Part 29 (2/2)
My tension eases a little. He just needed some time to warm up. I glance at Florence, who is watching from the sidelines and gazing at Mr. Jenkins adoringly.
After the rainbow chair sells for over a hundred dollars, Mr. Jenkins waves to the next, teddy-bear themed chair.
”And who wants to own this adorable chair, perfect for a nursery or children's room?” he shouts into the mic.
A loud squeal penetrates the tent from the feedback of his yell. I wince and gesture to the sound guy to turn it down.
”Who bids fifty bucks for the teddy bears?” Mr. Jenkins calls.
A few paddles rise. I write down the numbers.
”Fifty dollars, right there, lady in the blue, who bids sixty right there man in the red s.h.i.+rt perfect seventy bidder bidder would you bid eighty one hundred would you bid more who bids more would you bid one hundred five...”
His words slur together faster and faster, as if he's trying to whip the crowd into a frenzy of bidding, though the audience is looking at him with confusion.
I step forward and put my hand on his arm, leaning toward the microphone. ”We're at one hundred five, ladies and gentlemen. Do we have a bid for one twenty?”
More paddles rise. The chair sells for one hundred fifty, and I write down the winner's number as a volunteer brings up the next chair.
”Hey, Liv!” shouts Mr. Jenkins, even though I'm standing right beside him.
I glance at the audience. Several people are s.h.i.+fting in their chairs, looking vaguely impatient. A cool wind wafts through the tent, the light dimming as if clouds are gathering overhead. I smile nervously.
”Yes, Mr. Jenkins?” I say.
”What do planets like to read?” Mr. Jenkins asks.
”Um, what?”
”Comet books!” he yells.
A few people smile indulgently, but restlessness runs through the crowd.
”And the next lot number, three, is an incredible chair painted by renowned atmospheric scientist Kelsey March!” I announce. ”Let's start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”
”Who bids one hundred one hundred lady in white do you bid one hundred five one hundred five six seven bidder up batter up seven eight nine...”
His voice lowers again into a garbled, unintelligible monotone that has the audience looking both baffled and impatient. One person in the back row gets up and leaves.
I grab the microphone and yank it away from Mr. Jenkins.
”Hey, Mr. Jenkins,” I say brightly. ”What did the ocean say to the sea?”
”What?” He cups his hand behind his ear and leans toward me.
”Nothing. It just waved.”
”Hah!” Mr. Jenkins thumps the podium and cackles. ”Now, folks, that joke comes free with the purchase of this incredible chair! Does anyone bid two hundred?”
A woman in the back, looking amused, lifts her paddle. I breathe a sigh of relief.
”Two fifty?” I ask. ”Anyone?”
No response.
”Come on now!” Mr. Jenkins bangs his fist on the podium again. ”Someone bid two fifty or we'll tell another joke.”
Three paddles shoot up into the air along with a few chuckles.
”Two fifty!” Mr. Jenkins points at a man who might have raised his paddle first. ”Two seventy-five anyone? What do you get when you cross a busy road and a strawberry?”
”What?” I ask dutifully.
”A traffic jam!”
The audience chuckles again as a patron raises her paddle.
”Three hundred if you stop with the jokes!” she calls.
”Sold to the lovely lady in pink!” yells Mr. Jenkins, banging the gavel and pointing at the winner. ”Next item is a princess chair complete with crown!”
The volunteers bring up the pink, sparkly chair topped with a glittering tiara. The bidding gets started, interrupted by what turns into the Liv-and-Mr.-Jenkins comedy act as Mr. Jenkins fires off riddles about bugs, animals, and outer s.p.a.ce, while I play the straight man and laugh at every joke.
”Lot five, folks,” I announce as a volunteer brings up another chair, ”a gorgeous Indian-patterned chair with an incredibly detailed mandala on the seat.”
The next hour pa.s.ses in a blur of activity and whirlwind bidding, as the audience gets into the rhythm of the event and Mr. Jenkins and I find our groove. The light grows dimmer as more clouds gather overhead, but at least I'm not worried about rain because Kelsey checked the forecast and a.s.sured me the weather would be good all weekend.
Archer's chair is next-the detailed rendition of the comic-book superheroine Blue causing a stir of interest in the crowd. Paddles lift into the air as Mr. Jenkins reads the description.
”We have a bid for three hundred,” I announce. ”Do I hear three fifty for this incredible work of art?”
”Five hundred dollars,” a female voice calls from the back of the audience.
Everyone turns to look at the woman who dared defy the order of the paddles.
Kelsey March.
Of course.
She's standing on the edge of the crowd, the blue streak in her hair glowing like neon, her arms crossed and her features set in that stubborn expression I know so well. She looks exactly like the strong, fierce Blue who can create tornadoes from the palms of her hands.
”We have a bid for five hundred dollars,” I say into the mic. ”Do we have a...”
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