Anonymous Bidder

by Robin Roseau

  What was interesting was that Vickie hadn't said anything yet. So much for the anonymous bidder.

  Bidding crept its way to one-twenty and stalled. Desmond began talking me up a little and got another ten lousy bucks. It was almost official. I was worth the least here. I wasn't surprised, but I looked over at The Marys and glared.

  Desmond called out, "Going once."

  "Two-hundred," Vickie called out. "Honey," she added. "It's for the anonymous bidder."

  "Damned right it is," Vickie's wife responded.

  Desmond pointed his gavel at Vickie. "New bidder, the mysterious woman on the other end of that iPhone! It is a woman, isn't it, Vickie?"

  "It is, indeed, a woman," Vickie replied.

  "Two arms, two legs, one head?" I asked. "And no boy parts."

  The audience laughed. "No boy parts," Vickie confirmed.

  "I have two hundred," Desmond called. "That's more like it. Do I hear two-twenty-five?" The room was quiet. "Two hundred, going once."

  "Two-twenty-five."

  "Oh, another new bidder," Desmond announced. "I didn't see who it was."

  I suppressed a groan. It was Muriel Hayes, and Muriel was terrible. She was mid-forties, never married, probably never loved. She looked -- and frequently dressed -- like a poor woman from the depression. And she was exactly what I'd meant when I'd bitched to The Marys. Muriel waved her number for Desmond.

  But at least I was out of the range of embarrassing.

  Muriel held in until two-seventy-five, and it looked like I'd go to the mysterious caller. But then someone said, "What the hell. She's kinda cute. Three hundred."

  That women only did a couple of bids, and then it was back to Vickie with the mystery caller. "Going once. Going twice. Sold to the woman from Apple." One date for four hundred dollars.

  I couldn't complain about that part, anyway.

  * * * *

  Vickie caught me while I was talking to The Marys. They were teasing me about my mystery bidder and expressing glee at the thought of all the work they'd give me.

  "Violetta," Vickie said, "Your date will contact you."

  "How will I know it's her?"

  "There's a secret code." She leaned close and whispered into my ear. "Red bananas."

  I laughed. "Seriously?"

  "That's what she said."

  "And you swear she's normal?"

  "I never said that. I vouched for her integrity and your safety."

  "I guess that's what matters."

  "You'll have a nice time," said Marybeth.

  "Maybe she's a teacher," suggested Maryanne. "You know, the whole Apple thing."

  "Oh, funny," I said in the driest voice I could fashion.

  Contact

  Contact came the very next day in the form of a messenger delivering a small box. I was surprised to receive a Sunday delivery, but it felt a little like Christmas as I opened the box.

  Inside, I found a cell phone and charger along with a simple note. "Red Bananas" and a 4-digit numeric code.

  Well, well, well.

  I set the phone aside, but it was about an hour later that it beeped several times. I checked and saw I had a text message sent from "Anonymous Bidder".

  Cute.

  I know this is unusual.

  Well. I thought for a moment and texted back.

  I should call you the Queen of the Understatement.

  Are you upset?

  No. Confused. Why all the cloak and dagger?

  Does it bother you?

  Are you going to answer a question with a question? No, it doesn't bother me, but it confuses me. Why all the cloak and dagger?

  I'm afraid.

  Of what?

  I'm not ready to say. Will you humor me? Maybe it'll be fun.

  I owe you a date regardless of whatever you're hiding. You don't have to do things this way. I won't judge.

  I'm afraid. Please?

  I thought before answering. Well, the answer was obvious. She'd paid a lot of money for a date with me. I thought that was pretty crazy, actually. But we'd do this however she wanted.

  Maybe it'll be fun. What now?

  I promise I won't hurt you.

  I'm not worried about that.

  That wasn't entirely true. I was worried about it, but not by that much. Fear of the unknown and all that. But I wasn't going to let a little apprehension get in the way.

  So if I ask you to do something a little unusual, you're okay with it?

