Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  “Is this a Bentley?” I ask, buckling in.

  “Yep.”

  “Really? Wow. I’ve never been in a Bentley before. Actually, I’ve never even been in a BMW or a Mercedes.”

  “It’s a really good car,” she smiles at me. “So where to?”

  I give her my address.

  “So, Chloe. What do you do?”

  “I’m a wardrobe stylist. Today was actually my first day on the job. I’m doing a small independent film with really promising filmmakers.”

  “Wow, tell me about it,” Dolly says.

  I tell her as much as I can, while at the same time trying not to gush. Something about her demeanor puts me at ease. I find her very easy to talk to, and that’s coming from someone who has a lot of experience talking to people who listen for a living. After my brother died when I was 13, my parents sent me to a number of counselors to help me deal with the process, but none of them even came close to having Dolly’s demeanor and disposition.

  “That sounds wonderful. You have quite a promising start to your career,” Dolly says. “I can tell that you are very passionate about this.”

  “Yes, I am. When I was in college, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to make a living at this. I mean, I grew up in Pennsylvania. People there have regular jobs. So, after college I moved to New York and got a job in finance. I thought that I could be one of those people who did something for a living and did something else as a hobby, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand that job. I had something of a mental breakdown after that. My sister lived in LA. She’s an actress. She invited me to live with her, so I’m here.”

  “Doing something you love,” Dolly finished my sentence for me. I nod.

  “So what about your boyfriend? He must be very proud,” Dolly says. I take a deep breath. Boyfriend. Ah, that word.

  “Oh don’t tell me he isn’t supportive,” Dolly says, reading my facial expression.

  “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “A beautiful girl like you?” Dolly says. My cheeks get flushed. “Or are you one of those modern girls who don’t go for relationships?”

  “No, that’s my sister, Lila,” I smile. “I’m just unlucky, I guess. I had a boyfriend in college, but we broke up when we moved to New York. There hasn’t really been anyone else. I think I was going through a little too much for anyone to deal with.”

  I have no idea why I’m telling this perfect stranger every intimate and personal thing about me. Shut up, Chloe, I say to myself.

  “But frankly, I wasn’t too keen on dating anyone for a while. It just seemed like too much trouble, and I don’t get this high from it like my sister does. She absolutely loves meeting new guys. And then, of course, she grows bored of them.”

  “And you’re not like that?” she asks.

  “No, not really,” I shrug. “I’m more of a long-term relationship girl. I had a boyfriend for two years in high school. Then three years in college.”

  “But you know, without dating and putting yourself out there, you’ll never find the love of your life.”

  “Yeah I know,” I nod. Neither of us says anything for a moment.

  “Chloe, you don’t know what I do.”

  “Oh, I’m so, so sorry. That was very rude of me. Just babbling on and on about my life to you,” I say quickly. I talk a little too fast when I get nervous or embarrassed. In this situation, I find myself feeling a lot of both.

  “No, that’s perfectly fine. I was the one who was prying. I just wanted to tell you that I might be able to do something for you,” Dolly says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a matchmaker. I help people find love.”

  “A matchmaker?” I ask. “I didn’t know that was a real thing anymore. I mean, isn’t there the internet and all those online dating sites?”

  “Yes, there are, but nothing beats someone who actually knows both people setting them up on a date. There’s no algorithm that can replace that.”

  “Really?” I ask. I hate how skeptical I sound. I need to get myself a filter, ASAP.

  “It’s like your job. People can easily pick out their own clothes, can’t they? But you’re there to think about each particular scene and put together a number of outfits that evoke a particular mood and setting. You’re there to match the clothes to the characters and the story. Well, that’s what I do with people.”

  “That makes sense, I guess. And you make a living at this?”

  “A very good one. This Bentley and these diamonds didn’t buy themselves, that’s for sure.”

  I look around the car. And at the diamond necklace and giant diamond ring on her left hand. I was certain that she was one of those Beverly Hills women who had married very well. I’m embarrassed by how old-fashioned my thinking was.

  “What I’m trying to get at, Chloe, is that I would like to set you up.”

  “I don’t think I can afford you,” I say. “No, I’m certain that I can’t.”

  Dolly throws her head back and laughs. “Is that what you’re worried about? There’s no need. It’s free of charge.”

  “No, I couldn’t let you do that,” I shake my head.

  “I don’t usually charge women. Well, unless they are the richer party. Basically, I only charge the party that’s hiring me, and that’s the one who is the wealthier one. Unfortunately, it’s almost always men who have the money, but not always.”

  “So, do you only set up wealthy men?”

  “The men who come to me do tend to be very well-off, but I’m not an escort service, if that’s what you are thinking.”

  She must’ve read the expression on my face.

  “My clients have money, and many of them have had unfortunate experiences of having women date them just for their money. So they come to me looking for women who aren’t in it for that.”

  “Oh, I see,” I nod.

  We pull up to my apartment building. It’s a small two-story yellow building, with eight apartments. The walls are covered in ivy and little pink flowers. Every half a year, the landlord hires someone to take the ivy down, which always makes me sad. I love seeing plants crawl their way from the ground toward the sun. There’s something optimistic and beautiful in that.

