12. Stuart #2
My smile widens as she nears. She’s a special lady who’s been a close friend of our family for as long as I can remember.
That’s why to me, she’ll always be Aunt Jen, even though we’re not actually related.
When she reaches the podium, I sandwich her hand between mine, giving her a peck on the cheek.
Addressing the audience, she says, “Thank you for being here. This issue is particularly close to my heart because I lost a family member due to the pollution of a river near my grandparents’ farm.”
A wave of gasps crosses the room.
She continues, “Shocking, isn’t it? But it’s true.
When my cousins and I were young, we played in the river adjacent to their farm.
We never gave it a second thought. The water was clear.
We could see the pebbles underfoot. It was safe.
At least, that’s what we thought. We were so wrong.
The farmer across the river used the latest pesticides and automated irrigation techniques.
He even boasted about his high-tech approach.
He also let the cattle and sheep roam the fields between plantings, producing a “natural” fertilizer supplement as he called it.
His overwatering meant that the pesticides and animal waste flowed directly into the river.
Undetected parasites from the animal waste and harmful chemicals made their way into the water and eventually into one of my cousins. He didn’t survive.”
Shock reverberates through the crowd.
She continues, “This isn’t a theoretical concern.
It’s real. It could happen to your loved one.
So, please, I beg you to open your wallets today.
Help us eradicate this problem by educating the world about the issues and the solutions before it’s too late.
Everyone, it’s time to stand up and raise your glasses as we toast.”
We all rise, creating a cacophony of scooting chairs scraping against the marble flooring. Everyone lifts their glasses as Ms. Davidson declares, “Here’s to a better, cleaner, and safer world. The pollution stops now!”
In unison, the supporters reply with a loud “Cheers!” followed by hearty applause.
Brooke is on her feet, clapping along with everyone. I instantly smile at her reaction. The sincerity of her enthusiasm for something so important to my dad and our family warms my heart.
As Aunt Jen leaves the stage, I step back to the podium, signaling for the audience to sit. “Thanks to each of you. Please enjoy your lunch. The auction will begin during the dessert course. We’re counting on the generosity of each of you to solve this problem.”
Returning to my seat, I find Brooke talking with Aunt Jen. Brooke’s expression is one of concern and compassion. I’m touched by her empathy for someone she’s only just met.
Reaching under the table, I give Brooke’s leg a quick squeeze. She whips her head around in shock. I whisper in her ear, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Ms. Davidson’s story is quite upsetting.”
Brooke’s face relaxes. “Oh. Thanks. It is. I can’t imagine losing someone so senselessly. They were just children playing in a river.”
“It’s tragic. There are thousands and thousands of similar stories—not to mention the people who slowly suffer from unexplained symptoms caused by chemical contamination.”
“I’m sure the auction will raise a ton of money. I recognize several celebrities in the audience. They can afford large donations.”
“True. And the people you don’t recognize can likely afford to donate even more. We have several high-tech giants and financial icons seated amongst us. We just need them to open their wallets and pull out those black credit cards.”
“Fingers crossed. By the way, you mentioned having questions for me. What did you want to ask?”
Fortunately, we’re interrupted by waiters bustling about and placing dishes laden with salmon, asparagus, and rice in front of us. While the food looks inviting, it’s banquet food, so my expectations are muted. Regardless, the refill of wine will make it more palatable.
Wisely, the PR team instructed the hotel that glasses should remain full. Happy, slightly giddy guests are more likely to raise their auction paddles with abandon. All’s fair in love and charity, as my dad would say.
As we’re eating, Aunt Jen leans closer to Brooke, saying “You and Stuart make such a cute couple. How long have you been together?”
Brooke draws in a quick, panicky breath. She eventually manages to say, “Oh. We’re not together. I’m just the lawyer for the Foundation. We only work together. It wouldn’t be appropriate. We’re not allowed to date clients.”
Brooke’s gaze turns to mine, silently begging me to help her.
Before I can intervene, I overhear Aunt Jen say, “Pffft. A viscount and a lovely lawyer seem like a perfectly appropriate pairing to me. Much better than that robotic Lady Whitfield that his parents keep trying to force on him. Besides, the way you two look at each other tells the real story. If you’re not together yet, you should be.
