by K B Cinder
More screams echoed mine, terror striking at the thought of what could be happening in the dark. Was it a robbery? An attack? Were those screaming being harmed? Were we next?
The rustling of auction-goers that followed was deafening, those nearest to the exits not wasting time hauling ass to save themselves. Like the Titanic, it was every rich bitch for themselves. I wanted to join them, but there was no budging, Ethan’s arm a vice around me. Apparently we were going down with the ship.
Those ahead of us were chattering loudly but not fleeing with the rest of them, and it wasn’t until the tree of a man in front of me moved that I discovered why. A glowing upfront had everyone captivated, the Ever painting illuminated with toxic yellow writing, FUCK YOUR GREED scrawled across it in furious writing.
I smiled in the cover of darkness, proud of the artist’s message. It was about time someone blasted the money-hungry baboons.
The lights flicked back on, the message vanishing as they did, the painting returning to its original state showing a disheveled couple on a sidewalk with a blur of well-dressed figures in the backdrop, name-brand bags and suits aplenty.
People froze as the screaming stopped, the room suddenly exploding into a new ruckus, disdain from some about the language while others clamored about its value, the auction-block flash of defiance upping its desirability.
Ethan’s arm remained around me, the hard wall of support pressed close. It was exactly how I’d imagined it to be, though I’d never thought we’d be together at a Lorelei event, surrounded by the very people that treated me like a trinket as a child.
His eyes flicked to mine, the deep blue hue always catching me by surprise. The dude could be an eye model, if there was such a thing. Well, he could be an everything model, but his eyes were out-of-this-world, the color somewhere between ocean waves and storm clouds.
With one look, I knew what he was asking, so I nodded my head with a smile, “I’m okay.”
He mirrored my smile, only his was never the toothy, friendly gesture of everyone else; he always had a catlike smirk, one brow raised high with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I know.”
“I’m sorry for the brief electrical interruption,” the auctioneer announced as he fumbled with the mic, his once-perfect coif tousled in the fracas. “It seems Ever had a message to convey.”
I smiled wider as I scanned the frenzied faces around the room, millionaires confronted with their indifference head-on by an anonymous art troll whose talents they couldn’t ignore. One whose works highlighted their shortcomings for all the world to see.
“Now, let’s start off the bidding at $5 million. Do we have $5 million?”
A flurry of paddles rose, an avalanche of white circles all around. Five million for a painting? Sheesh. I’d color them a picture quick for $5.
“Do we have $6 million?” the auctioneer continued, glancing at the crowd with a smug grin.
Just as many paddles rose with “$10 million!” shouted from the rear.
Holy crap. No wonder my parents were never invited to Lorelei events. They didn’t have that kind of money laying around for a painting. They didn’t have that kind of money laying around, period. We lived comfortably but not that comfortably.
“$15 million!” another bidder called from the right, his voice thick with an Arabic accent. He was a tall, serious man surrounded by bodyguards, his white thawb regal in the tide of tuxedos.
“Dubai,” Ethan muttered, eyes focused ahead.
Ah. It made sense he wanted the newest Ever. Dad mentioned the new galleries opening in Dubai. He’d been trying to convince Mom to go, but she wasn’t sold on vacationing somewhere that wasn’t an island in the Caribbean.
“$15 million!” another voice boomed.
Good God. People were tossing around figures that regular people wouldn’t make in a lifetime. Me included. I’d be lucky to have peanuts after I paid off my undergrad loans.
The auctioneer kept his eyes on the action, paddles still popping up like crazy as bidders tossed out figures inching up by hundreds of thousands without missing a beat. “$15.9 million for Bidder 382. Do we have $16 million?”
“$20 million!” one dared, followed up by cries of $25 million, $40 million, and $50 million in rapid succession. The numbers kept growing, my eyes flicking from paddle to paddle like an air hockey puck. It was madness. That money could be changing lives yet they were spending it on a painting.
“$75 million!” the Arabic man bellowed. Someone hadn’t flown halfway around the world to play games.
