Finding Sunshine (4 page)

~::~::~::~

“I fuckin’ hate my job!” Jordan announces as she walks into the apartment the next evening. This is the same nightly greeting I’ve gotten for the past month. Don’t even get me started about what I heard all through dinner last night!
The same darn complaint, said fifteen different ways, a hundred times over.

“Bad day?” I ask halfheartedly, as I continue to clean up the mess in the living room, from where I’d been working all day. Applying to jobs and also submitting photographs to various publications and contests.

“They fuckin’ hate me. I swear my boss has it out for me, just because I’m smarter than him. He knows I could do his job better than he can,” she rants on imperiously, throwing off her coat and dropping her purse onto the kitchen counter. Jordan has a habit of thinking she’s all that and a bag of chips. I’m not denying that she’s intelligent, and has the degree to support it, but she’s no Rhodes scholar by any stretch of the imagination.

“Then start applying for another jobs,” I offer the obvious choice.
If you’re truly miserably, why wouldn’t you make an effort to change your circumstances?

It’s common sense!

“It’s not that simple,” she complains, grabbing a diet soda from the fridge and moving into the living room to flop down on the sofa.

“I never said it was, but if you don’t start looking, you’ll never find anything.”

The situation reminds me of a story Dad told me once about a man who kept praying that he’d win the lottery, and finally one day, God answered him saying exasperatedly, ‘Go buy a ticket.’

God helps those who help themselves.

I try to remember this when I get upset and discouraged about the current state of my career,
or lack thereof
, and am crying into my pillow.

“Where are you going tonight?” Jordan asks, seeming annoyed as I walk around the living room throwing my keys, wallet and camera into my messenger bag.

“It’s the Valentine’s Day Date Auction at
St. Andrew’s
tonight,” I answer her, picking up my dirty dishes and moving into the kitchen. Becca had extended the invitation for Jordan to participate in the event, but she turned her nose up at the idea, saying she wouldn’t have anything to do with the archaic representation of women as a commodity to be bought and sold, ignoring the fact that the date auction also includes men for women to bid on.

The only thing the participants are buying is the right to spend the rest of the evening in your company—
safely at the club, with plenty of witnesses
—not to mention, Richard has also vetted all of the bidders. Realistically, it’s probably the safest first date I’ll ever go on.

“You’re going like that?” Jordan asks, turning her nose up at my leggings and oversized Patriots
sweatshirt.

“No. Becca and I are changing together at the club.” I laugh, thinking if she could only see what I’m planning on wearing, or rather the lack of what I’ll be wearing. The almost sheer Greek goddess-style draping dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination, and is not something I’d usually wear. When Becca and I went shopping last week, she somehow talked me into buying it.

“I can’t believe you’re going out on a Thursday night. It’s a good thing you don’t have a job to get to tomorrow,” she says, the cruel words hitting a little to close to home.

“Lucky me,” I retort, sitting down on the sofa to pull on my boots. I bite back the nasty retort of,
At least men want to have sex with me.

“Are you coming home tonight?” Jordan asks, as I begin tugging on my jacket, gloves and hat.

“We’ll see what the night brings,” I reply nonchalantly, as I grab my bags and head towards the door.

“Just be quiet when you come in. Some of us have to work tomorrow,” Jordan says, as I shut the door on her negativity and make my way downstairs to catch the train to
St. Andrew’s
.

~ Aaron ~

Walking into the club, I’m energized by the warm vibe surrounding me. I can’t help but smile at seeing so many familiar faces, and feeling as if I belong.

All week it has been cold, snowy, and miserable at
The Pint
. Every afternoon there seemed to be some altercation, and I’m beginning to wonder if working there is really worth the money. If it wasn’t an argument between two junkies, it was an eye-scratching, hair-pulling cat fight between two hookers over a sweaty beer-bellied John I wouldn’t let touch me with a fifty foot pole.

I have no desire to join in the shadier aspects of the business, having moved on from my wayward past. They aren’t people I want to be friends with, let alone be in a partnership with, and I trust the owner, Luc King, as much as I trust a campaigning politician.
Fucking not at all!

Maybe it’s time I take Richard’s advice, move in with Sarah, and take him up on his job offer, or start looking for more work at other animal shelters.

If I’m honest with myself, I stay mainly because I have this need to be a part of something.
I’m a joiner.
I know that seems strange. I have no desire to completely join them, and I’ve been M.I.A. with my friends. I can’t explain my need to hide within myself, yet still desire to be a part of something bigger than myself—to contribute somehow.

Walking into the obscenely decorated club, with its pink and red heart balloons, confetti strewn on the floor, streamers hanging from every possible surface, and music pumping through the speakers, I feel oddly and completely at home.
How many nights have I spent here, dancing, drinking, spending time with my friends and making new ones?

