A Wicked Choice (10 page)

The big night finally arrived. I had kept myself busy throughout the day. I’d washed and dried the dishes after Cam left for work, did laundry, cleaned the cat bowls, scrubbed the toilet – anything to keep from thinking about the auction. When it was time to get ready, I’d taken another long, hot shower, re-washed my hair, shaved my legs, and even exfoliated my face. I took my time coaxing my hair into a smooth, shiny bob, with wispy bangs framing my face. It was only a matter of time before my hair chose to do its own thing, but at least I had a good start. Sliding my Vivienne Westwood Priestess asymmetrical dress up over my legs, I pushed my arms through the openings, and pulled up the zipper. I secured a gold belt around my waist. Scrutinizing myself in the mirror, I reached for an odd assortment of earrings to add that needed “quirk factor,” put just a touch of mascara on my lashes, and a dab of lip gloss, and I was ready. For what I did not know, but at least I looked alright.

Mac and Jack came by and rubbed my legs. “Protection?” I asked them.

Tonight especially
, they thought at the same time.

I shook my head and moseyed to the front door. I took one last look at the house, pivoting in a big circle, looked skyward, and then scampered down the steps of the front porch to my car.

When I arrived at the community center, the parking lot was still quite empty. Guests would not arrive for a couple of hours. I parked behind the back and sat thinking – more like procrastinating – for several minutes. My stomach was in a twisted knot. I could feel a tension headache starting to build momentum in my temples. Despite Cam’s assurance that everything would be okay, I did not feel any optimism about tonight…only dread. Finally, I took a deep breath, got out of the car, and resolutely marched up to the community center. I opened the back door and slipped in. Jill was just inside the door, talking to Mr. Dallas in low, hushed tones. When they heard the door slam shut, they both looked over at me. Jill gave a disapproving stare. Mr. Dallas’ lips pressed into a tight line and he said, “Not what I would have chosen.”

Jill added, “We asked you to wear something RACY, Chérie. Something designed to attract. This thing looks like a bag.”

Mr. Dallas
made a clucking noise with his tongue
. “Yes, dear, a bit lower cut was what we had in mind. This will have to do,” he said with a sigh, pushing his lower lip into a pout. “Turn around.”

My stomach clenched, but I did as I was told.

“My, my, you do have a lovely figure. Jill, darling, I think she can pull this off.”

Jill was now his darling? What about her husband? I stood there, uncertain what to do next. Jill lumbered over and reached towards the front of my dress. I backed up.

“Hold still. I want to make this lower in the front.”

I backed up even further. Mr. Dallas shuffled over to assist. I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to defend myself. I was like a deer in the headlights, fixed in place as the car rushed towards me. I wanted these two to stop pawing me. What was the big deal, anyway? It was the auction items
for sale, not me. People would buy that junk because they wanted to, not because I stood there looking like a dolled up dolt.

“Come here. Let me fix your dress.”

“My dress is f-f-f-f-fine, Jill, leave it alone,” I stammered. She moved in closer, extending her arm. As she did this, my skin seemed to ice over in alarm.

Just then someone called to Jill. “Mrs. Primcott, the phone is for you.”

She and Mr. Dallas both turned to see who was intruding on their merry play.

“You might want to come, too, Mr. Dallas, it’s the Mayor,” came the voice from around the corner.  Hearing that the Mayor was on the line, they scurried away like two fat rats.

I continued to stand there, still frozen, unable to move. My rabbit-like fright had taken over. My mouth was dry. My palms were sweating. God, I felt exposed and humiliated. I looked down at the place where Jill had grabbed my dress and tugged the neckline up as far as I could. On the floor lay my bag. With furtive haste, I rooted around until I found my favorite sweater, a wooly black number that looked and felt like pure comfort. I pulled it around my shoulders and tracked into the back room.

