“Good to see you too,” said Anders.
“I’m trying to find something to bid on,” he said. “Though I appear to be the only one.”
They made their way around the periphery of the gallery, Elijah declaring his opinions, mostly negative, in a loud falsetto. Anders absently scanned the photographs and paintings, keeping one eye out for the pair of women he’d spotted earlier. It never ended well for him when women united. If he was honest with himself, he was growing tired of the parade of beautiful creatures careening through his bedroom. Or rather, he was tired of himself. He had disappointed all of them. Not because he had broken any promises, but because he had refused to make any. He had offered them moments when they wanted months, years, marriages.
“You look lost in thought,” said Elijah. “Considering making a bid?”
Anders looked around. Most of the work here was impenetrable to him. It all looked like it had been made by computers. He bee-lined toward an oil painting of a nude woman. This one, at least, wasn’t bad. He liked that you could feel the painter’s presence on the canvas, the brushstrokes equal parts expressive and restrained. He leaned in closer to read the artist’s name. It was Cleo’s.
“What do you think of this one?” Anders asked.
Elijah pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned.
“Timid,” he declared. “Girlishly sentimental. I hate when you can look at a painting and just know it was done by a woman. Art should be unconstrained by the tropes of gender. Shame, really, because technically she’s pretty good.”
Shame for you maybe, thought Anders. You just talked your way out of a job.
“Well. Let’s get a drink,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t drink alcohol.” Elijah pressed his fingertips protectively to his chest. “I went to rehab for Adderall two years ago. Didn’t you read the bio on my site?”
Anders smiled without opening his mouth.
“Sparkling water then,” he said.
He spent the rest of the evening braced to run into Cleo. He scanned for her blond head among the crowd, felt the stomach twist of excitement when he thought he saw it, then the drop of disappointment when it was not her. After more plastic flutes of champagne than he could count, he bid on her painting. He offered twelve hundred, not much more than the last bidder, but enough to get the price up so she would sell at a respectable rate. He was surprised to receive an email the following day informing him that he’d won it. That afternoon at work, he got the call from her. Anders smiled at himself in the mirror above his desk as he pressed answer.
“Twelve thousand dollars,” she said. “What on earth is twelve thousand dollars supposed to mean?”
Anders was sure his reflection had physically paled.
“Is this Cleo?” he stammered.
“Is this your way of apologizing for what you did?”
His brain whirred to digest this new information. Twelve hundred. Twelve thousand. The placement of a decimal. Eight, ten, twelve glasses of champagne …
“I’m glad you’re sorry,” she continued. “You should be. But it’s been a year, and this—it’s pretty extreme.”
“How did … I thought the bidding was anonymous?”
“I couldn’t believe it when they told me.” Cleo laughed, ignoring him. “I even heard someone was contemplating outbidding you. Can you imagine? It’s like ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ All you need is one person to believe, and it’s true.”
“Well, I certainly believe in you.”
Anders was already recalibrating last night’s events to suit this new narrative. Perhaps he had meant to bid such a large sum. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but he could afford it, and it struck him now as charmingly spontaneous.
“Thank you, Anders. Really.”
He heard her sigh with satisfaction down the phone.
“What are you going to do with the money?” asked Anders. “Buy yourself something pretty?”
“It was a benefit auction, Anders. I don’t get the money. But it still looks good I sold for that much.”
“Who gets it then?”
“I think it goes to the Avian Society of Central Park.”
“What is that?”
“Bird conservationists.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. I gave twelve thousand dollars to a bunch of bird-watchers?”
“Apparently there are a couple of hawks that need protecting.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”