Seal'd Auction

by Charlotte Byrd

  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?

  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 doing 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.

  As soon as she left, we grabbed hands and let out a big yelp.

  “Oh my God! Can you believe this place?” Caroline asks.

  “No, it’s amazing,” I say, running over to the balcony. The blueness of the ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see.

  “Are you going to change for cocktails?” Caroline asks, sitting down at the vanity. “The helicopter did a number on my hair.”

  We both crack up laughing. Neither of us have ever been on a helicopter before – let alone a boat this big.

  I decide against a change of clothes – my Nordstrom leggings and polka dot blouse should do just fine for cocktail hour. But I do slip off my pair of flats and put on a nice pair of pumps, to dress up the outfit a little bit.

  While Caroline changes into her short black dress, I brush the tangles out of my hair and reapply my lipstick.

  “Ready?” Caroline asks.

  5

  When you’re asked to change for the first time…

  Much to our surprise, when we get to the living room at the end of the hallway, there’s no one there. Not a single soul. I make my way through the French doors and onto the deck outside, but there’s no one there either.

  “Are we just supposed to wait here?” Caroline asks. I shrug.

  After a few minutes, Lizbeth reappears with one garment bag swung over her shoulder.

  “Are we in the wrong place?” I ask.

  “I’m terribly sorry. But Mr. Black wants you to wear this.”

  I stare at her for a moment. Before it hits me that she’s talking to me.

  “What?”

  Lizbeth repeats the statement verbatim, without offering a single additional word of explanation.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask. A flash of heat pounces through my body. I turn to Caroline for some backup. But instead of offering her support, she grabs my arm and takes me back to our stateroom.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I demand.

  She looks me up and down and shakes her head. “I don’t know. That’s actually a very nice outfit.”

  I know she’s telling the truth because Caroline would never lie about something as important as fashion. She opens the garment bag. A part of me is still expecting it to contain two outfits. But no, it just has one. A short, sheer, red dress. Strapless.

  “I’m not wearing this.”

  There’s a loud knock on the door.

  “Is everything alright in there?” Lizbeth asks through the door.

  “I’m not wearing this!” I say loud enough for her to hear.

  “Yes, she is,” Caroline says. “We’re fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  I stare at Caroline with a perplexed look on my face.

  “This is a beautiful dress. Numi. Her stuff is basically impossible to get. Really high end.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t care,” I say.

  Caroline takes the dress and presses it to her body. She looks into the mirror with a forlorn look on her face.

  “Seriously, Ellie. This dress is major!”

  “I don’t care. Who the hell is he to tell me what to wear? I mean what kind of manners is that? And who the hell is Mr. Black anyway?”

  “I don’t know. And that’s what I can’t wait to find out. And for us to find out, you have to put on this dress.”

  I shake my head no. She continues to pester me. Minutes tick away and neither of us give in.

  “If you insist on being such a baby, I’m going to go out there by myself,” Caroline finally says.

  “Seriously? Who the hell does he think he is telling me what to wear?”

  We go back and forth for a few more minutes. Eventually, I let up. I don’t want to stay in this room all by myself all evening. And clearly, I can’t go out without putting this on.

  I go into the bathroom for some privacy.

  Caroline has seen me naked on occasion but something about this dress is extra uncomfortable. It’s not like I’m putting on my own clothes.

  I pull off my leggings and blouse. I hold the dress out in front of me and realize that I’m going to have to remove my bra as well. Damn. Slipping the dress over my head, I pray that it fits. My prayers are answered. It does!

  After zipping it on the side, I look in the mirror. It’s short, but incredibly flattering. It hugs me in all the right places, accentuating only my best features.

  “You’re gorgeous!” Caroline’s jaw drops open when I come out of the bathroom.

>   I nod. I hate to admit it, but it is quite pretty.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t give me something like this to wear,” Caroline says as we walk back out into the living room. “That’s it, next time I’m showing up in a brown paper bag so they’ll have no choice.”

  6

  When you meet a brooding stranger…

  This time the living room is filled with people. Really attractive people. Men in their twenties and early thirties are crowding around the bar. Others are sitting in leather chairs and on the couch. Beautiful women walk around with cocktails in their hands as if they own the place. Many are already coupled up – sitting close to each other with their legs pointing toward their partners.

  Caroline heads straight to the bar and orders us two martinis. I’m happy to have a drink to relax me. Liquid courage, so to speak.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot one man sitting all by himself. He’s one of the most attractive guys here. But it’s the serious, brooding look on his face that really makes him stand out. I wonder if maybe one of his friends dragged him here as well. I take two big sips of my martini.

  Following Caroline’s lead, I take a seat at one of the bar stools. She has a way of positioning herself in such a way that she’s half facing the room. This way, she can talk to me and still let any any interested parties out there know that it’s okay to approach. Two guys quickly take the bait.

  No cheesy pickup lines here. Just straight out introductions. Ben is the taller one with honey blonde hair and grey eyes. He’s the one who seems more interested in me. Alex’s deep blue eyes are glued to Caroline.

  Within a few minutes, we find out that they are both finance bros – investment bankers who work on Wall Street. Ben went to Brown and Alex to Dartmouth. They found out about the party pretty much the same way that Caroline did. Someone in a secret society talked who shouldn’t have. I don’t know whether the person was from the Cicada 17 or not.