In the room behind the stage, where speakers and performers typically prepared to go onstage, folding tables had been set up all around. The tables were lined with all of the items that would be held up and auctioned off. Each one had a huge number next to it. A woman with a clipboard marched in and looked at me. “Are you Chérie?” When I numbly nodded, she said, “Here, take this clipboard. It has all the names and numbers of the pieces you will need to hand to the MC – Mr. Dallas, is it?” Again, I nodded meekly. “Okay, then. Familiarize yourself with these items and the order they are in.  Once the show starts, you will not have time to think. This is your time.”

I took the clipboard from her hands, eager to have a task to do. I sauntered around each of the tables, looking at all the odds and ends that people had donated for this event. There was an interesting painting of horses, faces in fury, as they made their way up a dry riverbed in a gallop. Their eyes were wild, lips curled back as they jostled about, and bodies gleaming with sweat. Some of them had their necks arched, thrust over the backs of the other horses. Others had their heads down low, as if in defeat. I knew what they felt like. Further down the table was a set of lamps – the kind my mother would die for. Not my taste. There was an envelope from a nearby travel agency. I pulled the contents half way out to find a certificate for a trip for two to Mexico. That could be cool. There was another for the Northgate Mall: a certificate for a shopping spree. That would be cool to purchase, too, if you got a great deal on it. I wandered about, looking at everything, picking up knife sets and Italian dinnerware sets, towels, paintings, and assorted bric-a-brac, wondering who would buy each piece. In the corner, was a brand new black Fisher Road bike with a fully carbon frame, built for the back roads. I could picture Cam and I flying through the trees on two of these.
Good donation!
I thought.

A half an hour before the show was to begin, I strode out to see the people milling about. Coming down the stairs at the side of the stage I saw Z, drink in hand. She saw me and waved. “Chér!” she yelled over the talkative guests.

I headed towards her until Mr. Dallas spotted me and came rushing over. His handkerchief was out, and he was dabbing at his dripping brow. Did that man ever have a sopping-free day? “This way, we need to go over the schedule. This is going to be a big event, and I have to make the right impression. The MAYOR is going to be here,” he said, puffing up his chest.

He turned, expecting me to follow. I looked over at Zuri, pointed to Mr. Dallas, and she nodded, pinching her nose between her fingers. Then she thrust out her tongue and aimed her index finger towards her throat. Next, her hands wrapped around her stomach, and she mock heaved. Those gestures made me laugh. I was glad she was here.

In the back room, Mr. Dallas fussed and fumbled over his script, telling me when to come on stage, how to hand him the auction items, how to pick them up again. He said I was to remain next to him at all times. I furrowed my brow and asked him how I could get the next auction piece if I had to stand there next to him. “Good point, good point.” He nodded his head up and down like a bobble head doll. “Okay, then, you’ll stand next to me, pause, and then go away to get the next piece. Now, go get the first one. We’re about to begin.”

The night proceeded in a blur. Make my way to the back room, pick up number one, come back out onto the stage, hand it to Mr. Dallas. He’d beam and bellow, like a ringmaster at a circus. I’d pause, watching him through squinty eyes. Go into the back room, pick up number two, walk back. Pause. At least it allowed me to move my body. Every once in a while Mr. Dallas would stride over to me and put his arms around my shoulders like we were old friends. I’d stiffen, but he didn’t notice. He just carried on with his banter until he felt it appropriate to release me.

As the night wore on and the auction items sold, Mr. Dallas seemed to swell up like a Bantam rooster in a pen full of horny hens. His upper body expanded, while his belly draped dangerously over his pants, threatening to pop his pants button. In my typical imaginative way, I pictured the pants pushing with all their might against the zipper. “Must…get…some…air…” Then, I pictured the button flying, the zipper bursting, and Mr. Dallas’ pants dropping with a gasp to the floor. At this thought, I laughed out loud. Mr. Dallas looked over at me and glowered.

“Will you fetch the next piece?” he asked, eyebrows pressed into a V above his eyes.

At last, the night was over. Mr. Dallas and Jill were talking animatedly to the Mayor at the front of the room. I found Z in the crowd, talking with two men. It figured.

“Hi, Chér!” she said excitedly. “You looked fantastic up there!”

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Chér, meet my two new friends, Dave and Mike. Dave and Mike, this is my best friend, Chérie.” She beamed at them with a seductive smile and pulled me next to her.

