Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I’m going as her plus one,” I announce. I make my voice extra perky on purpose. So that it portrays excitement, rather than apprehensiveness, which is actually how I’m feeling over the whole thing.

  “She’s making you go as her plus one,” Tom announces as a matter a fact. He knows me too well.

  “I just don’t get it, Ellie. I mean, why bother? It’s a super yacht filled with filthy rich people. I mean, how fun can that party be?”

  “Jealous much?” I ask.

  “I’m not jealous at all!” He jumps back in his seat. “If that’s what you think…”

  He lets his words trail off and suddenly the conversation takes on a more serious mood.

  “You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to miss your engagement party,” I say quietly. It’s the weekend after I get back.”

  He shakes his head and insists that that’s not what he’s worried about.

  “I just don’t get it Ellie,” he says.

  You don’t get it? You don’t get why I’m going? I’ve had feelings for you for, what, two years now? But the time was never right. At first, I was with my boyfriend and the night of our breakup, you decided to kiss me. You totally caught me off guard. And after that long painful breakup, I wasn’t ready for a relationship. And you, my best friend, you weren’t really a rebound contender. And then, just as I was about to tell you how I felt, you spend the night with Carrie. Beautiful, wealthy, witty Carrie. Carrie Warrenhouse, the current editor of BuzzPost, the online magazine where we both work, and the daughter of Edward Warrenhouse, the owner of BuzzPost. Oh yeah, and on top of all that, you also started seeing her and then asked her to marry you. And now you two are getting married on Valentine’s Day. And I’m really happy for you. Really. Truly. The only problem is that I’m also in love with you. And now, I don’t know what the hell to do with all of this except get away from New York. Even if it’s just for a few days.

  But of course, I can’t say any of these things. Especially the last part.

  “This hasn’t been the best summer,” I say after a few moments. “And I just want to do something fun. Get out of town. Go to a party. Because that’s all this is, a party.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Tom says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since you told me you were going, I started looking into this event. And the rumor is that it’s not what it is.”

  I shake my head, roll my eyes.

  “What? You don’t believe me?” Tom asks incredulously.

  I shake my head.

  “Okay, what? What did you hear?”

  “It’s basically like a Playboy Mansion party on steroids. It’s totally out of control. Like one big orgy.”

  “And you would know what a Playboy Mansion party is like,” I joke.

  “I’m being serious, Ellie. I’m not sure this is a good place for you. I mean, you’re not Caroline.”

  “And what the hell does that mean?” I ask. Now, I’m actually insulted. At first, I was just listening because I thought he was being protective. But now...

  “What you don’t think I’m fun enough? You don’t think I like to have a good time?” I ask.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Tom backtracks. I start to gather my stuff. “What are you doing?”

  “No, you know what,” I stop packing up my stuff. “I’m not leaving. You’re leaving.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I came here to write. I have work to do. I staked out this table and I’m not leaving until I have something written. I thought you wanted to have coffee with me. I thought we were friends. I didn’t realize that you came here to chastise me about my decisions.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” Tom says, without getting out of his chair.

  “You have to leave Tom. I want you to leave.”

  “I just don’t understand what happened to us,” he says getting up, reluctantly. I stare at him as if he has lost his mind.

  “You have no right to tell me what I can or can’t do. You don’t even have the right to tell your fiancée. Unless you don’t want her to stay your fiancée for long.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Ellie. I’m just worried. This super exclusive party on some mega-yacht, that’s not you. That’s not us.”

  “Not us? You’ve got to be kidding,” I shake my head. “You graduated from Princeton, Tom. Your father is an attorney at one of the most prestigious law-firms in Boston. He has argued cases before the Supreme Court. You’re going to marry the heir to the Warrenhouse fortune. I’m so sick and tired of your working class hero attitude, I can’t even tell you. Now, are you going to leave or should I?”

  The disappointment that I saw in Tom’s eyes hurt me to my very soul. But he had hurt me. His engagement came completely out of left field. I had asked him to give me some time after my breakup and after waiting for only two months, he started dating Carrie. And then they moved in together. And then he asked her to marry him.

  And throughout all that, he just sort of pretended that we were still friends. Just like none of this ever happened.

  I open my computer and stare at the half written story before me. Earlier today, before Caroline, before Tom, I had all of these ideas. I just couldn’t wait to get started. But now…I doubted that I could even spell my name right. Staring at a non-moving blinker never fuels the writing juices. I close my computer and look around the place. All around me, people are laughing and talking. Leggings and Uggs are back in season – even though the days are still warm and crispy. It hasn’t rained in close to a week and everyone’s good mood seems to be energized by the bright rays of the afternoon sun.

