Эллен Шрайбер - Royal Blood

Cookies and cakes were spread out on a few banquet tables and I managed to gulp down a few, but Alexander passed, Alexander was as nervous as I was when I attended his parents' first dinner party. My boyfriend was used to being sequestered in a mansion, with Jameson and me as his only companions. Now he was in the midst of Dullsville's finest. Not only were there a lot of people, but his paintings were going to be sold in front of the entire town.

Outside the banquet hall, a table was set up for a silent auction fund-raiser, with such goodies as spa treatments, restaurant gift certificates, and discounts at Armstrong Travel.

As we approached the auction room, I grew anxious, too. This event could send Alexander packing his bags toRomania and me to my bedroom, grieving for the next ten years.

The auction room seemed like the ones I'd seen in movies. Lines of folding chairs were placed like pews in a church, facing a podium and an easel. We tried to slip in unnoticed, but for us that was impossible. Alexander and I grabbed two seats in the back, behind two tall club members, I was ready to kick anyone who scoffed at my boyfriend's artwork.

This was a huge night for Alexander. He wasn't used to being around so many people. He fidgeted in his chair and I clasped his hand reassuringly.

"If you are really uncomfortable, we can leave," I offered. "We don't have to stay."

"No. I'm not leaving" Alexander said. "And neither are you. We are staying to see this thing through."

Dullsville's elite began entering the room in full fanfare. Alexander was the only true royal one, but the club members entered as if they were expecting their names to be announced like kings and queens.

Jameson entered on the arm of Ruby White, his girlfriend, along with Janice Armstrong, her business partner and my former employer at Armstrong Travel Agency.

Mr. Mitchell, an older version of Trevor complete with moussed blond hair and khakis, arrived in the company of other millionaires and sat in the front row. Mr. Berkley came in a few minutes later and sat a few rows behind him.

With every person's entrance, my heart beat faster and my hands grew hotter.

My parents finally arrived and spent a fair amount of time greeting everyone they knew.

My mom eventually spotted us, and she and my dad came over.

"I think it's wonderful that you two came to the auction/' my dad said, shaking Alexander's hand.

"Maybe next year you can auction off your paintings, Alexander," my mom said.

"Sarah, we'd better get seats before it fills up," my dad suggested. "Good luck," they said, and found two empty chairs in the middle.

I felt a sudden commotion as members were focused onsomething out in the hallway.

Just then Mr. and Mrs. Sterling entered the room. Her open black and red umbrella was in hand, and she wore a skin-tight camisole dress and monster-size heels. Mr. Sterling walked in with his skull cane, wearing a suit, a flashy green tie, and his cape.

A huge smile spread across my face.

A few women fanned themselves with their auction signs. No one talked to the Sterlings , but everyone talked about them. Whispers ensued as the gossipmongers were in top form.

The members were very curious about the locals-who arrived with who and what they were wearing-and just as curious about the strangers' conservative fashion choices. The Sterlings upstaged everyone in their attire.

The only ones who greeted them were my parents and Mr. Berkley.

I held up my hand to wave them over, but Alexander quickly clutched it.

"I want us to be alone on this."

Mr. and Mrs. Sterling eventually sat next to Jameson and crew.

Finally, Mrs. Mitchell stepped up to the podium. "Welcome to our annual auction. In a moment, I'll bring out your auctioneer. We'll be presenting art in many of its forms- pottery, paintings, sculptures, and wood designs. Thank you all for coming tonight. Good luck and good bidding."

The auctioneer, an elderly gentleman dressed in a suit, came out to the podium. A volunteer placed a glass-blown vase be jeweled with sparkling gems on a table. Its image was enlarged on a video screen behind the podium.

I was on the edge of my folding chair.

Mrs. Mitchell read a brief description of the vase. "The bidding starts at five hundreddollars " "Five hundred dollars.That's a lot of moola !" I whispered.

" Shh."

"Whatever you do, don't raise your hand," I said, teasing. "No matter how much you want to buy it for me."

Alexander wasn't laughing. "I didn't price my work very high. Maybe I should have."

"Your paintings are much more valuable than a dumb vase."

Signs began to wave and the bidding price immediately soared. Within minutes the vase sold for over a thousand dollars.

"I wish I had something fancy to sell," I said, seeing dollar signs before my eyes. "I could make millions."

Even though I wasn't bidding, I got caught up in the frenzy. I could see why Dullsvillians waited all year for this event. It was like high-priced bingo, everyone waiting on the edge of their seats, wanting the glamorous prize, or hoping their item might make them millions-more than they already had, anyway.

A covered painting was brought to the easel. They unveiled it to a few gasps and whispers. It was a landscape of the country club itself.By Alexander. I was soproud, his artwork was displayed for all to see. No one even knew Alexander had painted it.

"This is a painting from a rising European artist," Mrs. Mitchell said. "There was little information about the artist, but as you can see, the work speaks for itself.A one-of-a-kind original painting. The artist states, 'The inspiration was the beauty that unfolds when I open my eyes in this town/ " The audience whispered and sat up as if they were eyeing a museum piece, "Bidding starts at five hundred/' the auctioneer began.

"Five hundred?"I heard someone say in front of us.

"I can't believe we're doing this. This whole thing is going to blow up in my face. I can kiss the Mansion and you good-bye," Alexander said in my ear.

"Five hundred is a steal," the person in front of me continued. "I bid seven hundred."

I turned to Alexander in amazement.

"Eight hundred," another said, holding up their sign.

"Nine hundred,"' still another shouted.

"Do I hear nine-fifty?" the auctioneer asked.

"A thousand," the first bidder answered.

"Eleven hundred?Do I hear eleven hundred?"

The second bidder held up her sign, "Fifteen hundred-" The signs went up until it reached two thousand dollars.

"Sold for two thousand," the auctioneer proclaimed, and slammed his gavel.

I grabbed my boyfriend and hugged him with all my might. Even though I knew Alexander's art was priceless, I was so proud his pictures commanded so much money. The most money I'd ever made in sales was three dollars from my chocolate milk stand in the middle of summer.

And my dad paid for it.

The members couldn't contain their comments and began to buzz about the painting.

The highest bidder was the president of the country club. "I'd like to hang it here in the club for all to see," he said proudly.

I was not only flabbergasted because Alexander's artwork sold for so much money but because my ghostly gothic vampire boyfriend's work was going to hang in Dullsville's conservative country club.

A piece of jewelry was shown next. Now I was fidgeting in my chair, anticipating anotherSterling painting going on the auction block.

After a six-foot-high sculpture of a mother and child was sold, a narrative quilt was auctioned off.

Then another covered painting was placed on the easel. When it was uncovered, it was revealed to be Dullsville'sMain Street .

"Another beautiful piece.It captures the charm that is our town," Mrs. Mitchell said.