by Xavier Neal
“Sold for six grand!
“Fucking luck,” Brock grumbles.
Her voice remains low. “You know I don’t believe in luck.”
I join the conversation, “I don’t, either. I don’t believe The Cosmos would ever be that lazy.”
My proclamation pulls her lips into a wide smirk seconds before she tips her glass at me.
Does she like approve of my philosophy? What do you mean that’s technically not a philosophy? It totally is! Look up the definition.
Right as Rae calls the second bachelor onto the stage, a lankier man with slightly shaggy brown hair who resembles a young Ryan Reynolds, Brock states, “No more than five.”
“Thirteen,” French counters between sips. “And some change.”
“Wrong.”
“And when I’m right?”
He tries to not let me catch the grin, but I do. “I’ll fix the chair.”
“You don’t fix shit, Brock. You break it. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
This time his smile can’t be denied. “Fine. I’ll buy you one robe to wear.”
“That you can’t later donate.”
He grumps, “Fine.”
The unusual conversation has my wheels turning as I listen to Rae collect bids. Unlike his predecessor he starts at a high amount and steadily climbs upward. When he passes the five mark, a low, vicious growl escapes Brock. To no surprise, the sound is repeated when the winning amount is exactly what his fiancée predicted.
In awe, I whisper to her, “How the hell do you keep doing that?”
She simply winks.
He wasn’t kidding about the private person thing. I know like nothing about this woman other than she’s gorgeous, rich, intuitive, and expects the world to do what she says with no questions. Perhaps she’s a mob boss? No, no, not the wife of one. Look at her. She’s clearly in charge.
Bachelor three takes the stage, and I impatiently wait for the couple to continue their quirky game.
“He’ll go home with a blonde,” French declares.
“Brunette.”
“Do you two love to argue with each other?”
They hit me with simultaneous smirks.
Less frightening now. More like two wild jaguars in love.
Rae auctions off the dark skinned gentleman about the same speed she did the previous one. He ends up pulling the highest amount so far and like French expected, sold to a very intoxicated blonde woman sitting at a table near the front.
After two more men pass, both with bids around twenty thousand, Raphael takes the stage. I immediately sit up and cat call alongside the rest of the women in the audience. The shift at the table is instantly felt, yet instead of looking at the couple, I quietly mumble, “That’s my best friend’s brother. Basically, the whole reason I’m here. You know, show him a little support. Make him feel good for Rae’s sake.”
Brock’s grunt implies it’s an acceptable excuse, but I’m fairly certain the hair on the back of my neck is standing up because of French’s glare.
Raphael strikes a pose with his hands shoved confidently in his pockets. The bidding starts rather low, but swiftly soars. I do my best to follow Rae’s bouncing finger, anxious to see who will be the lucky lady.
He’s a great guy. Little more high maintenance than most men with his shampoo collection that causes quite a few bisexual questions, but overall, he’s a catch. Not my type of catch though. Aside from the fact I don’t really want to date my best friend’s older brother, a guy I’ve known since I was in high school, we just don’t mesh well. He’s power ties and tickets to the opera. I’m thrift store shirts and Sun God festivals. That whole opposites attract thing may work for some people, but not me. Or at least I don’t believe it’s me. The Universe is still keeping my so called ‘Prince’ a mystery….
Once Raphael exits with a winning bid of thirty thousand, Rae quickly rolls through the next bachelor who is a baseball star. His is the quickest and highest, with no competition when a woman eagerly volunteers fifty thousand.
“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself.
“Gotta beat that,” French insists.
“Yeah or Chance will undoubtedly whine like a bitch.”
My head rapidly shakes again. “Look, I-”
One hard glare from French shuts my mouth again.
Okay….Maybe I should just do it? It’ll be in good spirits. It’s for a good cause. We don’t have to actually go out if he doesn’t want to….You know, since I’m not actually paying for him. I’m sure his boss could make up some excuse why I flaked out, and the money would still get donated. I can do this. I should do this. It’s for charity!
Finally, Rae brings Chance to the spotlight. At the first glimpse of him, my heart skips a beat similar to the way it did earlier when I saw his reflection in the mirror.
Going up to him wasn’t ever really my intent. I wanted to see him just a bit closer, and then it was as if my mouth had a mind of its own….Don’t even get me started on the way my spiritual wolf was howling and huffing. Are you giggling at the animal that guides my soul or the fact that nothing about my gentleness screams wolf?
I drink in the dark suit that brings out his bright blue stare and the way his fit figure is being framed.
Sure, he’s slightly smaller than his two best friends I met, but he’s still got an incredible body. Definitely the best body that’s been on the stage. Yeah, the baseball player had a solid build, but it was bulkier. Too many steroids not enough strawberry cheesecake. Chance looks like the perfect balance of healthy and fit. Could you imagine how hot he’d look in one of my classes?
The amount of excitement he’s radiating has my hand effortlessly flying upward.
Rae’s eyes twitch in disapproval, but she counts it anyway.