  Last spring, I was certain that Tom and I would get together over the summer and I would spend the fall falling in love with my best friend. And now? Now, he’s engaged to someone else. Not just someone else – my boss! And we just had a fight over some stupid party that I don’t even really want to go to. He’s right, of course. It’s not my style. My family might have money, but that’s not the world in which I’m comfortable. I’m always standing on the sidelines and it’s not going to be any different at this party. But if I don’t go now, after this, that means that I’m listening to him. And he has no right to tell me what to do. So, I have to go. How did everything get so messed up?

  Chapter 3

  When you go shopping for the party of a lifetime…

  “What the hell are you still doing hanging out with that asshole?” Caroline asks dismissively. We are in Elle’s, a small boutique in Soho, where you can shop by appointment only. I didn’t even know these places existed until Caroline introduced me to the concept.

  Caroline is not a fan of Tom. They never got along, not since he called her an East Side snob at our junior year Christmas party at Yale and she called him a middle class poseur. Neither insult was very creative, but their insults got better over the years as their hatred for each other grew. You know how in the movies, two characters who hate each other in the beginning always end up falling in love by the end? Well, for a while, I actually thought that would happen to them. If not fall in love, at least hook up. But no, they stayed steadfast in their hatred.

  “That guy is such a tool. I mean, who the hell is he to tell you what to do anyway? It’s not like you’re his girlfriend,” Caroline says placing a silver beaded bandage dress to her body and extending her right leg in front. Caroline is definitely a knock out. She’s 5’10’’, 125 pounds with legs that go up to her chin. In fact, from far away, she seems to be all blonde hair and legs and nothing else.

  “I think he was just concerned, given all the stuff that is out there about this party.”

  “Okay, first of all, you have to stop calling it a party.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “It’s not a party. It’s like calling a wedding a party. Is it a party? Yes. But is it bigger than that.”

  “I had no idea that you were so sensitive to language. Fine. What do you want me to call
it?’

  “An experience,” she announces, completely seriously.

  “Are you kidding me? No way. There’s no way I’m going to call it an experience.”

  We browse in silence for a few moments. Some of the dresses and tops and shoes are pretty, some aren’t. I’m the first to admit that I do not have the vocabulary or knowledge to appreciate a place like this. Now, Caroline on the other hand…

  “Oh my God, I’m just in love with all these one of a kind pieces you have here,” she says to the woman upfront who immediately starts to beam with pride.

  “That’s what we’re going for.”

  “These statement bags and the detailing on these booties – agh! To die for, right?” Caroline says and they both turn to me.

  “Yeah, totally,” I agree blindly.

  “And these high-end core pieces, I could just wear this every day!” Caroline pulls up a rather structured cream colored short sleeve shirt with a tassel hem and a boxy fit. I’m not sure what makes that shirt a so-called core piece, but I go with the flow. I’m out of my element and I know it.

  “Okay, so what are we supposed to wear to this experience if we don’t even know what’s going to be going on there.”

  “I’m not exactly sure but definitely not jeans and t-shirts,” Caroline says referring to my staple outfit. “But the invitation also said not to worry. They have all the necessities if we forget something.”

  As I continue to aimlessly browse, my mind starts to wander. And goes back to Tom. I met Tom at the Harvard-Yale game. He was my roommate’s boyfriend’s high school best friend and he came up for the weekend to visit him. We became friends immediately. One smile from him, even on Skype, made all of my worries disappear. He just sort of got me, the way no one really did.

  After graduation, we applied to work a million different online magazines and news outlets, but BuzzPost was the one place that took both of us. We didn’t exactly plan to end up at the same place, but it was a nice coincidence. He even asked if I wanted to be his roommate – but I had already agreed to room with Caroline.

  He ended up in this crappy fourth floor walkup in Hell’s Kitchen – one of the only buildings that they haven’t gentrified yet. So, the rent was still somewhat affordable. Like I said, Tom likes to think of himself as a working class hero even though his upbringing is far from it. Whenever he came over to our place, he always made fun of how expensive the place was, but it was always in good fun. At least, it felt like it at the time. Now? I’m not so sure anymore.

  “Do you think that Tom is really going to get married?” I ask Caroline while we’re changing.

  She swings my curtain open in front of the whole store. I’m topless, but luckily I’m facing away from her and the assistant is buried in her phone.

  “What are you doing?” I shriek and pull the curtain closed.

  “What are you thinking?” she demands.

  I manage to grab a shirt and cover myself before Caroline pulls the curtain open again. She is standing before me in only a bra and a matching pair of panties – completely confident and unapologetic. I think she’s my spirit animal.

  “Who cares about Tom?” Caroline demands.

  “I do,” I say meekly.

  “Well, you shouldn’t. He’s a dick. You are way too good for him. I don’t even understand what you see in him.”

  “He’s my friend,” I say as if that explains everything. Caroline knows how long I’ve been in love with Tom. She knows everything. At times, I wish I hadn’t been so open. But other times, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Even if she isn’t exactly understanding.

  “You can’t just go around pining for him, Ellie. You can do so much better than him. You were with your ex and he just hung around waiting and waiting. Never telling you how he felt. Never making any grand gestures.”

