A fleet of town cars shuttle the guests to the party venue. According to Trevor, every party is set up at a different location, to give the whole thing an air of mystery and illicitness. It is funny to think of the rich and powerful gathered here playing pretend at being disaffected teenagers hosting underground raves at abandoned warehouses, but then again, given what is going on, perhaps it isn’t a bad idea to keep the event under wraps.

I come into the main room as it is filling up. Despite the cavernous space, there still seem to be a lot of people gathered here. I grab a whiskey from the bar and do my best to avoid getting drawn into any conversations. Instead, I walk a circuit around the room. I notice a number of new faces, people who weren’t at the pre-party. They must be the ones who will be bid on. It is easy to see why. All are beautiful, each are different. It is as if every possible taste are catered to. I scan everyone in the room, but I don’t see her.

Emma Taylor with her unused Classics degree and her striking green eyes. I find it odd that I am filled with so much desire for a girl I saw for a few minutes at a bar. Maybe it is just the competitive environment, the idea that someone could take her away from me, that is driving me. I do my best to avoid competition, it can bring out the worst in me. I never compete in sailing races or give any thought to who wins design awards. I’ve won several, but I don’t really care. I try to focus on things I am passionate about, to be driven by true desire and not just the desire to win. I worry that this Emma Taylor is going to draw me into a place I don’t want to go.

And yet, I am certain that no matter what, I am going to have her.

A bell rings out over the sound system and the music fades to silence. The lights dim around the outside of the room, shining bright only on the center stage. The milling crowd all turn to face the stage. The crowd offers a smattering of applause as a woman crosses the room and climbs the stairs to stand on the elevated circle.

“Welcome,” she intones in a voice amplified by the speakers surrounding the room. “We are ready to begin. If you would all please take your seats. You will find a tablet there upon which you can make your bids.” People start moving toward the broader circle of chairs that surround the stage. I take a seat in the back row and turn on the small tablet computer on the seat. The camera flicks on and then the screen comes to life. It flashes ‘Welcome Blake.’ They must have programmed these with facial recognition. I don’t remember getting scanned for anything, but I guess they were able to set it up from pictures or maybe they did it surreptitiously at the pre-party. The people running this party are definitely sophisticated.

“As soon as everyone is seated, we can begin.” The woman on stage stands patiently, clasping her hands in front of her and turning in a small circle. I get the distinct sense of being in an elementary school classroom as the teacher waits quietly for the children to settle down. There is a palpable excitement in the room. I can’t help but feel caught up in it. This is something I’ve never done before and I have to admit, to myself at least, that I am a little apprehensive.

Satisfied, the woman walks off the stage and music comes up over the speakers.

“Grace Jones,” a voice calls out over the thumping music. A stunning young woman walks up the stairs and stands in the middle of the stage. Her dark brown skin glows against her gold trimmed black dress. My tablet’s screen changes to a short bio of the woman, just like at the pre-party only now there is a button on the screen to enter a bid and a running counter showing the current high. I watch with curiosity as the bid moves up, thousands of dollars ticking by.

Grace takes a slow walk around the circular stage, ensuring that all of the seated guests have a good look at what they are bidding on. She is beautiful, no doubt, but I am only interested in one item at this auction.

The bidding slows and then comes to a stop at forty-one thousand dollars. A timer pops up and counts down from ten. No further bids come in and a small bell sounds over the music. Grace exits the stage and another woman comes up in her place. The process starts over again.

Finally, after a steady stream of attractive women and men have been up to the stage, Emma’s name is called. I sit forward in my chair. The tablet screen flickers and I see her face pop up. Then, the real thing steps lightly onto the stage. She looks different from when I saw her at the bar the other night. Just as beautiful, but more refined, more elegant. I feel a hunger deep inside of me, like I haven’t eaten for days. Her auburn hair falls in loose curls on her bare shoulders. There is a luminance in her green eyes that is more than just the reflection of the stage lights.

I tap in my opening bid. Five thousand. I am quickly outbid. Seven thousand. I can’t see who is bidding against me, but I am sure it is the man I overheard earlier. Well, I did not come here to lose. Ten thousand. Twelve thousand. Emma walks a slow circuit around the stage. I can see in her face that she is a little uneasy. I wonder if she is aware of the furious bidding for her that is going on just below. Another bidder ups the price again, fifteen thousand. The bid continues to jump. I am not going to lose her. Thirty-five thousand. I wasn’t planning on spending this much, but I can’t help it. I want her, and I don’t want anyone else to have her instead of me. The bids keep coming in and I keep responding with more and more. The number on my tablet stops at my last bid. I wait. The countdown appears. It ticks down slowly, too slowly. Finally, it reaches zero. Winning bid – eighty-three thousand dollars. More than I expected, but no matter. She’s mine.