Chapter 4
Molly
My eyes lock on the tray of tiny cheesecake samples at the grocery store. Do I like cheesecake?
The lady behind the bakery counter points to the toothpicks. "Try one. We've got blueberry, strawberry, cherry, chocolate ganache swirls, salted caramel … Something for everyone."
I hesitate. The flavors are all familiar, so why can't I remember if I like cheesecake? My mind is blank.
But there are two flavors I’ve learned I don’t like. Brussels sprouts won’t be a problem here. “Are any of them apple flavored?”
“Sorry, no.”
“That’s a good thing. Apples make me gag.”
With that out of the way, cheesecake seems like a great way to console myself while my three closest friends are at the Christmas Cherry Auction.
Taking a toothpick, I poke a cherry sample and cautiously bring it to my lips. Very few adults wouldn't know if they like cheesecake so I'm prepared to control my reaction.
The creamy morsel melts on my tongue. Oh! My eyes flutter shut. I love cheesecake. I toss the used toothpick into the trash can and grab a sampler tray to take home.
The baker waves. "Enjoy."
In the beverage aisle, my gaze drifts over every color of soda can possible. Nothing seems right.
A flicker of a memory hints that a White Russian would hit the spot, but no ID means no booze.
I'm stuck in limbo, not knowing how old I am. My memories indicate I've enjoyed alcohol, but every memory seems to be at a friend's house, never in public.
I should've nudged Jolene or Starla for help securing alcohol. Too late now.
Sparkling cider it is. I snag a bottle, the gold, shimmery label lifting my spirits.
I load my treats onto the belt at the checkout line. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out—someone from the Aubergine Affair is calling. My heart skips a beat as the cashier scans my items.
The Aubergine Affair is the sex club where the auction is being held.
I swipe to answer while counting out dollar bills for the cashier.
"Molly? It's Laz, with the Christmas Cherry Auction."
"Hi." I grab my bags and step away from the checkout.
"Look, we had a mix-up on our end. You should have gotten an invite. Roxy—one of the originals—has an extra dress if you want in."
Me? In the auction?
I glance at my sweatpants and baggy sweatshirt. My knees go weak. I lean against the dog food display that runs along the front wall of the store. My hands shake so much, I set the bag with the cider down before I drop it.
Fresh start. Tonight. Let the Christmas Cherry Auction work its magic for my future.
"Molly? You there?"
"Yeah, sorry." I can't get too excited. "I want to do it, but there's something I need to tell you."
"If you're in, I have programs to reprint. Can it wait?"
"No."
The cashier catches my attention. "You okay?"
I nod, grab my bag, and move to the end of the dog food display, away from anyone who might hear.
"What's so urgent?"
"Nobody knows this, but I have amnesia. I don't know if I'm a virgin."
An elderly lady grabs a small bag of dog food then steps away, no indication she heard what I said. Still, my confession hangs out there. Telling him about my amnesia is freeing.
I chuckle over that part being a bigger deal to me.
Laz pauses, then laughs low, not mocking—intrigued. "Interesting twist. So, no memories of sex?"
"None."
"In a way, that qualifies you for the Cherry Auction."
"Are you sure? My lack of memory doesn't mean much. I don't even remember my name. I just picked Molly."
"This could be fun." His confidence anchors me, pulls me from the spiral. "Sorry you're dealing with that mess, truly. But if you're willing to let the bidders know about your amnesia, I'm fine with it."
"You sure that's okay? It's not an auction foul?" I'm so worried about getting my hopes up, I'm scared to get excited. With each passing day, week, and now month, I lose a little more hope that I'll ever know who I was, but I need to focus on moving forward. I need to let myself live.
"We've got Jolene up there as a mom—why not an amnesia victim?"
Victim? Hearing someone else say it solidifies how much I want to be more than my amnesia. More than the past I lost. I want to be… me. And it's time I have fun with who she is. I play off his victim comment. "More like a freak than a victim."
"Freak, that'll draw the bidders in for sure."
Disbelief bubbles up. "I can't believe you're letting me do this."
"Why not? Track record's perfect—every woman in the auction has found her happily ever after, and it sounds like you've been through enough. You deserve a happily ever after."
"It'll take me an hour to get home then to the club."
"The other three women are getting ready. Can you come straight here?"
I glance at my bags. "Sure. Got cider and cheesecake to celebrate."
He dives into contract basics. It's surreal as I head toward the exit. The control is mine: veto the winner if it doesn't feel right, and no commitment required beyond club sex.
My girlfriends filled me in on the history of the auction though and Laz sounds like a fairy godfather, waving his wand over women's fates.
I have my keys in hand before I get to my car. Thank god I didn't get hit. I forgot to check both ways even though the cars are supposed to stop on either side of the entrance.
"Nikki! Wait up!" a very muscular, sexy guy calls to someone. No time to ogle. I'll have my reverse harem by the end of the evening.
My car's engine rumbles to life, and I zip out of the parking lot. Crap. I know the general direction of the club, but not the whole route.
I'm usually a stickler for not being a distracted driver since that may be what caused a driver to hit me while I was out on a jog… at least that's the puzzle pieces that fit together.
Careful to only divert my eyes to my phone one second at a time, I get a map pulled up.
Tonight, I take control of the rest of my life.
No waiting for my prince to come. If I had one, he should have done that when I was in the hospital.
Turning the radio up, I hype myself for a special evening, and to keep from going down the spiral of why nobody looked for me when I was at the hospital or the woman's shelter.
My mind races ahead: the stage, the bids, eyes on me like I'm the prize. Virgin or not, it doesn't matter. Laz is right. This becomes my first. The first night of the rest of my life.
Waiting for the light to turn green, I glance at myself in the rear view mirror. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall…" Or windshield… close enough. "This is the woman who wants it all."