Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I have to tell them the truth,” he said.

  “But wouldn’t that make what you were doing…illegal?”

  “No, not necessarily.”

  “Of course, it will. I mean, there was an exchange. These men are paying for sex and you’re orchestrating the whole thing.”

  We had to turn to his attorney to settle the argument. He said that I would have to use very specific language to not make it prostitution and that I was not to utter a single world without his presence.

  There’s a knock at the door. When the cop answers, an attractive guy in his late thirties comes in wearing an immaculate suit and carrying an expensive looking briefcase. Everything about him is polished, from his $400 haircut down to his $700 shoes. He introduces himself as Neil Goss, my attorney. So, this was the guy we talked to on the phone last night. Hmm. Really didn’t expect him to be so easy on the eyes.

  Officer Lindon shakes his hand and gives him a seat at the table. Then he excuses himself to get another chair.

  “Are you ready?” Neil asks.

  “I think so.”

  “Just say what we practiced this morning. If you have any doubts about what you should or shouldn’t say, don’t say a word and confirm it with me.”

  When Officer Lindon returns, I start at the beginning. I start with my roommate, Caroline, inviting me to a yacht party - the first time I met Aiden. The cop asks me all sorts of questions about the boat and how I got there prior to getting to the auction. He’s warming me up and it’s working. My words flow a little bit smoother and I relax a bit. Finally, it’s time to describe the auction. I look over at Neil, who gets a little tense in between his shoulders but otherwise covers up his discomfort very well. Without further ado, I dive right in and explain it, just as we had practiced it earlier.

  “So, these women are basically getting sold to the highest bidder?” Officer Lindon asks. He’s trying to throw me off, sidetrack me. But I won’t let him.

  “No, the bidding is just for fun. The men pay money to basically meet the girls and spend time with them. But sex isn’t part of the exchange.”

  “So, you and the other girls didn’t have sex with the men who bid on you?”

  “My client does not have any knowledge about what the other women at the party did or did not do afterward,” Neil interrupts.

  “Okay, what about you, Ellie?”

  “Well, yes, Aiden and I were intimate. But it had nothing to do with the money.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m not a prostitute. The auction was just a fancy introduction service. It’s really a way for rich powerful men to show off how much money they can spend on a hot girl. But there’s no required reciprocity. If any of the women did have sex with the men who bid on them, they did it purely because they wanted to. Just like me.”

  Officer Lindon doesn’t entirely buy this. But I try to steer the conversation to my second trip to the yacht and what Blake did. I’m not the one who is on trial here. I’m a victim. Luckily, Lindon doesn’t object.

  Five hours later, I’m finally free to go. After explaining the whole situation in detail and getting it all on tape, Officer Lindon asked me to write down my complaint and sign it as well. Prior to signing, Neil carefully read all five pages of my complaint against Blake, scrutinizing each word. In a few instances, he asked me to change a few words - to be more vague - and in a few, he asked me to be more precise.

  “I had no idea that words were so important in your profession,” I say, signing each page of my statement.

  “Words are everything. Or rather the way that words are interpreted. What else is there, right?”

  That’s a nice way to think about it. I’ve been conditioned to think that being an English major was a pretty useless degree, but not to Neil. All English majors do is analyze text and words and apparently, that’s all Neil does in his job as well.

  After we hand over my statement, I’m free to go. Aiden meets us on the curb in his car. He’s going to make his statement tomorrow. Even though it’s dark already, Neil refuses a ride and instead hails a cab. I bid him farewell and climb into Aiden’s car.

  “How did it go?”

  “Long. I’m so tired.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Be prepared for a very tedious examination.”

  Aiden nods and squeezes my hand. We are planning on taking off right after Aiden gives his statement tomorrow. Neither of us want to hang around New York when the story breaks and becomes news, which it will undoubtedly become with Leslie on our side. Everything else can be handled through lawyers and public relations executives. If there’s a trial then we will both come back, prepare, and testify, but until then, there’s no reason to hang around here.

  “I can’t wait to get back to Caye Caulker,” I whisper when he pulls up to my apartment. I’m going to stay at my place tonight. Aiden’s meeting with the cops early tomorrow morning and he’s going to pick me up as soon as he’s done so we can head back down to the Caribbean.

  “Me neither,” he says, stopping the car at the curb and giving me a big kiss on the lips.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say and get out.

  Chapter 11 - Ellie

  When we take a quick trip back…

  Riding up the elevator, I’m excited to see Caroline again. I feel bad about how I left things and I hope she didn’t go to her parents’ yet. I’d love to have a fun evening watching something funny. I unlock the door and call her name. No answer. Shit. I guess she left already. I drop my bag on the floor in front of the kitchen island and knock on her bedroom door. No answer again.

  I turn the knob slowly. I don’t want to wake her in case she’s sleeping.

  When I open the door, I immediately feel like something’s wrong. I see her lying spread-eagle on her back on top of the covers. She’s wearing her pajamas and her arms and legs are spread wide open. She looks as if she might be asleep, but I’ve never seen her sleep that way before.