  Dolly parks the car and turns to face me.

  “So, what do you think?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in anticipation.

  “I don’t know,” I hesitate. I don’t really know why I’m hesitating. I’m just afraid, I guess.

  “Just one date? What do you have to lose?”

  “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Perfect,” she gives me a warm hug in the car. “I have your number. And don’t forget to call your insurance about this whole thing.”

  “I won’t,” I say, getting out of the car. We wave good-bye and I head upstairs.

  Before I even have a chance to get through the door, my sister asks me, “Did I just see you get out of a Bentley?”

  Chapter 10 - Chloe

  The following morning, I head downstairs to look for my sister’s car. Our apartment building doesn’t have any parking spots – it was built before they required that sort of thing – so there’s only street parking. In the morning and afternoons, there’s usually an ample amount of parking, but it starts to dwindle as people get home after work. Because Lila gets home around three or four in the morning, she’s forced to park three or four streets away. But because she almost always gets home a little tipsy and/or tired, she almost never remembers where she parked the car. Usually, this is her problem, but today, since she’s kind enough to let me borrow her car for work, it’s my problem. I leave the apartment half an hour early, just in case it takes me much longer to find the car that I think, and I finally find it forty-five minutes later, five blocks away.

  I’m about to give up when I finally see the 2001 Honda Civic with the front driver’s side smashed in. Elated, I open the passenger side and get in. I climb over the gear shift and the cup holders and into the driver’s side. This is
the only way to get in. This happened a few years ago, when Lila was just laid off and she was completely broke. Someone had backed into her car while it was parked on the street. The insurance company gave her $800 for the damage, but because her account was overdrawn after she paid rent that month and she had no money for food, she used the money to live on instead of getting the door fixed. It has been this way ever since.

  I adjust my seat and make sure that the rear view and side mirrors are in the right position. I turn on the radio, but nothing comes out. That’s right, the radio doesn’t work either. Perfect. What a piece of shit car. Let’s just hope that it gets me to North Hollywood in one piece.

  My phone rings. It’s a strange number. I usually don’t pick up unknown numbers, but for some reason this time I do.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Chloe! This is Dolly Monroe. How are you?” Dolly’s accent, which I later found out is from West Texas, makes her sound like she’s cooing like a bird. It’s so sing-songy.

  “Hi Dolly. I’m fine,” I say. I put her on speaker, pull out of the parking spot and head toward Sunset Boulevard.

  “What are you doing Saturday night?” she asks.

  “Um…I don’t know. I don’t really have plans.”

  I try to think of what I have planned for the weekend. The beginning of this week has been so crazy and hectic that my brain fogs up.

  “You do now! I found the perfect date for you. You two will get along splendidly. The only thing is that it’s a formal event. Do you have any formal clothes?”

  “Wait, what?” My mind tries to catch up with the trunk load of information that she just unloaded on me.

  “Do you have any evening dresses?”

  “No. But wait, back up. I can’t go on a date this weekend.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because,” I search my mind for an answer. But nothing comes to mind. “I don’t know. I just can’t. It’s too soon.”

  “You said you were free. You have nothing to worry about. No pressure. This guy is really easy going. Very attractive. And pretty loaded too.”

  “I don’t care about that,” I say.

  “Even better.”

  “But I still can’t go.”

  “Why not?” she asks. Is she totally dense? Or is she just not getting the hint?

  “I just can’t,” I say. “I’m not ready.”

  “Chloe, how long has it been since your last date?” she asks. I take a moment to really think about this. Hmm. Come to think of it. I can’t really remember. I don’t know.

  “That pause tells me that it has been too long. So this Saturday is going to fix that.”

  “But…”

  “There’s no buts. He’s a great guy. Very nice, courteous. Interesting. I’m sure that you two will get along splendidly.”

  “But you don’t even know me,” I finally come up with a good reason. That’s right. She hardly knows a thing about me. How can she be so sure that we’re a good match?

  “Chloe, what I do is not about knowledge. It’s not about information. People make connections based on chemistry, and I make my recommendations based on intuition. I learned a long time ago to listen to my intuition, and it’s very rarely wrong.”

  “Okay,” I finally give in.

  “Okay? You’ll go.” Dolly’s voice goes up at the end. She’s getting a little bit too excited about this.

  “Yes, I’ll go,” I say. “But why can’t we just go out for a cup of coffee? Get to know each other a little? I can’t go a black tie event with a complete stranger.”

  “Eh, of course, you can!” I can almost see her waving her manicured hand at me dismissively, as if that is such an usual statement to make.

  “Fine. But I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “I’ll fix that.”

  After carefully negotiating a time that would work with both of our schedules, we decide to meet on Rodeo Drive at 6 o’clock tonight. I hang up the phone with plenty of doubts and a touch of resignation. Maybe Dolly’s right. It’s time to go out there and meet some new people.

