Bidding War (6 page)

"No one would have demanded her ticket price back," Gwendolyn said. "I think people would have been disappointed. It wouldn't have been the end of the world." She paused. "Sam probably wouldn't be invited to help in the future. She may not anyway. Tricking you was poorly done."

We ate quietly for a minute. I finished as much as I wanted and sipped more of my wine.

Our body language was such it was clear we both felt awkward.
My touching her arm hadn't been enough. "If I flirt with you, will it frighten you?" I asked.

She laughed, looking at me. "No."

"Good." Then I laid my head on her shoulder. If I was going to do this, then I was going to do it properly, which meant making sure she had a nice time. Within reason.

She stiffened for a moment, then she relaxed and slid her arm around me so her fingers were touching my back through the laces of my gown.

We sat quietly like that for a minute or two before I lifted my head. I felt I'd gotten my message across. I looked up at Gwendolyn. "So, all better?"

She smiled. "What do you do for a living?"

I sighed. "I work in a bank. I have an MBA in finance, and I work as a loan officer in a bank."

"Why the sigh?"

"I had higher hopes. They ran smack dab into the brick wall that is the current economy."

"You don't like working at the bank?"

"It's okay," I said. "But it doesn't exactly have the sort of potential that a proper corporate finance job would have. My MBA was a complete waste, at least so far. I am still looking for finance positions, but I think I'm going to be stuck at the bank for the rest of my life."

"I imagine that's frustrating," she said.

"You clearly worked very hard to get where you are," I told her. "I'd be happy to work just as hard, but it seems pointless right now." I paused. "I'm sorry, I'm coming across as very negative, but that's not really me. Please, tell me about being a vascular surgeon."

She smiled. "You were right. It was a lot of work." She paused. "It takes a very long time, and residency is hell. I don't understand that aspect of our medical system. Who thinks they want surgeons working twenty-four hour shifts? I know the last person I want approaching me with sharp instruments is someone suffering from sleep deprivation."

"Do you like being a surgeon?"

"There's an occupational hazard," she explained. "It's easy t
o feel we're gods. I fight that, but it can be very difficult. Every time I open someone up, it's a head rush. I absolutely love surgery. I can't imagine doing something else."

"Do you save a lot of lives?"

She paused. "It depends upon what you mean by save. Clients often become clients for life. The things we do extend their lives. But once someone has the sort of problems that requires my expertise, they are probably going to need me again in the future."

"Is it like what you see on TV?"

"Sometimes," she said, laughing. "But not usually."

"It sounds fascinating."

"It's a lot of long days," she said. "That is getting better. I actually am starting to have time to enjoy myself more often. I find I don't have a clue how."

I laughed lightly but could tell she was serious. "So you don't know what you like to do?"

"No. For so long, all I was focused on was my career. Now that I am established and could do other things with my life, I don't know what I want to do with it."

I thought about it. "Do you know where you're going to take me?"

"Well, I thought," she said. She paused. "Dinner?"

"That's a good start," I said. "Then what?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Do you dance?"

"Not well. But dinner and dancing might be nice."

I looked at her. "You don't sound convinced." I paused. "What do you normally do with your dates?"

"Buy them a drink then take them back to my apartment."

I gulped. "Oh."

"We could go to a play at the Guthrie."

"Do you enjoy live theater?" I asked her.

"Do you?" she countered.

"It depends upon the show." I paused. "Other than taking me to your apartment, what do you really want to do?"

She looked away. I reached over and grabbed her chin, pulling her back to face me. "I don't need anything fancy to enjoy myself, Gwendolyn." I paused.

"I don't want you to be bored," she said. "And I don't have much to talk about except work."

"Would you like me to plan the dates?" I asked her. "I know exactly what I'd like to do."

"What?"

"Dinner and dancing."

She looked away again. I pulled her back to me. "You don't like to dance?"

"I'm not very good."

"So?"

She stared into my eyes. "I am a surgeon."

"Yes?"

"A very good surgeon."

"You don't like doing something you're not good at?"

"I want you to be impressed."

"So you want to take me to things neither of us will really enjoy in an attempt to convince me you enjoy art forms you don't really care that much about?"

I let her look away that time.

"Would you have fun dancing with me? If not, I'll come up with other ideas."

"Of course I would," she said. "But-"

"But what? You're a vascular surgeon. You just paid a very large amount of money for
three dates with me. Do you realize how many months I would have to work to earn that much money? Other than my retirement fund, which is doing okay, my bank accounts have about two thousand dollars total. I won't be impressed if you start throwing money around. I'll just feel inadequate. Is that what you want?"

She turned back to me. "Of course not."

"So, dinner and dancing." I paused. "When is the last time you've been to the north shore of Lake Superior?"

"I've never been there."

"So, a day trip to Gooseberry Falls. If it's nice, we can go hiking. It's a long drive. You'd have to talk to me for hours. Would you enjoy that?"

"Yes, but I don't know what we'd talk about."

"We'd find something. Then, hmm." I thought about it. "Dinner at my place. I'll cook. I'll have a variety of entertainment choices for after dinner." I paused. "None of them involve me getting naked though, all right?"

She smiled. "Those all sound wonderful."

"Excellent."

We finished our dinner, then got up. When we roamed into the first room, we discovered there was music being played by a DJ and a few people were dancing. I looked over at Gwendolyn and smiled.

