Chapter 37 The Bachelor Auction Trope
It was the long-awaited night of the SugarBoo Ball.
Heaven was vibrating with excitement, and I was on the phone with the Cayman Islands again.
My request to close the account hadn’t gone as planned, which didn’t surprise me.
Had anything ever been that simple? But I wanted to resolve the problem before I saw Tyrone.
It would be better to start on the right foot without the specter of Tiffany with a -y haunting either of us.
The banker pulled my information. “Miss Blair, here you are—”
I paused with my mascara wand halfway to my eye. “Yes.”
“Your account has been flagged. You’ll have to close it in person.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It seems that you didn’t have the appropriate ID the last time you came in.”
What the hell. How was I supposed to get to the Cayman Islands?
Now permanently distracted, I set down my makeup brushes and wandered downstairs in my robe and a messy bun that had migrated to the side of my head.
Vlad was reading by the fire. Bob, Jessica’s electrician brother, was packing up his tools for the day.
He might have been “a hot mess who you better not even think about dating,” according to Jessica, but he was doing a great job on the electricity.
“Heya, Tiff,” Bob said.
I waved in Bob’s direction and poured a glass of B positive from Vlad’s supply, not even bothering to hide that I was about to drink blood. Bob wasn’t the most observant guy.
“I’m having trouble closing that account,” I said to Vlad. “They want me to show up to the bank in person.”
He drew his brows together.
“Flights from Burlington to Grand Cayman start at $526. Even worse, flights are only during the day,” I said.
Vlad looked tired of helping me do favors for Tyrone. Bob, of course, was oblivious.
“You guys planning a midwinter vacay?” Bob asked.
Vlad looked at him. “Don’t you need to head home and get ready for the ball everyone is so excited about?”
Bob shook his head. “My ex will be there. I’m not ready to see her flirting with other guys.”
Vlad put his book down. “That must be very frustrating.” He looked directly at me while he said that.
Bob took one sentence as an invitation to stay and discuss the situation at length. He relaxed into one of the chairs by the fireplace and put his feet up.
“In my opinion,” Vlad went on, “your ex certainly shouldn’t be dancing, laughing, or bidding on any bachelors at the auction, given your recent divorce, and definitely not while you’re there.” Once again, his eyes were boring a hole through me. I chugged some B positive.
Vlad was being very prehistoric in his jealousy.
“I think you might need to get used to the idea of your ex living her life and moving on,” I said. “She’ll probably bid on one of the bachelors, and that is okay.”
Bob sighed heavily.
“It’s time to move on, Bob,” I said, staring right at Vlad. “Why don’t you auction yourself off or buy another bachelor? Have a fresh start.”
From the look on Bob’s face, that advice wasn’t going down well. He said, “I don’t want to give up. I’ve done some work on myself. I’m ready to be my authentic self with her.” He looked down. “It’s probably too late.”
Heaven’s advice came back to me. I was supposed to “Stop moping and be authentic.” And how many times had Dr. Rosetti told me to be myself? You can’t forge a real connection unless you tell them who you really are.
Maybe I should just come clean. Tell Tyrone everything—who I was, what I was, and that I was ready to solve his blackmail problem. That might take a while to digest, but if he could handle that, maybe we could fly to the Caymans and take care of the bank account together.
I could wear a wide-brimmed hat, oversized sunglasses. A parasol wouldn’t be out of the question. And there had to be a red-eye flight. Maybe I couldn’t sunbathe or snorkel, but the beach was probably still enjoyable at night.
Vlad stalked across the room and took my hand. “Let’s talk in private, Tiffenie.”
What was going on? This was my house. Bob should leave. Why was there always someone standing around looking lost? Had I started a collection?
“Tiffenie, I think you should let Tyrone be,” Vlad said, barely out of range of Bob’s hearing.
“Because he’s not you?”
“No, because he’s being blackmailed by Tiffany with a -y.” He paced to the other side of the room and back. “Do you not see how that is a problem?”
I shrugged.
“Red flag number one: It seems likely that he knows you’re not who you say you are and is going along with it silently. Red flag number two: He’s paying a blackmailer to cover up bad deeds.”
Okay, those were points, but Vlad didn’t know Tyrone like I did. “I’m going to the auction and I’m going to bid on the hottest bachelor in town. I came to Vermont for my happily ever after and nothing is going to stop me. Certainly not you.”
I bared my fangs at him, incensed that he might be right.
Bob, who was still hanging around, looked back and forth between us and laughed. “I keep telling everyone to come out here and meet you guys.”