Even though I brought my checkbook I don’t plan on bidding on any dates. I just want to absorb the atmosphere, the feelings of excitement and playfulness that are pulsating in the air.

“Aaron, you’re late.” I hear and turn to see my friend, Arthur coming up behind me.

“I must be, if you’re here before I am,” I tease my perpetually late friend, as we slap each other’s backs in greeting. It feels good to be back among my friends—good people. It makes me feel
alive
again.

Arthur’s a great guy, but he’s the type that would be late for his own funeral. Whenever the tall, broad-shouldered Hawaiian is late, he claims he’s on
‘
aloha time.’ His laid-back attitude, however, doesn’t extend to his job as a local firefighter. He’s rumored to be one of the next and youngest district fire chiefs in the department. Here at the club, his regular appearance in the yearly firefighters fundraising calendar has woman clambering for his attention. With no plans to settle down any time soon, he’s happily making his way through the women who throw themselves at him. He makes no apologies for being a man-whore, and the women all know what they’re getting in hooking up with him.

“Good to see you, man. I’m glad you’re back. I hope you’ve come here to be social tonight,” he says, grabbing us each a flute of pink punch from a passing waitress. “Thanks, darling.”

“It’s good to be back, and yes, I plan on having a good time,” I laugh, sipping the effervescent concoction warily. Not only is it sickeningly sweet, but also is clearly nonalcoholic.

I need a beer.

“Good. Get back in the saddle and all that,” he says encouragingly. “Acquire skill, and make it deep.”

“Still spouting that shit?” I ask him, chuckling. Arthur enjoys throwing out random proverbs, usually Hawaiian.

“
La’i lua ke kai
.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“’The sea is very calm. All is peaceful.’”

“You sound like a fuckin’ prick.”

“
Mahalo
,” he replies smiling brightly, thanking me for the insult.

Looking around the large, open entryway we’re standing in, Arthur leans over and whispers in my ear, “It looks like Cupid had the shits in here.”

“I wouldn’t let Richard hear you say that,” I say grinning, thinking that the decorations were most likely Becca’s creations, and he wouldn’t like anyone complaining about her hard work.

“True. I don’t want to be blacklisted from the club,” he laughs, sipping his drink and then smiling at it. Clearly, he likes the sugary concoction.

“This is disgusting,” I say holding the glass at arm’s length. “I’m going to grab a beer.”

“Okay, we’ll catch up later.” He waves me off, his eyes already roaming the hall for some new female conquest.

I walk through the vestibule into the large room where the bar is located, taking in the atmosphere as I move through the familiar club. As I make my way across the room, several people greet me. I also notice there are many new faces.

The historic church had been set to be demolished, but the owners saved it from ruins and renovated it. From the outside, the building simply looks like any other repurposed church, with the original St. Andrew's sign still hanging above the door. Inside, many of the features you’d expect to see in the church are still there, from the raised altar which houses the dance floor, to the choir balcony where the V.I.P. seats are located. The basement holds Richard’s office, a large kitchen and several other large meeting rooms.

“Aaron, good to see you.”

“John, how’s it going, man?” I ask the smiling bartender.

“Can’t complain. What can I get you?”

“Sam Adams, please,” I say, taking a seat on one of the empty stools, and place my barely touched glass of punch off to the side.

“Richard mentioned you were thinking about joining us for a few shifts,” John says a few minutes later as he sets my beer in front of me. “It’d be good to have someone here who knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

“Thanks.” I laugh, taking a long sip from the refreshing, cold glass. “Yeah, Richard offered me a few hours, until I find something more permanent.”

"Did someone say my name?" Richard asks, coming up to the bar.

"Only in vain," I answer him, to which he laughs and slaps my back affectionately.

“I was just telling Aaron, it’d be good to have him join us here,” John says, wiping down the bar top and picking up my discarded punch.

“Does that mean you’re going to take me up on my offer?” Richard asks, giving me an assessing stare.

“Thinkin’ about it,” I say honestly, grabbing a few of the mixed nuts from the bowl in front of me and popping them in my mouth.

“Glad to hear,” Richard says, and I can detect a hint of relief in his voice.

“I hope you plan on bidding tonight. There are several sweethearts up for auction,” John says, glancing over the clipboard of names he’d set on the bar top.

What the fuck is it with everyone?

Do I look that desperate to be in a relationship?

“I had only planned on having a few drinks and catching up with everyone,” I chuckle into my beer.

“It’s for a good cause,” Richard interjects.

“Charity, or my love life?” I quip back, smiling. Turning toward Richard, who’s next to me chuckling, I punch him in the arm.

“Did you look at the website? See anyone you’re interested in?” Richard asks eagerly, referring to the biographical information that is listed on the club’s website, describing each of the participants being auctioned off tonight.

“No, I didn’t have time.” I say, when in reality, I don’t plan on participating in the auction, so I hadn’t bothered looking.