The auctioneer smiled wide, though it never reached his eyes, his brows frozen by some sort of nip/tuck gone awry. “$75 million for Bidder 103. Do we have $75.1 million?”
“$80 million!” an Englishman countered from the front. He was the same man I’d passed coming into the park who’d had a pipe in one hand and a woman’s behind in the other. Appearing to be well-into retirement, he was old enough to be the woman’s father, if not grandfather. If my mother had her way, that would have been me if he was wealthy enough.
“$85 million!” another roared, followed quickly by “$86 million” from the back.
My stomach was in knots, the amounts higher than all the winning bids of the night combined by a long shot. It made me sick. Disgusted. Angry. I wanted to scream, but I kept my mouth shut, standing dutifully by Ethan’s side, wondering if I knew my friend at all.
How could he stomach it? What was he doing there? He wasn’t anything like them. They were thing people. Ethan wasn’t. At least I thought he wasn’t.
He was focused on the action while looking somewhat bored, his mouth in an emotionless line as his eyes traveled between bidders. In his suit he blended right in, though the loosened tie and flared collar were distinctly Ethan, not-so-subtle hints of the man I adored breaking through the polished veneer.
He caught me staring, mouthing a quick “you okay?” as he squeezed my upper arm gently.
I nodded. I was okay. I’d continue to be, too. But I’d never step foot in another society party. Ever. There was a reason I’d left them in the past, the air thick with narcissism and greed. I couldn’t leave soon enough.
“$90 million!” a voice screeched right behind us, coming out more like a shriek than a bid.
The auctioneer unleashed a hearty chuckle into the mic, the auction unfolding unlike anything I’d imagined. I’d only seen the mile-a-minute talkers in the movies, nothing like the tuxedo-wearing suave talker and his gang of money-hungry macaques. “Can we top $90 million, ladies and gents? This is a one of a kind piece that the press will be covering extensively!”
“$105 million!” the Englishman called out.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I was going to be sick.
“You want to go?” Ethan asked, his voice cutting through the fog of numbers flying around, the bid climbing higher and higher.
I shook my head, forcing myself to stay put despite the churning in my stomach. I’d stay for Dad. I’d suck up the experience for him, knowing how much he loved all things Lorelei. He’d give his arm to be in my place. “Just a little overwhelming, that’s all.” Overwhelming and confusing, but I’d have time to ask him questions if he walked me to the T afterward. Like what the hell he was doing there with such animals.
“It’s batshit fucking crazy,” he muttered, a prissy woman in front of us whirling with a horrified look on her face at his language.
Giggles came pouring out of me, a stern glare delivered by the same woman making them fifty times worse.
Ethan smiled, the ice around him cracking at last, the friendly face I knew too well emerging again. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
He led me gently by the hand, clearing a path through the crowd effortlessly. At six-foot-five, he was a wall of a man, forcing those around us out of the way without saying a word, his body doing all the talking.
“$123 million!” the Arabic man shouted as we neared an exit. I’d lost track of the bidding, but apparently it was a sizable jump as people audib
ly gasped around the room.
“$123 million for Bidder 103! Do we have $123.1 million? This is a prime Ever piece, one sure to make the history books. $123 million going once…”
The room remained silent, except for the tap of my heels across the floor.
“Twice….”
Just as Ethan pushed open the curtain into fresh air the auctioneer shouted out, “Sold!” The entire room broke into hysterics, the final auction of the night a monstrosity.
“If we hurry, we won’t have to hear the self-absorbed fucks chat about themselves all the way to the street.” Ethan’s words were joking, but his tone had a bite to it.
“If we go too fast, I might snap an ankle,” I warned, my stilettos wobbling on the asphalt walkway. One wayward acorn and I’d be livin’ la vida broken bones.
“I can carry you,” he offered, stopping so suddenly I toppled into his back, a solid barrier of man halting me in my tracks.
“I’m fine.” As flattered as I was, the whole world didn’t need to be flashed. My dress would barely pass for decent if he lifted me up. At 5’9”, most things were short on me, but the sparkling mini bronze number was the only thing I could find in my price range.