Heaven walked downstairs to find me still in my robe, Vlad fuming behind the paper, and Bob droning on about Sheila, his ex apparently. Meanwhile, she was channeling Janelle Monáe in a menswear-inspired look.
“Why aren’t any of you ready?” She looked annoyed.
“Oh, I got distracted.” So far, I had mascara on one eye and a half-baked plan to go to Grand Cayman with Tyrone in March.
“Do I have to do everything around here?” She promptly went back upstairs and returned with the Arwen dress I’d worn to that Lord of the Rings–themed wedding. It was green and fitted, with tight sleeves that flared into a bell shape below the elbow. It came with a crown.
“Do you really think this is the right look for the ball?” I held back a laugh as I remembered walking down the aisle arm in arm with a balding computer programmer dressed like Legolas. We had been a pair.
“You’re the one who kept it. Besides, all dudes love Lord of the Rings.”
She had me there.
I did a bold cherry lip, mascaraed my other eye, and used enough blush to look not only alive but healthy.
Vlad walked in and gave me an up-and-down look. “You’re wearing that?”
“Do you have a problem with it?”
He scowled at me, and Heaven said, “That means he likes it.”
“I’m going too,” he announced.
“No, you’re not,” I snapped back. “You’ll get in my way.”
“I’m going.” He turned to walk toward his bedroom.
Heaven looked me dead in the eye. “It might be nice to have him there. It’s my first night out.”
Heaven wanted Vlad there? Okay, two things. One: She liked and trusted Vlad. Weird. Two: He might be useful, especially if I was distracted.
Also, she was nervous. How had I missed this? As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I saw her chewing her fingernails and reaching for her phone.
“If you’re coming, don’t wear any ruffly shirts!” I yelled down the hall at Vlad. “Those went out of style two hundred years ago.”
“Should I pick out his outfit? I don’t want him to look his age on Grand Risings.” She opened TikTok. “I did a GRWM, but maybe we could do one with you and Vlad too. And then I’ll do some shots at the ball.”
It hit me. Heaven was so good at connecting authentically with her followers, but sometimes she needed to set the phone down and connect with people in real life.
“Heaven,” I said, “maybe you should try to meet people without Grand Risings tonight. Just be yourself.”
“Did I just hear you tell me to be myself?” Heaven started laughing at my audacity, but set the phone down. She muttered, “I’m an expert at being myself.”
That made one of us.
Unlike Cinderella, I drove myself and two other vampires to the ball in a hearse.
When we arrived at the high school gym, the SugarBoo was already in full swing.
The set from the play about all those women who thought they finally got a good job and then died of radium poisoning looked perfect.
The giant, poison-coated clockface counted down to my happily ever after.
Glasses clinked and people chatted amidst the tinsel-covered trees and twinkling lights.
The entire town was decked out in its holiday finest.
Dr. Rosetti was wearing a velvet pantsuit and downing a themed signature cocktail. The SugarBoo was a bourbon and maple syrup concoction with a cinnamon stick. It smelled like bacon. Don’t ask me why.
I waved. “Hey, Dr. R.” Heaven was standing at my side, so I went through the appropriate introductions. “Dr. R, this is Heaven. Heaven, Dr. R.”
Recalling Tyrone’s comment that everyone was in therapy, I asked, “So is everyone here your patient?”
She nodded slowly. “More than a few. It’s a problem.”
“You’re like the town priest,” I commented. Therapy might as well be a religion, though you were supposed to look inside for answers instead of looking to God. At any rate, she held all the town’s secrets, including mine. “You should probably move to Burlington.”
She nodded. “Probably.”
“Heaven, what do you do?” Dr. R asked.
“I’m an influencer,” Heaven said with just the slightest hint of a pose. “It’s kind of killing me not to be recording this. I feel naked without my phone.”
Dr. R smiled warmly. “I’m glad to meet you. Don’t you feel like it’s harder to connect with a phone in the middle all the time?”
Heaven relaxed and said, “I’ve heard that before, actually.”
Gemma had yelled that loud enough for me to hear. Lol.
Dr. R smiled. “But I’m going to follow you. What’s your handle?” As Heaven spelled out RadianceGlobalLifeCoaching, Dr. R typed it into TikTok. With a smile, she said, “Got it, I’ll stalk you later.”
Heaven preened. “Where’d you find that cocktail, Dr. R?”
“Call me Eleanor.”
It was weird to see Dr. R at a party. Maybe it was me, but it seemed like Dr. R and Heaven should go out to dinner instead of starting a therapeutic relationship.