chords in her imagination-only this, perhaps, she could actually afford.
“It would be perfect above my old piano,” she announced. “How much do you think it will go for?”
Connie considered, head tilted lips pursed. “Oh, I shouldn’t think it would be too much-as art, it hasn’t any particular value at all. it’s really a matter of whether it suits one’s taste and purpose, isn’t it? Jot it down. dear. You might get it for a song.”
Jane squinted at the tiny tag affixed to one corner of the frame, found the corresponding lot number in her catalog listings and made a bold check mark beside it. She was beginning to get the hang of this. She turned to Connie, flushed with accomplishment, as though the painting were already hers. “There-that’s done. Now I think I’d better quit before L…oh, what’s that you have there? Did you find something else? Let me see.”
Connie chuckled. “It is addictive, isn’t it?” She gave the painting she was holding a disparaging glance. “Oh, no, dear, not for you. Another one of those gloomy Victorians-quite dreadful, really.” Jane could see what appeared to be a sailing ship foundering in a garishly green-tinted, storm-tossed sea. Connie was right. It was dreadful.
“The frame isn’t at all bad, though.” The dealer turned the painting, assessing it through her half glasses. “I might just pick up one or two of these for the shop. if I can get them at a nice enough price. If you’re quite sure there’s nothing else you want to have a look at, you might just go and find us some seats. I suspect they’ll be getting under way very shortly.”
Jane was glad to take the suggestion, though her excitement was somewhat dampened by worry as she made her way through the crowd that was slowly beginning to drift toward rows of folding chairs that had been set up in the center of the huge room facing a low, temporary stage. Her mind was on her checkbook, doing some depressing mental math as she tried to decide how much of her modest balance she could afford to spend on either the Roy Rogers six-shooter or the painting of the dancers. Not very much, she feared.
She found two unclaimed chairs about two-thirds of the way back, just a few seats in from the aisle, deposited her catalog and purse on one to save it for Connie and settled into the other. A group of men were gathered on the stage in a purposeful-looking cluster. One, a short, dapper man in a suit and tie, plump and glossy as a ripe plum, from the toes of his polished black shoes to his shiny black slicked-down hair, separated himself from the rest and took up his post behind a wooden podium. As he lifted the microphone from its stand, a woman seated at a card table next to the podium handed him a sheet of paper. He glanced down at it, then beamed upon the crowd like a kindergarten teacher on the first day of school.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good morning, and welcome to another fantastic Rathskeller’s auction…”
Jane sat with her hands clasped in her lap like a well-behaved child on the first day of school while the auctioneer read the policies and conditions of Rathskeller’s Auction House. He was finishing up when Connie slipped into the seat beside her.
“Just in time,” Jane whispered. “I think they’re about to start. Are these seats okay?”
Connie gave a quick look around, then said, “This will do fine, dear.” She sounded a little out-of-breath. And looking quite pleased with herself, Jane thought. Her eyes had that feisty gleam that always made Jane think of a little white hen who’s just spotted a particularly juicy grasshopper.
Up on the stage, the auctioneer hitched the mike cord around with a flourish and said, “All right, now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get the bidding under way with a few of these items you see here…” One of several young men wearing white shirts and red baseball caps with Rathskeller’s printed on them held up a small metal object so everyone in the crowd could see it. “Okay, lot number one in your catalog is a World War II infantry compass. And, here we go, ladies and ge‘men, whatumahbid for this fascinating WWII compass…okay, who’llgimmetwenny, umbid-twennytwenny…”
The words tumbled out of the auctioneer’s mouth like marbles out of a bag, while here and there among the crowd a white card flashed, then over there another. There was a certain rhythm to it. Each time a card appeared, one of the white-shirted men would instantly point it out to the auctioneer, arms waving and pointing like semaphores, until there were no more cards to be seen-save one.
And then…“Sold!”
“I just don’t see how you do it so calmly,” she said as the gavel fell and Connie made a triumphant notation in her catalog. “Maybe you could bid for me?”
“Nonsense, dear.” Connie looked very much like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. “Nothing to it. Tell you what-why don’t you have a go at it a time or two. Bid on something you don’t particularly care for, just for the practice. You do have to keep your wits about you, of course. Jump in early, and get out when the bidding gets serious. That way you’ll get the hang of it and you won’t be so nervous when it really matters. Like this, dear- watch.”
It looked so easy when Connie did it.
The first time Jane poked her number 133 tentatively into the view of the eagle-eyed men in the white shirts, she thought she might actually faint. When one of them pointed at her, it might as well have been with a loaded pistol; she subsided hastily. shaking like a leaf.
But it got easier each time she tried it. Soon she began to feel like an old hand, especially when she noticed that the men in the white shirts were beginning to look in her direction, now, in anticipation. By the time the Roy Rogers cap pistol came up for bid, she was ready. She felt calm. While the auctioneer was describing “this prize piece of Americana,” Jane closed her eyes and repeated her absolutely top bid over and over in a whisper, like a mantra, or a prayer. Then she lifted her card.
Her confidence lasted exactly as long as it took the bidding to soar beyond her “absolutely top” bid. How high could a toy cap pistol go? What, after all, was another ten dollars? Twenty? Her heart was pounding like thunder, she could hardly hear the auctioneer. Lips pressed tightly together in determination, she kept her card in the air, even though it was now shaking like a reed in a windstorm.
“Well done!” said Connie when at last the auctioneer had intoned, “Sold…number 133!” She added gently, “You can put your card down now, dear.” Her voice seemed to come from the bottom of a well.
“I did it! I can’t believe it-I just bought a Roy Rogers cap pistol!” Jane’s whisper was a high, ecstatic squeak. “I think I’m gonna faint.” Actually, what she thought she might do was fly, right up out of her chair and on through the roof and into the clouds. “Whew, I think I need to get something to drink. How about you? Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”
“Later, perhaps…” Connie was frowning, turning the pages of her catalog, following down the list with her little jeweled pen. Jane had gathered up her purse and was halfway to her feet, when the other woman suddenly clutched her arm and pulled her back. “Quick, Jane-have a look. Isn’t that your painting coming up there?”
Jane shook her head. “It’s a long way off yet. I should have plenty of time-”
“No, no, I’m certain that’s the one you were so fond of. There, you see? It’s the next one up, I think.”
Jane fumbled through her catalog. Yes, there it was, the lot number she’d circled, still at least twenty items off. But there was no doubt about it, the painting of the ballroom dancers-
“Number 187, I believe. It just says, ‘Oil Painting, Framed.’ A bit of a mix-up, apparently. Oh, well, never mind, these things happen. There you are-it’s started.
And just that quickly, the bidding was under way. Jane sat perched on the edge of her chair, lips pressed and heart pounding, and presented her card to the gleeful spotter like a swordsman leaping into battle. At first, to her dismay, the bidding was brisk, but when two or three bargain hunters dropped out early, she felt a surge of triumph.
But no-oh no! Now she could see that every time the spotter pointed to her, with his other hand he immediately jabbed the air above her head. Someone was bidding against her! And seemed every bit as determined as she was.
Outraged, she turned around to see if she could identify the villain who was trying to take