He nodded and continued on, my feet screaming in protest with every step. Thankfully he couldn’t see me in the dark, since I was sure I looked like a penguin treading mud.
The slight jostling of tree branches in the wind kept us company as we hurried along, Ethan not kidding about being dead-set on reaching the sidewalk before the crowds. I was surprised I could keep up, though his hand tugging me along definitely helped.
The normally friendly historic statues were eerie as we passed by, casting large, looming shadows in the moonlight. I never thought of the grounds as scary, but I wouldn’t want to be alone in the park at night after looking up at the mounted George Washington. He could easily pass for a headless horseman in the dark. No thank you.
“I wonder who it is,” I muttered, eager to stir conversation to distract from my toes planning a mutiny.
Ethan slowed for me to catch up, the two of us walking hand in hand at one another’s side. “Who?”
“Ever.” Whoever it was, they were $123 million richer.
“Doesn’t everyone?” he chuckled, eyes fixated on Arlington ahead, the cobblestone-lined street promising a hell of a walk once we reached it. “It’s a modern-day mystery.”
“I respect them, but I also can’t wait for them to be discovered.”
He glanced down with a raised brow, the shadows dancing across his face. “Why?”
“They have so much power yet hide away from the world.” If I had a platform like that, I’d be screaming from the rooftops about adoption. Identity issues. Bullying. I wouldn’t tuck myself away to bathe in my riches.
“Like a great and powerful wizard, huh?” he teased.
“Yeah, and it’s likely just another small person behind the curtain. It’s probably one of them.” I flicked my head towards the glowing tents in the distance, the first of the ultra-rich departing.
He shrugged as we continued along, the stench of freshly cut grass so strong I could taste it. “Probably. But it’s fun not knowing. The art crowd hates it. Ever is beating them at their own game, and it pisses them off.”
Luxury cars dotted Arlington as we exited, chariots awaiting attendees. Ethan and I were probably the only two party-goers that had taken the T.
“That was insane back there.” It was more than that, but I didn’t have the words to describe how awful it was. How disappointing. How heartbreaking. There were human beings starving yet the crowds hurled obscene amounts of money for a decoration. The Ever was beautiful, but nothing was worth $123 million.
Ethan nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Probably swallowing down the same disgust that bubbled in my chest.
I was studying to help kids like me. Kids that needed someone. So many could be impacted with that kind of money. Throwing it away hurt me in the deepest, darkest corner of my being.
“Want to grab a quick drink at Bowie’s?” he asked, seeming to read my mind as he squeezed my fingers. “To wash away the nasty taste in your mouth?”
“Bowie’s?” As in the dive bar? The one with the tile floor and wood paneling where I sang karaoke in college? It seemed like the last place he’d hang out. Ethan liked top-shelf liquor and gastropubs - not dives.
His blue eyes met mine, hinting at mischief. “Yeah. Ever been?”
I cocked my head, convinced we were thinking of different places. The closest thing Bowie’s had to top-shelf was boxed wine. “The dive bar?”
“Yeah, do you have a problem with it?”
“No, no…” I trailed. “I’m just surprised you would go to Bowie’s.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughed, undoing the knot of his tie entirely with his left hand, popping a few buttons of his shirt open in the process.
“You’re just so…” Well, damn. How was I supposed to tell him he was pretty? That he didn’t look like he’d ever been somewhere so rundown in his life. “Not the dive bar type.”
He shook his head with a smirk, the sharp angles of his face looking almost friendly for a brief moment. “You can meet anyone at a dive bar, Kee. I’ve met celebrities at Bowie’s before.”
“Who?” He had to be pulling my leg. The only people I’d seen were neighborhood drunks and college kids. It was part of Bowie’s charm.
“A few: a punk guitarist, an actor, and some big-time directors over the years.” He rattled them off like items on a grocery list without missing a beat.