“I told you to look and read some of the women’s bios. There are some real catches this year,” he says, disgruntled.

“And I told
you
, I’m not here to bid on a date. I’ll buy some raffle tickets and support your cause—but that’s it.”

“Well, you’re lucky to have me in your corner,” he says undeterred. Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a crumbled piece of paper.

“I am?” I ask, rolling my eyes and taking another handful of nuts.

“Yes, asshole, because I’ve made a list of three women I think would suit you,” he says excitedly, smoothing out his paper on the bar.

I know he just wants me to be happy, to have what he has found with Rebecca.
But
why do I have to be best friends with a fucking bossy romantic?

“I’ve made a list here of the women and their basic info, but I think—”

“Speaking of women, where is Rebecca?” I ask, interrupting him, suddenly realizing that his wife isn’t with him. Normally when they’re at the club, they’re literally attached at the hip.

“She’s getting ready downstairs with some of the other women,” he says, still looking over his list.

“What! You’re letting your wife be auctioned off?” I ask, completely astounded.

“No. I mean yes," he says smiling and shaking his head. “It’s all part of our fun tonight. I’m going to bid on her, and it’ll be like meeting for the first time.”

“You two are crazy, you know that, right?” I ask, grinning back at him.

“It’s our anniversary today,” he says nonchalantly.

“That's right! Happy anniversary!” I say excitedly, slapping his shoulder.

“Thanks, man.”

“I guess romance isn't dead,” I tease, and John, who’d by now made his way back over towards our end of the bar, laughs.

“I’ve been planning this for months,” Richard says with obvious eagerness in his voice.

Forgetting all about his matchmaking, he spends the next fifteen minutes, while I drink my beer, describing in detail all of the romantic plans he has for Rebecca tonight. Although technically it’s his job to run the event, Richard has some local celebrity newscaster emceeing the live auction, and the club’s event coordinator, Macy, is seeing that the rest of the evening runs smoothly.

“We better go sign into the auction and get our numbers,” Richard says excitedly after checking his watch.

I decide to humor him, if for no other reason than wanting to watch him bid on his own wife. Plus, it might be fun to counter his bid at least once. Just to pay him back for being an annoying, pushy, controlling, asshole.
Who I happen to love like a brother.

The church’s altar, which is usually a dance floor, has been set up like a stage. Bright lights illuminate the area, which looks like a bomb of confetti and balloons has gone off.

“How many of these balloons did you have to blow up?” I ask Richard, grinning. We have checked in, received our bidding numbers—mine being twelve—and are now standing off to one side of the stage.

“Thank fuck for balloon inflators. Best investment we ever made. My poor lips would’ve been useless afterwards, and I know how much my woman enjoys them,” he says, wagging his eyebrows.

“Well, let’s hope someone doesn’t outbid you,” I tease.

"They can try," he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Suddenly, the house lights dim slightly, and the celebrity newscaster struts across the stage to the pulpit, ending our conversation.

“Welcome to the fourth annual Valentine's Day Date Auction,” she says in a loud, commanding voice.

"The main objective of this event each year is to raise money for a worthy cause, and to hopefully bring together compatible singles. Who knows, one of you might go on your last first date tonight,” she says excitedly. “It can happen. The manager of
St. Andrew’s
, Richard, won a date with his wife, Rebecca, during our first auction. And if I'm not mistaken, tonight is their anniversary.”

There is a loud outbreak of applause for the two. Turning to look at my friend, I see him beaming with happiness. Several of the surrounding regulars, including myself, pat him on the back in congratulations. I had completely forgotten that this was how he and Rebecca had finally gone on their first date. No wonder he’s so keen for me to participate.

“For those of you who are new this year, or those of you who’ve forgotten, there are several rules. Winning entitles you to spending the evening in the person’s company, here within the club’s perimeters. At the stroke of midnight, the date is over, and it is up to both parties if information is exchanged for further contact.”

“Good luck, everyone. I think there is love in the air tonight!” she says exuberantly. “First up, we have Melody.”

A pixie-cut blonde skips out in a short, red dress. I recognized her as a regular I’d had drinks with a year or two ago.

“Melody is a twenty-seven year old marine biologist, who enjoys scuba diving, rock climbing, and Zumba. Men only, sorry ladies. The bidding starts at fifty dollars.”

“Fifty,” someone I don’t recognize says from across the room.

“Sixty,” counters Williams, another firefighter I’ve known for several years.

“Seventy,” the unrecognizable man replies.

“One hundred,” Williams says loudly, clearly wanting to put and end to the competition.

“Going once, going twice, sold for one hundred dollars to number seventeen.” The auctioneer says, smiling. “Please come forward and collect your date.”

I watch as Melody excitedly skips down the steps to meet Williams, clearly happy about the outcome.