  That's an awfully open question. I don't have a problem with unusual. But I might have a problem with the specifics.

  That's fair. I know you only owe me a simple date, but could we text for a while? Are you busy?

  Just the normal Sunday things, laundry and stuff. We can text. You could call. I'd like to hear your voice.

  Not today. Text?

  Sure. Text. I don't know what questions you'll answer though.

  Does it make you nervous that I want to be in control?

  I thought about that.

  No, not really. It makes me nervous that I don't know what you want. Not nervous because you're a stalker or something, but nervous because I don't know how to respond.

  Do you think you can just relax and have fun?

  I can try. This is weird, but it's a little sexy, too.

  Her reply was long in coming. I didn't know if that's because I said something wrong or because she was doing something else. I carried the phone around and did my thing. Laundry. Dishes. Change the bedding. General cleaning. I made a grocery list.

  I'm glad you think so. Tell me a secret.

  I laughed.

  You first.

  All right, but will you send me a selfie?

  Am I going to get one in response? Somehow I doubt it.

  How about this one?

  And then a minute later a picture of a pair of legs arrived. They were a pretty good pair of legs, but what can you tell from a picture on a tiny cell phone. So I forwarded the image to my regular phone and then from there loaded it on my computer so I could see it full screen.

  They were a decent pair of legs.

  Nice. Incoming. Give me a few minutes though.

  I headed for the bathroom and spruced briefly. Then I changed from grubby shirt into a decent blouse. I didn't actually like selfies. But I moved back to the bathroom and took a picture in the mirror. I made it a close up just from my chest and up. It wasn't art, but it wasn't as bad as a lot of selfies. I sent that then, while waiting to see what she said, switched back into my cleaning the house clothes.

  Thank you. You're very attractive.

  You have low standards.

  Please don't say things like that. I think you're attractive. If I give you a really good secret, will you give me a really good secret?

  I don't know. You know who I am. I don't know who you are.

  I'll never tell anyone. Ever. Promise.

  Give me a really good one and we'll see.

  I guess that's fair. This is the biggest secret I have. I'm a lesbian.

  I laughed. I couldn't help it.

  That doesn't seem like much of a secret if you want a date with me.

  Think about it, Violetta.

  I collected my grocery bags -- I used the renewable ones, and for Christmas every year, my Mom always found a new one to add to my collection. I thought about what she said. Then I almost fell flat to the ground when I realized the implications. I felt stupid as soon as I did.

  You're in the closet.

  I told you I was afraid. That's not all I'm afraid of, but it's some.

  Vickie knows.

  Vickie is my lawyer. Well, she wasn't. She is now. Attorney client privilege and all that.

  Do you want to talk about it?

  A little. Well, yes, a lot, but only a little this way.

  You could call you know. We could talk.

  Not today. Please.

  You know I'd never judge, and I'd never out you.

  I don't want you to worry about
any of this. I promised a good secret. I think this qualifies. But I'm going to come out. I don't want you to worry about this. No pressure. Just a date. And maybe some sexy mystery.

  Why me?

  I think you're sexy. I was at the auction, watching you.

  Have you ever kissed a woman?

  I've gone out of town and let a few pick me up. Your turn for a secret.

  All right. I have to decide. I'm going grocery shopping though, so I might be a little slow. But I'm not ignoring you. But I want to know what to call you.

  Pick a spy name.

  Charlotte, after Charlotte de Sauve.

  Then I am Charlotte, or Lottie for short.

  That arrived as I started my car, so I sat there for a minute, thinking about secrets.

  My secret. My first crush was on a straight girl, the older sister of a good friend. It was utterly stupid. I thought she liked me, but boy, was I wrong. I sort of threw myself at her. She was so grossed out and has actively hated me ever since. It scarred me for years, and it was entirely my fault.

  I sent my next message right away.

  In my car now. I don't text and drive, but it's only a few minutes.

  Wait.

  That arrived instantly, and so I put the car back into park.

  What store do you use?

  Cub. Why?