  Chapter 11 - Finn

  I meet Ben Garett for lunch. He’s my oldest and dearest friend. We have been friends since I was 13 and he was 12 and we met on the set of Roseanne, a popular 90’s sitcom. He had one line, and I was an extra. That was one of my first real jobs, and I was a nervous wreck. Ben was experienced. He had been going to auditions and getting gigs in television shows for a few years by then. I remember how intimidated I was when I first talked to him, and how fun and down-to-earth he was. It made all the difference. Luckily, neither of us had any success in Hollywood as young kids, so we’re not as messed up as many of those child stars tend to be. Ben’s breakout role came when he was 18 in Tequila Sunrise, where he played a young doctor fighting the cholera epidemic. He was nominated for a Golden Globe and an Academy Award. I remember going to the award shows and saying a prayer for him to win. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Both awards went to Anthony Hopkins that year. Hell of a guy to lose to, though, isn’t he? It’s like losing to Meryl Streep. What can you really say? Try again next year?

  “How’s it going?” Ben gives me a hug and we both order our drinks. “Why are we meeting in North Hollywood again?”

  “I’m shooting a movie right around here, and I only have an hour. Was there a lot of traffic?”

  “Eh, no more than usual.”

  “I’m actually loving how out of the way North Hollywood is, apparently, for the paparazzi.”

  “I know, they don’t want to make the commute,” he jokes. Ben and I have both come a long way since our days as sitcom extras. We both grew into our faces and bodies. Ben has recently been offered a very lucrative role as Marvel superhero (can’t really say which one) in their upcoming movie. He’s getting a lot on the back-end from it. That’s really smart, since it’s projected to break a lot of records.

  “How’s Jasmine? The kids?” I ask. Unlike me, who can’t seem to hold on to a girlfriend for longer than a few months, Ben met Jasmine when he was 21 and married her at 22. I was the best man, and those two have been happily married for almost eight years. They have three kids and one more on the way.

  “Great. This pregnancy is going really well, actually.”

  I grab a piece of bread from the breadbasket and lather it with butter. I laugh and shake my head.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I still can’t believe that you’re going to have four kids soon. That’s crazy, Ben.”

  “I know, I find that difficult to believe myself sometimes,” he smiles. “But kids are great. You’re really missing out. They’re so fun. Always wanting to play. They really keep me grounded.”

  “Yeah I know. I’ve met your kids,” I say. “They’re amazing. But you know, I’ve met other people’s kids too. And, frankly, they leave a lot to be desired.”

  “Oh c’mon.”

  “C’mon yourself. Most people have nightmares about kids. They’re loud and obnoxious. You and Jasmine lucked out. Big time.”

  Our food arrives just in time. I notice that Ben isn’t eating any bread and didn’t order any carbs.

  “Strict diet?” I ask. He nods.

  “Pretty much. They have me working with a personal trainer for two hours a day to gain twenty pounds of muscle. He put me on a strict no dairy, no sugar, no simple carbohydrates diet.”

  “How’s it going?” I ask. I don’t need him to answer. The sullen look on his face tells me everything.

  “Well, you’re going to look amazing,” I say. “At least, you’ll have that. I’m sure you’ll get the cover of Men’s Health and whatever else you want.”

  “Do you remember how scrawny and tall we both were as kids?” he asks, biting into his salad.

  “Oh my God. Don’t even remind me. We were all arms and legs.”

  Growing up, Ben and I both had the same problem. We couldn’t gain weight to save our lives. Weight or muscles.

  “I shot up like five inches in one sum
mer,” I say. “All of my joints physically ached for months.”

  “I know, me too,” he nods.

  “I don’t know how we ever got girls back then.”

  “Well, I didn’t. You did, but I never did,” Ben laughs.

  “Oh c’mon, you got some,” I say, trying to remember at least one girl who Ben dated before Jasmine.

  “I had a couple of girlfriends, but that was it. That’s why when I met Jasmine and she was actually into me, I held on for dear life.”

  We both laugh.

  “Let me just tell you one thing,” I say. “You know I love Jasmine. But if you were single now, you’d have your pick of the litter.”

  He shakes his head.

  “I’m serious. If you didn’t have such a happy marriage and boring life, you’d be all over the celeb magazines. You’re it. And who knows, maybe after this movie, you’ll even land the cover of Sexiest Man Alive.”

  “Oh, wow, that would be a hoot,” Ben says. Even though he’s an amazing actor and is quite good at playing a cocky bastard, he’s never really had much confidence in himself. Even now, he acts like he agrees with me, but I have my doubts.

  “So, what about you?” Ben asks. Suddenly, his face gets very serious. I know he’s going to mention Ariel.

  “What about me?” I act like nothing’s going on.

  “How are things? I mean, I saw the magazines. Is there any truth to that?”

  There usually isn’t. It’s amazing how much stuff they publish that’s total crap. Utter made up shit. But in this case, they’re right.

  “Eh, we’re over. She moved in with Kingsolver.”

  I hate the fact that my ex’s new boyfriend shares a first name with my best friend.

  “Wow, already?” Ben is taken aback.

  “Apparently, it has been going on for some time,” I say. I pause for a little. I don’t mean to stop talking for so long, but somehow the silence gets the best of me. I get lost in its solitude. “But hey, it was probably a mistake the whole time. I’m not really meant to be in a relationship, right?” I finally say.