“Really?” Hopefully none witnessed when I was five shots deep into an 80s rock ballad marathon.
“Yep. Let me guess? You sang karaoke?” He shot me an all-knowing look, his smirk stretching into a full-blown smile.
I couldn’t help but smile back despite the embarrassment. “I probably made an ass of myself in front of all of them.”
He waved our clasped hands from side to side with a laugh. “You never know.”
God, I hoped not.
“You live close by?” I asked with a sinking feeling. “I thought you were in South Boston? You probably saw my drunken douchebaggery, too!”
He shrugged, still smiling. “I stop by when I’m in the area. It’s a cool place.”
“I haven’t been there in years. Do they still have the little stage in the back?” I’d spent too many nights swaying offbeat atop it, celebrating the end of finals week each semester with wine coolers and show tunes.
“Yep. With the same cheesy tropical backdrop and pink lighting.”
Oh God. I still had a scar on my knee from wiping out into one of their infamous pink light displays.
“College kids skip it now for the hipster scene. I don’t know who taught them that spending $20 on a drink with a chicken wing and fucking croissant stuffed inside was cool.”
I grinned, knowing the over-the-top Bloody Marys he was alluding to all too well. Jorge had ordered me an eggplant parmigiana one once, and I still hadn’t recovered from the ew.
He held open the door as we reached the bar, the two of us strolling in to mount barstools, my feet crying out in relief as we did. The place was packed, though the attendees had changed as Ethan had mentioned, mostly older biker types floating around and clusters of women decked out for girls’ night.
“I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks,” Ethan ordered, turning to me quickly to eye me over before spinning back to the bartender. “And she’ll have an amaretto sour.”
“Good guess.” Normally I’d be ticked that someone ordered for me, but Eth knew my go-to drink.
He shot me an intentionally dramatic wink. “I know my Kee.”
I smiled, satisfied to be his Kee. Our hands were still linked resting on the bar, but I didn’t dare let go. I’d enjoy it while I could. Whatever it was.
“How’d you get tickets for tonight?” I asked as the bartender slid me my drink a moment later. It might’ve been rude to a
sk, but I had to know. My parents would badger me to the moon and back about it.
He lifted his Scotch to his lips with a smirk as soon as the bartender pushed it forward. “It was easy. I met someone who didn’t want to go. Sounded interesting, so I took the tickets.”
I stabbed at the cherry drowning in the bottom of my drink, determined to fish it out with my straw. “I guess they were tired of the jerkoffs.”
“Too bad I didn’t see them unloading tickets as a warning,” he laughed. “We could’ve came here instead.”
“You mean I could’ve had you serenading me this whole time?” I teased, nudging his shoulder playfully.
“I don’t think you could handle it,” he breathed, throwing back a gulp of Scotch with a smug grin. “I’d melt the paneling off the walls with all this sexy.”
The paneling and women alike would definitely melt, his mussed-up hair and undone tie looking like he’d just finished a romp in the bathroom. His chest was bared by open shirt buttons, his formerly pressed suit now deliciously unpolished. I was surprised I hadn’t melted already being so close to him.
“Is that so?” I glanced around the room, a few women already taking note of the handsome hunk by my side. The same handsome hunk that held my hand in his. “Well, time to melt the walls off this place. Let’s dance.”
He took me up on the offer, leading me through the crowd to the dance floor. Every slow stride showed off an ass from the gods, his suit pants hugging him in all the right places. It took everything in me to keep from gaping in awe.
Music blasted overhead, the cheap sound system crackling every so often, just as it had back in college. It didn’t matter, because as soon as we found a spot between two biker babes, it was on.
We’d gone out plenty of times in the past, but normally we danced with other people, never one another. Anytime we came close, it always seemed like something came between us. But now we were together, and our energy was more than electric.
Ethan was every bit as sexy as he’d joked, his long, lean body moving like magic. His hands planted on my hips, my arms stretching to loop around his neck, our faces inches apart. We weren’t just dancing - we were testing the waters, his breath fanning across my lips as our bodies rocked together.