Do you have more ways you wanted to show me that you can take care of me?"

  "Yes. I wanted you to see that there is more to a relationship than sex. I wanted to do something simple, like watch a movie. A non-porn movie."

  She laughed.

  "Or play a game without any sexual undercurrents. No wagers."

  She thought about it for a while, then pulled me to another heart-pounding-inducing kiss. When she released me from the kiss, she said, "You've already given me a taste of all that. It's my turn to give you a taste."

  "I still am not sure."

  "I know. So, dessert. Go. Wagers. Then we see. We might end up with a very frivolous evening and end as friends, not lovers."

  "You don't believe that."

  She smiled. "Neither do you."

  I got up from the sofa, and she followed me. We returned to the kitchen, and I began whipping the sweet cream. It took several minutes before it was ready. I took out the torte, added the cream in little puffs around the edges, then cut it. I poured ganache on two desert plates, added a piece of the torte, then drizzled more ganache over the top. Gwendolyn watched the entire process.

  "It's half art."

  "Yes. Presentation matters. Let's play in the other room."

  I took our torte out, then grabbed the coffee carafe. Gwendolyn brought the go set with her. She sat on the sofa and I moved to a chair opposite her, the coffee table between us. I slid her dessert to her and picked mine up, then watched her.

  She looked at me, and I nodded. She took a piece of the chocolate and slide it slowly between her lips, then closed her eyes and moaned.

  My reaction to it wasn't all that different.

  I set my plate down, holding the chocolate in my mouth, and began setting up my stones on the board. I swallowed and looked at her. "I don't know where the last four go."

  She placed them on the board for me, then eyed it. "I've never played against thirteen before." She looked at me. "I may have over-calculated." She paused. "Honey, I play to win."

  "I know."

  "I am going to be mean."

  "It's not mean."

  She smiled.

  She made her first play, then took another bite of her dessert.

  I played conservatively. Everywhere she attacked, I retreated slightly and set up for a position of strength. She acquired territory, but so did I.

  Our desserts were finished just about when the board was starting to take on real shape.

  She frowned at me. "I really wanted to tie your hands tonight," she said.

  "I play to win too."

  She stared at the board, then made a play deep into territory that was firmly mine. It was a suicide play, and I ignored it. I made a minor move in an area that was slightly contested, and play moved there for a couple of moves. Then she placed another stone deep into my territory again. I looked at it and decided she was getting desperate. I made another minor move, worth a point or so.

  At that point, she stared at the board for a long time.

  "More coffee?"

  She didn't look up. "Sure." I poured coffee for her and added cream. She sipped it, still staring at the board.

  She stared at the board for over five minutes.

  "You're not falling asleep, are you?"

  She looked up at me. "Honey, I'm sorry." She added a third stone deep into my territory.

  I stared at it. "You're bluffing."

  I made another minor play, worth a half a point. She took my stone off the board and handed it to me. "No. You have to respond to what I just did."

  "You're committing suicide. Or trying to trick me."

  "I'm giving you a chance," she said, looking at me. "I won't make you take back your move again, if that's what you really want to do."

  I stared at the board. I didn't see any threats. I had a huge area there. No way could she take all those stones. I played the play I wanted.

  She added a fourth stone, and her entire body language changed. I looked at her. "You see something," I told her.

  She didn't respond, but she looked me in the eye.

  "If you're bluffing, then I have won."

  "Yes."

  "Have I lost?"

  She thought before responding. "Please don't ignore my last stone."

  Normally in go, playing into the opponent's territory is just giving your opponent more points. Playing i
nto your own territory is taking points away from yourself. You only do the first when you think you can win whatever you're trying to do, and you only do the second when you think you have to. I stared at the board. Gwendolyn had handed me four prisoners. I could afford to fill a space. I played into my space.

  Gwendolyn didn't even think. She played immediately.

  That was when the trap became obvious. I stared at her in horror. "I don't have two eyes in there."

  "No."

  In go, an eye is an area you have completely surrounded. If you have one eye, your opponent can fill it and capture your stones. If you have two eyes, she has to fill both, but that takes two plays in a row, and she can't do that. So one eye can be killed, two eyes can not.

  I stared at the board. I couldn't see any way to form two eyes with her stones where they were. I looked to see if there was any way I could connect that big group to another group, but it was completely surrounded.

  I looked at Gwendolyn. "I don't see how to make two eyes."

  "Neither do I," she said.

  "Would you have said that if you did see how?"

  "No. I would have stayed quiet. If I didn't want to win as badly as I do, I might tell you to look harder."

  "I can't connect outside."

  "No."

  "They're dead."

  "Yes."

  I sighed and played out the points in the other parts of the board.

  She nodded, and the game wrapped up over the next three or four minutes. When she pulled off all my prisoners, I still had nice territory on the other side of the board, but by the time she filled it in with all the prisoners she had taken, I was left with six points. The game had been close, but the score was deeply lopsided.

  She looked at me. "Are you upset?"

  "No, Gwendolyn."

  "You played exceedingly well. I would have won at nine, but at thirteen, you saw how it was going."

  "Until I screwed up."

  She smiled. "In the future, if you are ahead like this, and your opponent plays into your territory, assume she sees something you don't. Look for it."

  I nodded.

  "Do you know the questions to ask yourself?"

  "Do I have two eyes? Do I have a weak point?"

  She nodded.

  We put the stones away, and she stood up, fetching her shopping bag from where she had left it in the kitchen. I got up to follow her, but she told me to sit. She came back and sat down on the coffee table, facing me, and pulled a coil of rope from her bag. She looked at me.