“It’s for a pet research project that I’ve been working on for a number of years. I’m hoping to get my hands on several books that are being auctioned off here tonight. They once belonged to the estate of Charles Reid, a member of the board of inquiry into the loss of the British Airship Goliath over Africa in 1931,” said Jen, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Mitchell shrugged his shoulders, having never heard of the loss of the Goliath. “What on earth is your interest in a long-lost airship?”
Jen turned and smiled. “Well, for one, they never found more than a few pieces of debris. It was widely rumored at the time that the Goliath had been sabotaged.”
“Curious, I guess,” said Mitchell, toying with her.
“Ryan, I’m a history professor, but ever since I was a student, the Goliath has always held a certain indefinable fascination for me. A lost ship, rumors of sabotage and murder. You know, all that cloak-and-dagger stuff. It really fascinates me.”
“Yeah, it’s great fun until someone starts shooting at you,” chided Mitchell.
“Ryan, quit it,” said Jen, as she playfully hit him on the arm. “I’m serious about this. I want to write a book about it.”
Mitchell took Jen’s hand and looked deep into her striking brown eyes. “If you write about it, I’ll be the first to buy it, even if it means this ex-soldier will need a really expensive dictionary with lots of pictures to help me with the big words that I am sure you’ll use.”
Jen just giggled and led Mitchell over to the far side of the gallery to a table where a couple of young people, also dressed in tuxedos, were busy registering people for the auction. She dug in her purse, showed their invites to a girl working at the desk, and was handed a numbered paddle. Turning it over, Jen saw that the number was seventy-five.
Seeing the number, Mitchell let out a quiet chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Jen.
“That’s my old army regiment,” exclaimed Mitchell. “The 75th US Army Rangers, I was with them for most of my time in the service. Rangers lead the way,” said Mitchell proudly, as he told Jen his regiment’s motto.
Mitchell and Jen joined the growing line of impeccably dressed people heading up the stairs to the second floor. Once there, they moved off to one side and took a seat at the back, deciding to leave the front rows for the more serious buyers in the crowd. Mitchell picked up a program. Thumbing through the booklet, he saw a diverse collection of items going on the auction block, from modern art to antique firearms to several unopened trunks from estate sales.
Mitchell leaned over to Jen and whispered in her ear. “You know, I almost forgot to ask you. What’s the charity we are supporting here tonight?”
“It benefits a local chapter of the Wounded Warrior Project,” solemnly replied Jen.
“Damn! I wish I’d known. I would have brought more money,” said Mitchell loudly, bringing unwanted stares of disgust from several nearby couples.
Jen tapped his hand consolingly, “It’s all right, Ryan, they take all major credit cards here. Besides, if it means that much to you, you can help me win my bid.”
“Deal,” said Mitchell enthusiastically.
A dour looking African-American gentleman in a tuxedo entered the room, walked over to a podium at the front of the room and with a loud bang of his gavel, began the auction. The first item up for bid was a sculpture that did not garner a lot of attention, but with a few well-placed quips from the auctioneer, the crowd came to life and the serious bidding began in earnest. Soon the auctioneer had his rhythm. He played the crowd for all they were worth. The man was a consummate master at getting the rich crowd to bid outrageous amounts for items they did not really need, nor want.
“I’ve never been to an auction before, but if I had to, I’d say this guy’s good,” said Mitchell admiringly to Jen.
“It doesn’t hurt that several of the local news outlets are here tonight covering the event,” said Jen, as she motioned her head over towards a reporter eagerly waiting with her camera crew to talk with the people once the auction was over.
“What item are we after?” asked Mitchell, like a kid waiting for his turn at bat.
“We’re up next,” said Jen, sitting up in her chair to get a better look at the stage.
Mitchell leafed through his brochure until he found the next item. It was a set of three books from an estate sale.
“Ok, here goes,” said Mitchell, getting into the spirit of the evening.
The bidding started at two hundred dollars. Jen instantly raised her paddle.
The auctioneer raised an eyebrow at the paltry bid, shook his head, and asked if anyone wished to raise the price. An elderly woman sitting up front who had not bid on anything so far tonight raised the bid to three hundred.
Not to be outdone, Jen instantly raised it to five.
Most people in the room did not seem to care about the ostensibly insignificant items up for bid and began to chat amongst themselves.
The auctioneer looked down at the woman in the front row and tried cajoling her to bid higher. Unfortunately, it worked all too well and soon the bid stood at one thousand dollars.
The room grew silent as some of the disinterested buyers watched with fascination as the old woman and Jen sparred over some moldy-looking books. The bidding soon topped five thousand dollars.
“Damn, this is exactly what I was hoping to avoid,” said Jen, biting her lip. “That woman has no need for those books; she is just pushing the bid higher to look good in front of her rich friends.”
“Well, I for one don’t like being out done by anyone, even if it is for charity,” said Mitchell, as he gently took the paddle out of Jen’s hand. Instantly, Mitchell stood and yelled, “Ten thousand dollars.”
The auctioneer’s face lit up. He looked down at the woman, hoping that she might take the bait. She hesitated for a second, chatted with a friend sitting beside her, and slowly looked over her shoulder towards the imposing-looking man who had just upped the bid. Seeing Mitchell standing there with his hands draped across his chest, looking like a man spoiling for a fight, the woman shook her head in defeat.
The auctioneer’s gavel smashed down and with that, Mitchell and Jen became the owners of three books.
Mitchell handed the paddle back to Jen with a look on his face as if he had just won the state lottery.
“Ryan, you didn’t have to do that,” said Jen, more than a little surprised at Mitchell’s bold move.
“You said I could help,” said Mitchell with a shrug, “so I helped.”
“I didn’t expect you to spend that kind of money. It’s just a set of books. I could have looked elsewhere for my material.”
Mitchell shook his head. “No way, tonight I am your escort. You wanted those books, and I wanted to donate to the Wounded Warrior’s Charity. I know several ex-service men and women who rely on that charity and honestly Jen, I don’t give a damn about the money; I can always make more of it in my line of business. All in all, I think things turned out quite well tonight.”
Jen affectionately slipped her arm into Mitchell’s, leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, you’re a unique man Ryan Mitchell. I truly do appreciate your help here tonight.”
Mitchell did not say a word. He just sat there and took in the moment. For the first time in a long time, Mitchell found himself not thinking about his job. He was truly enjoying his time with Jen.
A short while later, the auction concluded with the sale of a set of paintings by local African-American artists that were the highlight of the auction, and with a player from the Hornets sitting in the front row bidding for the first time tonight, they fetched over one hundred thousand dollars. With a loud bang of the gavel, the auction finished. The crowd congratulated themselves and slowly headed downstairs for more post-auction drinks. Everyone wanted the chance to mingle with the local celebrities and, more importantly, to be seen by the media.