"Would you care to dance, Pamela?" she asked me.

"I would love to."

By the time Bernard escorted me home, I was exhausted, but I had a nice time. Gwendolyn treated me very well. I could tell she wanted to kiss me good night. I almost let her, but then she shook my hand and turned away. I was actually a little disappointed. How silly.

I liked her. She was brilliant, of course, and she was more capable of a conversationalist than she thought. I just had to ask the right questions.

In the car, Bernard asked me if I was still angry
with Sam.

"Yes," I told him. "I can forgive her, after a fashion, but this has caused a rift, and that hurts quite a lot."

"You seemed to be having a nice time with Gwendolyn," he pointed out.

"Yes," I admitted. "But I was still tricked and feel deeply betrayed. She had plenty of opportunity to tell me. I don't understand why she would let me find out that way." I paused. "I don't know how to get past that. I don't know how this isn't going to damage our friendship."

He didn't have anything else to say about it. "You were very elegant tonight," he said instead. "And you set a record."

"That wasn't me," I said. "That was Moira and Gwendolyn. I still don't understand. Gwendolyn tried to explain, but her explanation doesn't make sense."

"Well, you are being gracious."

I inclined my head in recognition of the praise.

"I have a hard time believing neither of them is expecting sex, for the amount they are paying."

"They might be hoping. That's not the same as expecting."

"I'm going to disappoint them. I feel badly about that. I'll do my best, but I'm sure they're both going to be disappointed." Then I told him about my dates with Gwendolyn. "Should I have come up with better ideas?"

"No," he said, smiling. "Those are actually nice. You're really going to cook for her?"

"Yes. Is that a secret signal I should know about?"

He laughed. "No. Unless she starts talking about toaster ovens."

"Oh, I've already heard about that one," I said. "Convert a straight girl to gay and the lesbian headquarters sends you a toaster oven." I laughed. "So silly."

We arrived home with the conversation remaining light. Bernard walked me to the front door and waited for me to unlock it. We hugged and I kissed him on the cheek before he saw me into the house.

"Thank you, Bernard. You were great tonight."

"You're welcome, Pamela. Thank you for helping make our event such a success." He paused. "I know it was difficult. Try to forgive your friends."

"I'm trying, but there is a rift." I sighed. "Good night."

I closed the door behind him and leaned
against it. My home was small: three bedrooms, one and a half baths in a first ring suburb. My parents had helped with the purchase like they'd helped with so much else in my life. I could barely afford the payments, but it was home. I kept no animals, but I loved house plants.

I set my small purse down and walked into the bedroom. I carefully slithered out of the gown and hung it up in the closet, then removed the rest of the clothing before slipping on a boring pair of undies and a bathrobe. I moved to the bathroom and began removing makeup.

That's when I heard my front door open. I hadn't locked it.

"Pamela?" I heard Sam's voice from my living room.

"You scared the crap out of me!" I yelled. I stepped out of the bedroom and found Sam, Suzanne and Bonnie waiting for me in my living room. Bonnie was holding a bottle of wine. All three were still in their formal clothes from the gala. I felt underdressed in my bathrobe, but we'd all had slumber parties before, so it was no big deal.

"What?" I said, one hand on my hip. They better be here to grovel.

"It wasn't her fault," Suzanne said. "It was mine."

"You held a gun to her head and threatened to pull the trigger if she told me?"

"Will you let us explain?" she asked.

I sighed. "Fine. But right now there is a huge rift, and I don't know how I can ever trust any of you again."

"Can we sit? Open the wine?"

I looked between the three of them. Sam knew I was upset and looked exceedingly guilty. I couldn't read either Bonnie's or Suzanne's expressions.

"Fine," I said, grabbing a chair and curling up in it, my feet tucked under me. "Which of you thought this would be a fun joke to pull on me?"

"I'll open the wine," Bonnie said, heading to the kitchen. Sam and Suzanne took places on the sofa, leaving the other easy chair for Bonnie when she returned.

"No one thought of it as a joke," Sam said quietly.

"Pamela," Suzanne said. "We were in trouble. We had advertised twelve people, and every year we try to
include a woman who is a little exotic. We had two this year, and they both cancelled."

"Exotic? I couldn't be less exotic. Why me?"

"You're straight. That makes you exotic. You're attractive, and in that gown, you were ravishingly stunning. The way the auction went proves we were right about that."

I stared at her. "Digging your
hole deeper, Suzanne."

"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to say, you fit the role of exotic bachelorette number six. Will you grant that?"

I thought about it. "Fine. But you should have told me."

"I wanted to," Sam said. "Whenever your name came up, I said 'no'. Just like I did over dinner last week."

"She did," Bonnie said, coming back into the room with the wine and four wine glasses. She set the glasses down and began pouring. "She told us we weren't discussing it. But she was out of options, so I brought it up."

"And then you jumped on it," Suzanne said.

"I tried to stop you," Sam said. "But you gave me The Look. Pamela, I was screwing up the event, and I made a bad call. I should have ignored your look and told you, but you said 'yes', and I was so relieved, because I knew you would be great."

"She tried to call you later that night," Suzanne said. "A
nd I argued with her until it was too late to call you. Then I made sure everything made it to the printer before she could decide to ignore me and tell you anyway. Once it was at the printer, the cost of you cancelling was too high."