  You're going to think this is weird.

  This is all weird. What's one more thing?

  Do you mind if I go to the store with you, sort of. You go to your Cub, I'll go to mine?

  Okay, it's a little weird, but sure.

  Text again when we each arrive.

  Sure.

  * * * *

  I spent the drive thinking about this. She was coming out, and while she'd told me not to feel any pressure, I felt a little pressure. But I understood some of the secrecy. It was a little over the top. Okay, it was entirely over the top. But I thought it was sort of sweet at the same time.

  The Cub wasn't that far, only about seven or eight minutes. I parked, grabbed the phone, and sent my next message.

  I'm here. I have a lot to buy, so I might be a little slow.

  Her reply took a few minutes to arrive. I was wandering through the produce section when it did, squeezing lemons or something. There's just something about lemons...

  I'm sorry.

  For what?

  Your secret. I'm sorry. No one should make you feel that way.

  It was a long time ago. She hates me, but it's fine.

  I bet she doesn't hate you. If she thinks about it, I bet she's flattered.

  Oh, no. She hates me. I don't see her often, but she sort of gives me the stink eye when she sees me.

  Maybe it's not the stink eye. Maybe she's wondering what if.

  I laughed out loud, right there in front of the potatoes.

  Yeah. I don't think so.

  What section are you in?

  Produce. My list says Salad Fixings. I'm deciding what I want.

  We texted back and forth about groceries for a while, nothing consequential. But then I almost ran my cart into someone else's. "I'm sorry," I said looking up. "I shouldn't text and drive."

  And I was staring into the eyes of Noelle Chambers. She immediately looked horrified. Without a word, she spun her cart around and hurried in the other direction. I stared after her for a while.

  Finally I took a breath.

  Shit.

  Her response took a while to come.

  Are you all right?

  I just ran into her, almost literally. The girl I told you about. And you're wrong. She's not wondering what if. She was horrified to see me.

  I'm sorry. Are you all right?

  Yeah. It was a long time ago.

  How did she look?

  What do you mean, how did she look?

  Well, did she look sexy? Attractive?

  You're nuts. I don't make a habit of thinking that way about straight girls who hate me.

  But then I thought about it.

  As good as ever. In the brief moments I saw her, she looked as good as ever. She's a beautiful woman. Who hates me, and is probably a homophobe besides.

  She took a few minutes to reply.

  Do you like strawberry shortcake?

  I love strawberry shortcake.

  Cub has a sale on strawberries. We could both get some and have dessert together. Sort of. You know what I mean.

  I laughed.

  Sure.

  Do you make whipped cream? I suppose you use Reddi-Wip

  Reddi-Wip is good for one thing. No way. I use the real stuff. Cool Whip.

  LOL. Cool Whip it is. Go get your strawberries. My store has the little cakes, too, right next to the strawberries.

  I was in the right section, so I grabbed the Cool Whip first then backtracked to the produce section.

  Mine too.

  Ten minutes later I checked out and warned her I was driving home.

  * * * *

  We texted on and off all afternoon. It was weird, but fun. She was grudging with personal details, but we talked about a lot of other things. We'd both bought some of the same things at the store, so we had the same dinner, she in her house, me in mine. Did I mention it was weird? But she seemed cool, too.

  When is our date?

  There was no answer, so I waited a few minutes and sent another message.

  Did I scare you off?

  There were no responses that night. I stayed up for a while, but eventually I plugged both phones in and climbed into bed. Then I rolled over to my nightstand and pulled out Gloria. Gloria was small, but good. We had a nice conversation, but then Gloria got frisky.

  And eventually I cried out while thinking about a dark-haired exotic beauty.

  Date Night

  I'm sorry. My battery died, and I left my charger at work.

  No problem. So, I was wondering. If I look up who owns either of these two numbers, will I recognize the name?

  Probably. Vickie got both these phones for me.

  You're a very careful spy, Charlotte. But there's a hole in your story. If you won me Saturday night, and Vickie got the phones, how was the charger at work?