  Caroline is big on gestures. The grander the better. She watches a lot of movies and she demands them of her dates. And the funny thing is that you often get exactly what you ask from the world.

  “I don’t care about that,” I say. “We were in the wrong place for each other. I was with someone and then I wasn’t ready to jump into another relationship right away. And then…he and Carrie got together.”

  “There’s no such thing as not the right time. Life is what you make it, Ellie. You’re in control of your life. And I hate the fact that you’re acting like you’re not the main character in your own movie.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say.

  “All I’m saying is that you deserve someone who tells you how he feels. Someone who isn’t afraid of rejection. Someone who isn’t afraid to put it all out there.”

  “Maybe that’s who you want,” I say.

  “And that’s not who you want?” Caroline says taking a step back away from me. I think about it for a moment.

  “Well, no I wouldn’t say that. It is who I want,” I finally say. “But I had a boyfriend then. And Tom and I were friends. So I couldn’t expect him to—“

  “You couldn’t expect him to put it all out there? Tell you how he feels and take the risk of getting hurt?” Caroline cuts me off.

  I hate to admit it, but that’s exactly what I want. That’s exactly what I wanted from him back then. I didn’t want him to just hang around being my friend, making me question my feelings for him. And if he had done that, if he had told me how he felt about me earlier, before my awful breakup, then I would’ve jumped in. I would’ve broken up with my ex immediately to be with him.

  “So, is that what I should do now? Now that things are sort of reversed?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, now that he’s the one in the relationship. Should I just put it all out there? Tell him how I feel. Leave it all on the table, so to speak.”

  Caroline takes a moment to think about this. I appreciate it because I know how little she thinks of him.

  “Because I don’t know if I can,” I add quietly.

  “Maybe that’s your answer right there,” Caroline finally says. “If you did want him, really want him to be yours, then you wouldn’t be able to not to. You’d have to tell him.”

  I go back into my dressing room and pull the curtain closed. I look at myself in the mirror. The pale girl with green eyes and long dark hair is a coward. She is afraid of life. Afraid to really live. Would this ever change?

  Chapter 4

  When you decide to live your life…

  “Are you ready?” Caroline bursts into my room. “Our cab is downstairs.”

  No, I’m not ready. Not at all. But I’m going. I take one last look in the mirror and grab my suitcase. As the cab driver loads our bags into the trunk, Caroline takes my hand, giddy with excitement. Excited is not how I would describe my state of being. More like reluctant. And terrified. When I get into the cab, my stomach drops and I feel like I’m going to throw up. But then the feeling passes.

  “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” I say.

  “I know, right? I’m so happy you’re doing this with me, Ellie. I mean, really. I don’t know if I could go by myself.”

  After ten minutes of meandering through the convoluted streets of lower Manhattan, the cab drops us off in front of a nondescript office building.

  “Is the party here?” I ask.

  Caroline shakes her head with a little smile on her face. She knows something I don’t know. I can tell by that mischievous look on her face.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  But she doesn’t give in. Instead, she just nudges me inside toward the security guard at the front desk.

  She hands him a card, he nods, and shows us to the elevator.

  “Top floor,” he says.

  When we reach the top floor, the elevator doors swing open on the roof and a strong gust of wind knocks into me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it. The helicopter. The blades are already going. A man approaches us and takes our bags.

  “What are we doi
ng here?” I yell on top of my lungs. But Caroline doesn’t hear me. I follow her inside the helicopter, ducking my head to make sure that I get in all in one piece.

  A few minutes later, we take off. We fly high above Manhattan, maneuvering past the buildings as if we’re birds. I’ve never been in a helicopter before and, a part of me, wishes that I’d had some time to process this beforehand.

  “I didn’t tell you because I thought you would freak,” Caroline says into her headset. She knows me too well. She pulls out her phone and we pose for a few selfies.

  “It’s beautiful up here,” I say looking out the window.

  In the afternoon sun, the Manhattan skyline is breathtaking. The yellowish red glow bounces off the glass buildings and shimmers in the twilight.

  I don’t know where we are going, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t care. I stay in the moment and enjoy it for everything it’s worth.

  Quickly the skyscrapers and the endless parade of bridges disappear and all that remains below us is the glistening of the deep blue sea.

  And then suddenly, somewhere in the distance I see it. The yacht. At first, it appears as barely a speck on the horizon. But as we fly closer, it grows in size. By the time we land, it seems to be the size of its own island.

  A tall, beautiful woman waves to us as we get off the helicopter. She’s holding a plate with glasses of champagne and nods to a man in a tuxedo next to her to take our bags.

  “Wow, that was quite an entrance,” Caroline says to me.

  “Mr. Black knows how to welcome his guests,” the woman says. “My name is Lizbeth and I am here to serve you.”

  Lizbeth shows us around the yacht and to our stateroom.

  “There will be cocktails right outside when you’re ready,” Lizbeth said before leaving us alone.