4. Grae
Grae
There it is: the holy grail of nerddom. I think I hear angels singing as the light shifts like divine intervention. My heart swells with the impending joy knowing that my collection will soon be complete. And to think that only a glass case is what’s holding me back from the script.
I have already contacted my accountant to check on my budget. He laughed and told me not to waste his time, unless I purchase something in the mid six figures. Then he mumbled something about new money and hung up.
In my earbuds, I’m listening to a Knights of the Night Podcast. It's got great banter between the hosts which compensates for the shallow analysis.
As the host prattles on about his dog hopping into a delivery driver's car for the fifth time, I scan my surroundings, assessing who else might be my script competition. The room is filled with business types, a few millionaires I saw on top thirty lists, sports icons and actors who’ve only had a few hits but no Oscar nominations.
New money, like me. Which means a lot of strutting around, trying to prove they deserve to be in the room.
All people I’ve been actively avoiding for the last ten years of my career, and I’d like to keep it that way for one more evening.
The signage in this place is awful, but I see where I’m supposed to register for the auction.
I’m fourth in line. The man directly in front of me is a huge, football-player-type and is blocking my view. From what I can see, there’s a blonde woman in front of him, and a short bald guy chatting with a very uninterested female employee who’s assisting in the auction.
“Damn delivery driver wanted to charge me a return fee for my dog,” the podcast host says in my ear, and I huff a laugh.
The female employee, glances over her shoulder, makes a quick ‘oh I’ve got to go see what’s happening back there’ gesture, and walks into a back room. The bald guy's shoulders sink as he walks towards the bar. Sucks to suck buddy, but now there's one less person in line.
I peek around the human wall in front of me in time to see the woman throw her arms up in the air. It's a small gesture, but something about it triggers a synapse in my mind.
“He took the pen.” Her voice oozes annoyance and familiarity, or maybe I’m very used to the specific tone women use when they have lost all patience with men’s stupidity.
Well, I can move this process along. I dig into my inner coat pocket and pass my own Sunshine Ink 2.
3 black roller ball pen forward. It came from the spring shipment along with ten thousand of its brothers.
In my ear the hosts are droning on about this episode's sponsor, who also sponsors every podcast I listen to.
The woman turns around and asks if the big guy needs the pen, who shakes his head because another employee returns with a new stack of writing instruments. The blonde woman clicks the pen and twists around to me, “Do you want this back?”
The world stops. My attention drifts from her long blonde hair tucked behind her ear to her regal cheek bones and piercing blue eyes. Her lips, a bright red, the same exact shade she always used to wear.
I know how her lips taste. I’ve said her name in dreams and erased it from my songs.
“Kinsley?”
The woman turns and an expression of confusion spreads across her face. Her forehead creases, like it did whenever she’d process information. Over a decade later, some things never changed. Surprise flashes across her face, and her lips part. I want to taste them again, but I don’t deserve them.
The giant man steps between us and breaks the moment. Kinsley’s here. I reach for her, but a deep voice stops me.
“Sir, please write your name down and take a QR code.” Huh? What? Kinsley’s here. Three feet away. Twelve years of searching and now a fucking QR code and formality is going to separate us again.
Kinsley side steps away, retreating into the crowd.
She’s running, no anger or tension in her body, just pure instinct.
I pull my attention off her for a few seconds to write my name down and shove the QR code into my pocket, but by the time I turn back around she’s vanished in the masses of people. No way am I losing her again.
I switch into search mode—a skill I’ve honed by spending my adult life at parties and gatherings trying to find Amanda. Kinsley’s taller, which makes it a million times easier.
“Wait!” I don’t even hide the desperation as my voice cracks over the ambient noise of the crowd. She’s making a move towards the door, but I cut her off, blocking her exit with my body. Ten seconds, that’s all I need.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve spent every day of my adult life thinking of you and I swore if I ever got the chance, I would apologize to you.
” I allow ten thousand weights to lift off my soul as the twelve years of guilt and ‘should haves’ are released.
“And I know you’re with Zackary Olympian so I shouldn’t even be talking to you, but I need you to know how truly sorry I am. ”
I did it. Years of late-night speeches that keep me awake, and it’s done. When I meet her gaze, she’s staring at me with an unreadable expression. I never really thought beyond this point. Shit.
“Um… I made it weird, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.” Her lips turn into one thin line, and I’m hit with memories of that exact response. She used to do that when she was underwhelmed. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of it.
