Page 7 of Hockey Heart

It felt good as we walked up to the Glass House with the rest of the glamorous crowd. With the flashing cameras and the carpet rolled out, it was like we were really a part of that elite set, even if only for a short-lived moment.

“Oh look! That’s Randall Jackson with Georgia Moss,” Kensy said in a hushed voice, her eyes leading the way as we approached the carpet. A flash of photographer’s lights boomed around us like fireworks exploding. Kensy’s curtsy in front of the camera crowd got a less fanatical reaction with one tepid camera flash that left us laughing at each other.

Inside, we both scooped a glass of champagne from apassing tray and watched the gaggle of people in expensive clothes having loud and jovial conversations. We were like ghosts in that room. No one even looked twice at us, let alone spoke to us. I was thankful when, finally, the lights dimmed for the start of the auction, my anxiety and feeling of imposter syndrome having started to climb toward dangerous levels. I really didn’t want to stand there and be ignored all night.

We all looked toward the stage as the presenter walked out. An impossibly smooth-skinned older man, with hair that was too black to be untreated, I couldn’t help but see him as entirely gray underneath.

“Oh, I know him! He was on that show… Blue Bloods or SVU or something…” Kensy told me.

“Daniel Day-Lewis was busy tonight, so instead they got the man who taught him everything he knows…” the man began, flashing an impeccable white smile at us all, then working his way through an introduction that mostly focused on how we should all be giving away as much of our money as possible. The wives and younger men in the room seemed delighted with this, while the older crowd looked dryly and solemnly ahead, sensing their wallets were in danger.

“Onto our first auction item of the night, please raise your checkbooks for… Solly Ricek!”

Solly walked out uncomfortably to a round of applause that made my heart beat faster. A nervous expression stretched across his pale face. Looking to my right, I saw a gorgeous woman standing in an open-backed dress by the stage. Her slim tan arms were crossed, glaring directly at him. Solly tried to soften her glare with a small pleading smile, but seeing him flash his teeth at her only seemed to make her even more mad.

I nudged Kensy and nodded my head toward the woman.

“Uh-oh, Solly’s getting in trouble,” she said, her expression one of amused delight.

“So. Who’s going to start us off?” The announcer boomed from the stage.

“Two bucks!” someone yelled out to a ripple of laughter.

“Fifty!”

“Two hundred!” A plump, bespectacled older lady in a cardigan near us shouted enthusiastically.

“Five hundred.” The open-backed goddess said flatly, still staring furiously at poor Solly.

“A thousand.” The woman in the cardigan yelled. She was all riled up now, like she was watching her horse winning the Kentucky Derby. Hopping from foot to foot, all sweaty and buzzed up on the excitement.

“Two.” the scorned woman responded.

“Five!” came the immediate response from next to us.God, she was in it to win it, I thought. This was going to be interesting.

The Goddess paused, wavered a moment, then found whatever resolve she needed and plowed ahead.

“Six.”

“Seven!”

“Eight.”

“Ten! Ten thousand!” The Cardigan was jumping with excitement now, her face red and flushed with the rush. On the stage, Solly gulped nervously.

“Twelve.”

“Fifteen!”

The Goddess threw a dirty look over her shoulder at the Cardigan, but the Cardigan was only looking at Solly.

“Twenty,” she said, emotionless.

“Twenty-five!”

“Thirty.”

“Fifty!”

---