Take it from an older woman—don’t let a few silly rules leave you with regrets for what could have been. I made that mistake once. Never again.”
I’m not interested in a relationship, but I agree wholeheartedly with Aunt Jen’s other point. Regretting missed opportunities isn’t worth it.
Instead of pressing the point with Brooke, I offer my support. Leaning toward her, I whisper, “Don’t stress. Aunt Jen likes you, which is no surprise. She’s just playing matchmaker. Don’t stress. No one else thinks we’re dating. You’re doing your job well.”
“She’s your aunt?”
“By choice, not by blood. We’ve always been close. She wants me to be happy and thinks she’s helping.”
“Now, I understand. She’s a lovely lady.”
“That, she is,” I smile, lifting my wine glass with one hand while reaching to squeeze Brooke’s hand with my other. I absorb the now familiar zap of electricity from our touch. It’s energizing rather than painful. The only hard part is not knowing if we’ll ever share more.
Brooke’s forehead is scrunched in worry as she slowly removes her hand from mine. Does she hate the idea of a missed chance too, or is she more concerned that our attraction is apparent to others in the room? After all, an entire table across the ballroom is filled with colleagues from her firm.
I’m ready to ask her about this when the servers arrive with the pudding or, as Americans would say, the dessert.
Brooke says, “This red and white creation looks delicious. Do you know what it is?”
“It’s called Eton mess. My dad would be in heaven if he were here. It’s his favorite.”
She dips her spoon into the concoction, asking, “What’s in it other than cream and strawberries.”
“Broken pieces of meringue. Try it. It’s delicious.”
Taking a bite, she closes her eyes, moaning softly.
That lovely sound coming from her has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat as my thoughts threaten to stray to less appropriate territory.
“Yum. This is so good. Why do they call it Eton mess? It’s not messy. It’s fantastic.”
“My dad would agree. He said it’s been his favorite since the first time he ate it at Eton. It’s quite the tradition, particularly at the annual cricket match against the school’s archrival.”
“Did you fall in love with it at Eton too?”
“No. My parents sent me to a different school. But Eton mess is a popular pudding across the UK, so I didn’t miss out.”
When we’re halfway through the creamy concoction, the professional auctioneer steps up to the podium. It’s time to raise money for our charity.
This auction will be a little different than many. Rather than auctioning a large number of items, we have five extremely special ones. The logic is that a shorter auction will keep the audience engaged, and having more unique auction items will still raise a large sum of money.
The enthusiastic auctioneer describes the first item while images of it flash across giant displays strategically placed around the ballroom. We’ve predicted that this trip down the Danube in a luxurious suite on a high-end cruise ship should appeal to a majority of attendees.
We were right. The bidding is fast. Once the price rises well above the value of the cruise, five people continue to bid it up. Eventually, it sells for at least ten times its value. That’s a phenomenal start.
Next up is a one-of-a-kind silver Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet with blue waves of water painted down each side and a custom interior. It’s worth over $350,000. I’m ecstatic when it sells in the auction for three times that.
The auctioneer then sells a week in a Swiss Chalet with private ski lessons from an Olympic medalist for an astronomical amount.
Then he offers a flawless 10-carat, white diamond anniversary ring, transportation from LA to Paris in a private jet, and reservations for a private anniversary dinner at the Eiffel Tower.
I recognize the movie producer and the hedge fund manager who are battling it out for this prize packet.
Eventually, the movie producer gives up when the price is well into seven figures.
The charity is the real winner on this one, but I’m sure the hedge fund manager’s wife will be quite happy as well.
When the final item comes up, I fend off several stubborn bidders to win front row seats at the premiere of the Foundation’s movie.
Of course, I didn’t need to buy tickets to my dad’s movie.
It was my family’s way of directly supporting the charity.
And there’s an added benefit now. I can invite a date.
I’m counting on Brooke accepting my invitation.
That thought has me smiling. There’s something about having her around that makes life brighter.
There’s more spring in my steps when we’re together.
She may be a rule follower, but the sparkle in her eyes suggests that underneath her perfect exterior is a fun-loving woman aching to burst through. I’ll be happy to help her with that.