I watch the paddles around the room pop into the air, each time waiting to bid again until there’s a small lull in hopes that there will be no further competition. However, each attempt to execute this plan is proceeded by another paddler promptly flashing hers, causing the entire round to start over again.
About the time Chance’s bid reaches the fifty thousand dollar mark, it’s just me and one other woman battling it out.
French growls, “Do. Not. Lose.”
Bravely, I lift my paddle high in the air and announce, “Seventy five.”
The woman scoffs and comes slightly into view.
Oh shit….
Before my sister can get a decent view of my face, I glance away, and squeeze my eyes shut.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brock asks, though it’s hard to gage if he’s concerned or annoyed.
“That’s my sister.”
French seems unaffected. “And?”
“She-”
“One hundred!” Daniella shouts.
Out of my twin sisters, I am not at all shocked it’s Daniella I am up against. She has always had a competitive nature to her, like a Japanese Golden Eagle determined to have the best territory or first chomp of prey. This is normally something I have no problem with because I don’t feel the need to fight for most things. I don’t have the drive to have a specific territory when an unclaimed area a bit down the path would do just as well. But this is different. Or at least it feels different in the pit of my stomach.
French gives me a nod of encouragement to continue.
I lift my paddle and call out, “One twenty five.”
“One twenty seven!”
“One thirty.”
“One thirty five!”
“Fuck this,” Brock grouses. “Take it to two hundred, so we can fucking have dessert already.”
My bottom lip briefly disappears between my teeth. I squeeze my eyes shut again, dart my hand into the air, and definitively state, “Two hundred.”
There’s a small gasp around the room followed by a high pitched huff, my sister’s signature squawk of defeat.
“Do I have anything higher than two hundred?” Rae cautiously asks. When there’s no resp
onse, she gleefully announces, “Sold for two hundred thousand!”
“Oh my stars. Oh my stars,” I panic to myself. “Oh my stars….”
“Relax. French spends more than that getting her plane cleaned.”
The words snap my eyes open and over to the man beside me. “What?!”
He merely shrugs while she nods that his statement is true.
Only becoming more baffled by the passing moments, I frantically shove the paddle back her direction, and dig out my vibrating cell phone.
Birdie: Locked myself on the roof
There’s no hesitation in my text back.
Me: On my way.
I let out a defeated breath. “I have to go.”
“What?!” The two of them quietly chomp in unison.
Okay, that’s the most terrifying thing I think I’ve ever experienced.
“Birdie, the old lady who lives in the apartment across from me and who is basically one of my best friends, as ridiculous or pathetic as that sounds, locked herself on the roof again-”
“Again?” Brock grumbles. “What the fuck?”
“She likes to feed the birds on the rooftop after she feeds the pair of lovebirds she keeps in her apartment, but sometimes she forgets to wedge the rock in the door and-” I cut myself off and surrender my hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter. I have to go.”
“You can’t call the building manager or anyone else?” French bites.
“Sadly, no.” Scrambling onto my feet, I express my gratitude, “Thanks for letting me bid. It was fun, albeit stressful towards the end, but all around pretty exciting. Sorry I won’t get to actually go out with him.”
“Oh, you will,” she swiftly reassures. “Expect him to make contact in the next day or two.”
Confusion cocks my head. “He doesn’t have my number.”
Her smile becomes overly confident. “He will.”
I begin to argue when my phone vibrates in my purse for the second time.
Quickly, I check it, secretly hoping Birdie found a way back down without me.
Birdie: There’s apple pie in the oven. Help yourself!
“For Goddess’ sake,” my voice mumbles as I hastily abandon the table.
This is the story of my life. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always put what I want second so someone else could always get what they need first. Most of the time, it seems like the right thing to do. Can’t leave an old woman trapped up on the roof. Can’t tell my easily jealous sister the last guy she dated tried to sleep with me at Thanksgiving. Can’t ask my mom for too much financial help, or she’d be in jeopardy of losing the house she shared with my dad, a man she’s still mourning for a decade later. I really like to believe The Powers That Be give as much as it seems they take, but it’s moments like this one, moments where I am so close to something and then abruptly get torn away, that makes me wonder if there’s any higher powers at work at all, or if maybe they just don’t deem me worthy of the time to care about.
3
Chance
The weather is beautiful, ain’t it? Bright sunshine yet not too hot, which is nice considering the time of year. It’s neither windy nor humid. It’s like everything is balanced. I love that. That is always the goal in my life. When it comes to what I sit behind the wheel of, it’s no different. My white Tesla is easier on the environment, but not necessarily my wallet. The fact it’s white requires me to have to get it washed frequently, and before you go on a kick how that wastes water, I prefer to think about the jobs I help some people keep with my frequent business. Truth is, I can’t save the world, and I’m not exactly trying. I don’t necessarily believe that the world needs saving because that implies The Cosmos has no clue what it is doing. I prefer to find ways that I can look at a situation for the better or doing something to make it better. Sucker for overflowing cups of joy rather than just wastefully dumping them out.