  “Oh my God…Caroline! Caroline!” I run over to the bed. I shake her, trying to rouse her. I turn her head and see that there’s vomit around her mouth and on the bedspread.

  “Caroline, Caroline, please!” I yell. My whole body starts to shake as I pull her down to the floor and start doing CPR. “Please wake up, please wake up.”

  I press down on her chest three times in quick succession. I wipe her mouth with the back of my hand, cover her nose, and breathe into her mouth. I don’t know if this is the right way of doing it. Something in the back of my head says that they no longer advise to breathe into the mouth to revive people, but I have no idea if I’m remembering that right. I continue to press down on her chest and breathe into her mouth because that’s what I’ve seen people do in movies and right now I’m at a total loss as to what else to do. Without stopping CPR, I dial 911.

  “Please help. I came home and my roommate is unresponsive on the floor. It looks like she passed out and threw up and now I can’t wake her.”

  My voice is rushed and frantic, but the older woman’s soothing voice on the other line puts me somewhat at ease. She asks for my address and dispatches officers and an ambulance. Then she asks me to do CPR. I tell her that I have been without much response.

  “Just keep doing that until someone gets there. They aren’t far away.”

  I hear their sirens in the distance. A minute later, they burst through the door, which I luckily forgot to lock behind me. I hang up the phone as soon as our apartment fills with people. A police officer helps me up as the paramedics start to work on her and leads me to the living room.

  She starts asking me questions, which I answer completely in a daze. All of my thoughts keep focusing on Caroline. Please be okay, I chant over and over. Please, be okay. You have to be okay.

  Tears are welling up in the back of my eyes and I try to keep them at bay. The police officer puts her arm around me, but it only makes me feel more alone.

  More and more people stream into her b
edroom and come out with grave expressions on their faces.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. The cop keeps asking me questions, but I no longer answer them. I’ve told her enough and now I need some answers myself. Just as I’m about to go back into Caroline’s room, the paramedics come out with the gurney. But instead of seeing Caroline’s sweet face, all I see is her body in a bag.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Caroline? Why do you have this bag zipped up? She can’t breathe!”

  I become hysterical. Whatever tears I managed to keep at bay thus far, break free and stream down my face. I try to push my way to her. I need to unzip that bag. I need to help her breathe. But they’re not letting me. They’re blocking me.

  “You’re killing her!” I scream. “You’re killing her. She can’t breathe like that.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” someone says to me in a low voice. “She’s dead. She’s dead.”

  Everything turns black. Nothing makes sense anymore. I see people moving all around me, but they’re no longer real. They are just copies of people. Actors maybe. Maybe none of this is real after all. How can it be? How can the world go on without Caroline in it? My sweet, funny, kind Caroline?

  * * *

  They take Caroline’s body from our apartment and it’s as if she has gone to her parents. Her clothes are still hanging in her closet and her room is just as she has left it. It feels like she just stepped out, or maybe went away on a short trip. It definitely doesn’t feel like she’s dead. And yet, that’s what she is. At least, that’s what they say.

  Aiden is in the kitchen making me tea. Someone called him using my phone. He came over after they wheeled Caroline away. There are no more police or paramedics in my apartment. They did their jobs and went on their way to some other emergency. They did what they were supposed to do and now I’m left here picking up the pieces. All alone. Well, not all alone, but it surely does feel that way. Aiden isn’t Caroline and he never will be. No matter what he says or doesn’t say, she’s not coming back.

  He offers me a cup of tea, but I no longer want it. It doesn’t feel right to have tea when she’s gone. It doesn’t feel right to do anything when she’s no longer here. I go to my room and climb into bed.

  Chapter 12 - Ellie

  When everything turns to black…

  When I wake up, it’s morning again. As soon as I open my eyes, I can’t breathe again. The world just chokes me up. Tears start flowing and nothing makes sense. How can I continue living without Caroline? How can the world continue spinning without her in it? No, I can’t deal with it. I close my eyes again.

  A few hours later, I wake up and this time I can’t make it go away. No matter how much I try to push the whole world away, I can’t. I can’t sleep anymore. And I can’t cry anymore either. No, the only thing I can do is just lose myself in the numbness. I hate it and I hate myself and yet nothing changes despite all of this hate.

  “Hi,” I say quietly. Aiden is in the kitchen with his head stuck in his phone.

  “Oh my God, you’re up. How are you?”

  I look at the clock above the stove. It’s two in the afternoon.

  “Wow, I slept late.”

  “Yes, but that’s ok. You needed the rest.”

  “It doesn’t seem right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To sleep, after your best friend dies.”

  “Oh, honey,” Aiden says, putting his arm around me and giving me a squeeze. Even though I feel his touch and his warm body next to mine, it doesn’t seem real. It’s as if I’m watching someone else getting a hug, someone on television. I feel the warmth emanating from him, but it doesn’t reach me, because he’s not real. Or is it me who’s not real? I don’t really know.

  “Did I make that statement to the police yesterday?” I ask.

  “Yes, last night.”

  “Did you go this morning?”