I smiled politely, extending my hand. I knew this game that Z was playing. She was sizing up the playing field to see which player had the right stuff. The man called Dave looked at me appraisingly. “Hi, there,” he said smoothly. “Zuri’s right – you looked hot up there on stage.”

This guy would not make the cut. Any guy who paid attention to me instead of her was off the team.

Z said, “Chérie teaches aerobics here. Her BOY-friend works at an office downtown.”

“Oh,” was all he said, turning away from me.

I heard Jill yelling to me from across the room. I looked over, and she gestured that I should come over to where she, Mr. Dallas, and the Mayor were standing.  I told Dave and Mike it was nice to meet them, gave Z a big hug, and made a beeline for the trio.

After introductions with the Mayor, I went into the back to retrieve my things. The night had not started out well, but overall, it was not the disaster I had feared. Just when I had slung my bag over my shoulder, I heard a sound. I looked over my shoulder to see Mr. Dallas heading right for me.

“Chérie, I want to thank you for all the good work you did tonight. I’d like to take you out for a drink to express my appreciation.”

“No, thank you,” I replied. Mother Clarice had at least taught me manners.

“I insist,” he replied.

“No, thank you. I’ve got to get home to see my BOY-friend.” I tried emphasizing the boy part the way Z had done.

“I won’t keep you out long. It’s my tradition to thank the women who work with me.”

I felt my stomach start to lurch. Couldn’t he take no for an answer?

“I…really, I’ve got to go home now. It’s late.”

“I insist,” he said, slithering closer to me.

My eyes darted right and left as I looked for my escape. As he approached, I backed into the wall.

“N-n-no,” I said.

“I insist,” he said again. Now, his eyes looked sinister, black with immoral intent. He put one hand on either side of my head, pressing his sausage-like palms into the wall. “I said I want to thank you.”

He was so close; I could smell his stale breath laden with cigarettes, breath mints, musty beer, and something equivalent to mushroom fungus. With his arms raised up on either side of me, I got a birds-eye view of his middle-aged crop of wiry nose and ear hair. His odor was sour and foul, like a garbage dump on a hot Walla Walla afternoon, complete with pin wheeling seagulls. His heaving belly was pressed up against me, and I could feel my tummy getting wet from the profuse amount of sweat pouring from his body. He leaned in for a kiss. I whirled my head to the side and glued my lips tightly together.

“Now, sugar plum…” He bent his knees slightly and rocked his pelvis forward, releasing it from the captivity of his huge girth. I could feel him, small and rigid underneath his pants, pressed into my hip. I started to scream. His huge paw of a hand clamped over my mouth, while his other unzipped his pants. “Don’t make a fuss, dear, this will be our little secret.”

Now my eyes were wild like the picture of that horse I had looked at earlier. Panicked, with no way out, I began to slowly drift away, like I used to do, during sexual encounters with pimply teenage boys. Suddenly, the door flew open and banged against the wall with a loud THWACK.

“What are you doing? Get away from her!” Zuri ran in the room and shrieked.

Mr. Dallas backed away, putting his hands in the air, as if he were being arrested. He zipped up and tugged at his crotch to ‘adjust things.’

“Don’t worry, love; Chérie and I were just having a little private conversation.”

“That’s not what I saw,” Zuri said, spitting out the words like snake venom. “Now get…away…from…my…friend.”

Jill burst around the corner, her body quivering like a bowl of Jell-O. “What is going ON in here? What’s the commotion?”

Mr. Dallas replied, “Jill, darling, I was just about to come and get you so we could toast the evening over a drink.” He hobbled over to her and gave her shoulder a pat. “I was just thanking Chérie for her wonderful work tonight.”

“He was not…” said Zuri, but Jill interrupted her.

“Well, then Joe, I think we’d better let these two get their things and leave. I don’t trust them. Girls?” She looked over at us with small, pig-like eyes peppered with hatred. Her head seemed to grow larger, that bizarre black halo I had seen before appearing around her hair. This effect made her tautly pulled face appear even more sinister than usual.