After giving the inside of my car a final look, I shut the door and tip fifty bucks to each of the men who had been detailing it. They graciously nod and jog off to work on the next vehicle in que. I lock the doors, tuck my keys in my pocket, and stroll towards the main building with wallet in hand.
The chiming sound of the door grabs the young, blonde woman’s attention. Her brown eyes excitedly widen at the sight of me.
Can you blame her? I look damn good in my basketball gear. Wait ‘til you see me naked, my natural state.
“Afternoon, beautiful,” I greet as I approach the counter.
“Afternoon….”
My eyes steal a glimpse of her name tag. “Here to check out, Kimberly.”
“To check out or check me out,” she brazenly flirts.
A crooked grin grows on my face. “Let’s do both.”
There’s a soft whimper proceeded by her giving me a slow, dramatic twirl.
I admire her tiny figure tucked into a pair of skin tight blue jean shorts and her fitted white company t-shirt that flirts with flashing her belly button. Casually, leaning both of my arms onto the counter, I say, “I see it’s more than just your face that looks good.”
She mimics the action I took. “You can see more later if you want. I get off in two hours.”
My smile becomes almost sympathetic. “Can’t. Have a charity date.”
A charity date I know practically nothing about, might I add. Other than the jaw dropping amount she donated to spend some time with me, she’s a complete mystery. The stage lights were too bright to see her, and when the auction was over she had already disappeared because of an emergency. Queen managed to get her number, but it came with very specific instructions. I was only allowed to text her once with the time, place, and attire to wear for our date. No more. She seems like she might be a bit eccentric, but middle aged, neglected, rich housewives usually are. Trust me. I’d know. It’s one of the things that keeps The Castle in business and my bank account screaming much like I want this blonde to be.
“After?”
“Have to get to work.”
“Take my number?” She eagerly offers.
I slide my debit card out of my wallet and hand it over. “Write it down for me. I left my phone in the car.”
Kimberly stares down at my black card and states, “Chance Hannigan.”
“The one and only.”
She giggles, runs the card, and hands it back. Once the receipt is printed out, I sign the official copy while she jots down her number on the back of the other. “Use it…pretty much whenever.”
“Will do.” I tuck my wallet out of sight but keep the number in my grip. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Kimberly.”
“Enjoy yours, Chance.”
What? There’s nothing wrong with flirting or getting a girl’s number. I already told you I’m not the guy who stays tied to one chick. And even if I was there would have to be a woman to be tied down to.
Right as I exit the building, a woman who is busy texting accidentally bumps into me. The collision results in her purse falling, and the contents tumbling out.
In a squeaky voice, she apologizes, “I’m so so sorry.”
We bend down to collect the items together.
“Julie was just telling me how she caught Jimmy cheating again and asked could she stay with me for the night, and it’s like maybe a hotel would be better? I mean, I love my little sister, like every big sister should, but it’s like come on. He’s a bartender at a dive bar who sleeps in their backroom. What did you expect?”
I hit her with a sweet smile at the same time I hand her the last item. “You should tell her to take that as a sign from The Universe it’s time for her to find better because she deserves better.”
The brunette’s thin lips part, and she lets out a soft sigh. “She does, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
She swoons once more, this time rising to her feet. “Sorry again about not watching where I was going and for dumping my problems out on you.”
As soon as I’m back on my feet, I shrug it off. “
Accidents happen. Don’t let it ruin your day.”
She gives me a polite smile and nod before entering the establishment.
You know that kinda shit happens to me all the time? People just spew their problems at me just about wherever I go. I don’t really mind. I let The Gods and Goddesses use me like an instrument to deliver little pick me ups or a shoulder to lean on. Sometimes hearing what you need from a total stranger can click into place what it is you already knew but weren’t ready to accept. And sometimes an objective third party brings clear vision to a situation. Funniest thing? Strangers tell me all their secrets and shit, but my boys? Have to pry the shit fucking with their chi out of them. It’s painful. In more than one way, between you and me. Sometimes it feels like they don’t trust me. But after all the time and all the shit we’ve been through together, you would think they would….
I prepare to pull my keys out of my pocket when I realize the receipt with Kimberly’s number is gone. My eyes quickly scan the sidewalk where I ran into the woman and spot it being burned by the sunlight. All of a sudden, before I’ve even had the chance to take a step forward, a gust of wind comes out of nowhere, taking the piece of paper a few feet away. A wave of annoyance washes over me at the new distance, but I start moving towards it anyway. Another powerful blast of air brushes the item up high and out of reach.
With a casual shrug, I spin back on my heels and head for my car.
Universe has spoken. When it does that I typically listen….This was a clear sign I wasn’t supposed to call her. I like to believe it’s because The Cosmos has something better in store for me.
The drive to Bounce, Bounce Revolution is surprisingly pleasant. Between blaring The Isley Brothers’ “It’s Your Thing” and the citrus smell swirling around my car, thanks to the breeze from the cracked windows, the twenty minute trip in stop and go traffic doesn’t deter my mood.
Upon parking, I pop a tic-tac, check my teeth for poppy seed remains, and assess my hair for any pieces that may have been blown out of place.