  “No,” Aiden says, looking away. “I rescheduled.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to stay here with you. I didn’t want you to wake up to an empty apartment all by yourself.”

  I shrug. More tears will start flowing eventually, but for now I don’t have any more left.

  “Do you want me to make you some breakfast? Eggs? Or maybe pancakes?”

  I shake my head no. My mouth is completely dry, parched. And there’s not one thing that I can do about it.

  “Then have this at least,” Aiden says, handing me a granola bar. “I want you to eat something to keep up your strength.”

  I stare at him. A minute later, I open the wrapper and take a bite. It tastes so dry that I choke on it. He hands me a glass of water and I let the cold liquid run down my throat. Suddenly, I am keenly aware of every last sensation around me. I take another bite of the granola bar, but much to my surprise, I can’t taste it. It tastes like cardboard. It is completely devoid of flavor.

  “I’m going back to bed,” I say. I know that I have to engage more with him. I need to ask him what happened to Caroline, whether anyone told her parents. I need to start making plans or helping her mother and her family make plans for the funeral, but I can’t deal with any of that now. In fact, I kind of doubt that I will ever be able to deal with it.

  * * *

  The next few days after Caroline’s death proceed pretty much like the other one. I’m in a daze. I get up just to go to the bathroom, drink some water, eat a granola bar, and go back to bed. I’m so tired that I can’t seem to do anything else. I sleep, and I sleep, and I sleep some more. Every time I get up, I find Aiden in the living room. Sometimes, he’s eating. Other times, he’s just watching television. Most of the time, he’s either on his phone or on his laptop, furiously typing away.

  And then, one day, I wake up and I’m no longer that tired. Instead of heading straight out to the living room, I decide to take a shower. I climb in and let the warm water run over my body. I squeeze some shampoo into my palm and lather it into my hair. Then I wash it out and repeat the same thing with the conditioner. When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel and look in the mirror. The girl whose reflection looks back at me seems like a stranger. Is this the same person who only a few days ago walked barefoot on a sandy beach and imagined moving to that island with the love of her life? No, she’s not. That girl was happy. That girl didn’t abandon her best friend in the whole world to run away with her boyfriend.

  I walk back to my room and put on a fresh shirt and a pair of pajama pants. I toss the ones that I’ve been living in for days on end into the laundry hamper and go out into the living room. Aiden is sitting at the dining room table with papers strewn all around him. His head is buried in his laptop and he doesn’t even notice me until I walk past him and put on the kettle for some tea.

  “Oh, hey!”

  “Hey,” I say. I walk over to him and give him a peck on the cheek. “I’m going to make some breakfast. You want some?”

  “No, I’m good,” he says. “I actually ordered some pizza for dinner.”

  I glance at the clock. Oh, wow, it’s 7:30 in the evening. I shrug and take out the eggs from the refrigerator. I scramble the eggs in a bowl, add some coconut milk, and cut up a piece of provolone cheese. I add some butter to the pan, watch as it sizzles, and pour the eggs. While they cook, I wash the fork and bowl in the sink under cold water.

  “What are you working on?” I ask, swirling the eggs with a spatula until they’re creamy.

  “Just some work stuff.”

  “Okay.”

  When the eggs are done, I don’t bother with a plate. Instead, I place the pan on the placemat at the other end of the table across from Aiden and dig in.

  “Caroline’s mom called,” Aiden says after a moment. “The funeral is tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there,” I say, nodding.

  Chapter 13 - Aiden

  When everyone wears black…

  I want to be there for Ellie, but I don’t know how. I see her suffering. For the first few days, all she did was s
leep. She slept so much that I had to come into the room and actually check that she was still breathing to make sure that she was okay. She was. She has always been a big sleeper, but I’ve never seen anything like this. And now, she seems better. She’s not sleeping anymore. She has showered. She washed her hair and changed her clothes. Even put on some makeup. But she’s still not better. Somewhere behind that facade, Ellie is lost. And I don’t know how to get her back.

  I drive to the cemetery where they are going to have Caroline’s funeral. Her mom organized the whole thing and had her assistant call to invite Ellie. It’s about two hours away, near her parents’ summer house in the Hamptons. Neither of us says anything for close to an hour. Ellie, because she doesn’t want to, and me because I don’t even know where to begin. Some topics seem too stupid to even approach. Others are too painful.

  “This was one of Caroline’s favorite places in the world,” Ellie says. “She even told me that she wished she grew up here.”

  “The Hamptons?” I ask.

  “Yep. She used to come here when she knew no one else would be here and just enjoy the place. Despite her big social life, she actually had a weakness for small town life. She often talked about how nice it would be to get a house and a small garden and chickens.”

  I nod. I find this hard to believe, given the person that I met, but who the hell really knows anyone? Ellie would of course know her better than I ever could.

  “I like the Hamptons, too,” I say, having nothing else to really add. I don’t know if I should ask her more about Caroline or just let her bring it up herself. Maybe all she wants to do right now is to forget. Not forget about Caroline, but forget that this horrible thing ever happened to her best friend.

  * * *