Retreat! Run away! I motion behind me. “Enjoy the auction. I’m gonna go… literally anywhere else but here.” Yeah, that went as well as could be expected. Damn it, I had twelve years to think of a sincere closer, and at showtime I say, ‘Um I made it weird.’
But she crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side, asking, “Why do you think I’m with Zach?” Not the question I thought I would get.
“Um, I saw you two together at the Olympian Gala a few months ago. You appeared… happy. I figured you two were spending the night together.”
“We did.” Her lips curl at the corners as she clarifies, “We went back to his place, and he thought he could beat me with a string of bananas, but I had a red shell. What a fucking dumbass.”
Huh? Bananas and shells? “Mario Kart?” I ask with confusion and a dash of relief. She shrugs, and a hint of that icy veneer starts melting.
“I like to keep him humble. The world will thank me one hundred years from now.”
“Did you hear my very personal confession and apology? Because that was kinda important.”
“Yeah.” Her eyebrows twitch as her gaze sweeps across the crowd of people behind me. “I’m still processing all that.”
This time when she breathes, I can tell she’s sighing like she is resigning herself to talk to me. A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne. She grabs a flute and takes a sip. Is she buying time to decide if she wants to stay here?
“I don’t go by Kinsley anymore. It’s Alana now.”
Ok, again not what I was expecting, but it sounds vaguely familiar. It’s more information than I had a minute ago, so I’ll take it. And finally, it’s something we have in common too.
“Yeah, I don’t go by Davin anymore either.” I try to sound confident and casual. She cocks an eyebrow, and my stomach twists, because I know in my soul that she’s about to give me a verbal beatdown.
“We need to talk about that, because it’s been driving me nuts. You have three perfectly good names you could have picked from Alistar Davin Graeloch, but you picked the worst name and spelled it stupid.” Her playful insults are like hugs to my soul.
“You know, like morally Grae?”
The sides of her lips curl even more. It’s almost an imperceptible change, but I see it.
“You? Morally gray?”
“I’ve seen and done some crazy shit over the years.” I brush invisible dirt off my shoulder and lean in. “One time I took someone else's coffee order. On purpose, because they were rude to the barista.”
“Such a rebel.” She lifts the glass to her lips again. “Am I in danger talking to you?”
“Possibly, you never know.”
The hallway between the main reception area and the door fills with more people.
Something about her shifts, and she turns away, searching for…
the exit? She wants to bail, I get it. I don’t deserve any more of her time than I have stolen from her already.
Our love story doesn’t need any more chapters, this closure is enough.
But if she’s willing to give me her time, that’s a different story.
“Are you a Knights of the Night fan?” I mean, there’s the sports and art stuff here, or maybe she got really into puppets over the years.
She blinks at me and raises her eyebrow, “Why else would I be here? Damn memorabilia. I’m so pissed I’ll be missing the fan event tonight.”
Mentally I pump my fist and do a little dance, but outwardly I try to keep it cool. “Which story arc is your favorite?”
“Pirate King, obviously.”
“Everyone loves him, but I think the Fae storyline is underrated and is about to pay off. Why else would they spend so much time on it?”
She pushes her hair off her shoulder, and memories of my lips moving from that sensitive spot up her neck flood my brain. Does she still do those quiet mewing moans and squirms when she’s being tickled?
I roll my earbuds around the palm of my hand, trying to focus on anything else. Then slide them into my pocket where I feel something. Paper? I pull it out and turn it over in my hand.
Showing her the QR code, I ask, “Any idea what you’re supposed to do with this?”
“Each QR code is linked to an account and that’s how you bid.”
The music stops playing as the host comes on to the microphone, “Thank you all for coming. Tonight you’re in for some great entertainment, excellent food and an evening with the rarest memorabilia this side of Hollywood.
The bidding starts now and closes at 10 pm.
The auction is on a local server, so don’t go too far, but drink up and spend your money. ” The audience laughs.
“The bidding is online? Do you even need to be in this hellhole to do the auction?” Any joy that was on her face vanishes as she adds, “I don’t even need to be here?”
“Are you sticking around?” I try to sound casual.
“I guess.” She shrugs. “I have to, since we can’t leave the hotel and they did say there would be food and drinks.”
“Great.” I flash the smile I’ve been trying to hold back since I saw her. This could be the best night of my life.