  Because I planned ahead. Well except for the whole leave the charger at work part.

  What if you hadn't found anyone you liked, or the bidding went too high.

  I budgeted twice what Daphne cost. And it's a month-to-month plan on a couple of cheap phones. It's not very much money.

  Did you bid on Daphne?

  I only bid on you. If I'd wanted Daphne, she'd have gone for twice what she cost. Well, if someone else wanted her, too. You did notice the entire anonymous bidder thing, didn't you?

  Oh, yeah. I did notice, actually. So, got an answer to my question from last night?

  I'm torn. Violetta, it's going to be a weird date.

  What else is new? It's fine, Lottie. I'm looking forward to it.

  I am, too. Are you free Thursday?

  I am.

  Dinner, and then there's an exhibit I'd like us to attend. Upscale. Will you give me some skin to touch?

  I thought before answering.

  All right, but I don't like being mauled.

  No mauling. Gentle touches.

  I like gentle touches. You can do as much of that as you want, but anyone watching is going to know. You aren't going to stay in the closet.

  I know. 6:00 sharp. You'll get another package.

  Oh? What's in it?

  You'll see. I know this is weird. It's going to stay weird. Please be okay with that.

  It will be fun.

  * * * *

  I had dinner Tuesday with The Marys. I told them everything. Maryanne wanted to read the conversations, but I told them, "No. We've shared a few secrets. You wouldn't want me blabbing your secrets."

  "You can tell us your secrets," Marybeth suggested.

  "So, guess who I ran into at the grocery store."

  I told them the story. They both thought it was a hoot. I wasn't sure how I
felt about being a continual source of amusement to them.

  "How is Meryl, anyway?" Maryann asked. "I haven't talked to her in eons."

  "Married with kid," I said. "I don't think anyone has talked to her in eons." I sighed. "I kind of miss her, actually. She doesn't laugh at me remotely as much as the two of you do. I should call her."

  * * * *

  I did indeed call Meryl -- Noelle Chambers' sister -- when I got home from dinner. She sounded harried when she answered. It was funny how harried someone could sound with a simple, "Hello."

  "Hey, Meryl. It's Violetta." When you have a name like mine, you never have to use your last name.

  "Violetta! How are you? I was just thinking about you the other day."

  "Yeah, me too. I had dinner with The Marys, and they asked about you, so I decided to call. Did I get you at a bad time?"

  "No. Ten minutes ago, yes. Now, no. I just popped a beer. I have my feet up, and when my worthless husband finally takes notice, I'm going to get a foot massage."

  "I'm not worthless!" I heard from the background.

  "We'll decide that after my feet get a massage, and not one of those ten second things, either."

  They actually had a good relationship. They dated for years, and Isaac was a good guy. They were the perfect couple, really. If you were into guys and all that, anyway.

  "So, I'm good. How is motherhood?"

  "Tiring," she said. "Very, very tiring. Oh yes, honey. Just like that, you big stud you."

  I chuckled. "Does that work?"

  "My feet are getting rubbed, so it must," she said. "If it starts to sound orgasmic, it's just my feet. I swear. Neither of us has the energy for more than that."

  "Tell Isaac hi. How's Little Isaac?"

  "Violetta says hi," she said. "He says hi back. Little Isaac. Seriously? You don't remember his name, do you?"

  "Sure I do," I said. "But I thought Little Isaac was a cute name." J-something. The kid's name was J-something. It was right on the tip of my tongue. Oh, I hate it when I do this. John. No. Joe. No. Jim. No, no, definitely not Jim.

  "All right," she said. "What's his name?"

  I froze.

  She began laughing. "You seriously don't remember!"

  "I do this thing with names," I said. "It's J-something. Don't tell me. I'll get it. But when I stress out about it, then I just sort of freak, you know?"

  I got a short reprieve, because she began moaning. I thought it was half act, encouragement to her husband, but I found myself squirming. I hadn't heard another woman making those noises for a while. I was due.