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“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, the sound of her voice echoing through the crowded hall as it vibrated from every speaker. “Welcome to tonight's RAG charity bachelor auction! We have a stunning lineup of eligible bachelors who are just waiting to take you on the date of your dreams! I hope you're ready to bid and bid generously!”
A cheer resounded through the auditorium.
“It certainly sounds like you are ready! I won’t keep you ladies waiting. Please welcome our first bachelor of the evening, Calum Jones!”
A tall, handsome guy in a white suit sauntered onto stage holding a bouquet of flowers and a smile beaming from his bearded face. I turned to the first page of my booklet and began to read.
“Calum is twenty-two years old and a member of our own Blue Devil basketball team where he plays first-string point guard. Calum’s hobbies include playing the drums, recording and editing videos, and cooking Mediterranean cuisine…”
The first half of our bachelor auction took about an hour. But when the time came for an intermission, I did what I had to do to help Stacy and then hurried to the backstage area to meet Leslie, curious as hell about what her emergency was.
She was there waiting, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. “You took your sweet time!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, I had to tally up the bids before I could get backstage. What's the problem? Is everything alright? Are you alright?”
“I'm fine. But there's been a major, major screw-up involving you! And, since part of it was my fault, I'm doing what I can to make it right.”
I scrunched my forehead and peered at her in a confused state. “Screw-up? How? What exactly happened? What are you talking about?”
“Hard to explain. Just watch this.” She tapped a few times on her phone and brought up a video for me to watch. I was surprised to see our neighbor Chris. It seemed to be a hidden recording. The bottom half of the screen was covered by material, evidently someone's pocket, in which the phone had been hidden.
“You listening?” asked Les as she held her finger over the play button on the screen.
“Sure. But what on earth does our neighbor Chris have to do with anything?”
“Just listen, and you'll see.”
She hit play, and the voice that came from the phone speaker immediately cut straight through my ear-drums and traveled directly into my heart: Emerson.
“Hey, man,” Emerson said.
“Dude,” a very drunk-looking Chris replied.
“Are you seriously wasted at three o’clock in the afternoon?”
“What? It’s a Saturday,” Chris mumbled.
“Are you planning on having another party tonight? You know you can’t be loud again. You’re on probation.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, Mom. It’s just gonna be a couple of the girls coming over a little later.”
“Girls? As in more than one?” Emerson asked.
“Well, at first, man. Only one of them is gonna stay. I’m a one woman at a time kinda man, ya know, bro,” Chris said with an inebriated laugh.
“One at a time, huh? Tell me, Chris, how many different girls have you had over just this month?”
Chris laughed loudly and obnoxiously before replying. “Dude, I've been killing it! I think eight or ten different chicks, just this month. How's that for playing the game, bro?!” He laughed again and then reached for a beer, from which he drank a hefty swig.
“I hope you haven't been doing anything in the kitchen or the living room, dude,” Emerson commented.
“No way, man, only in my bedroom. Why do you care, though? You don't even live here anymore.”
Leslie paused the clip.
“Wait,” I stated, glaring at her. “I’m confused. Emerson doesn't live next door to us anymore.”
“Seriously? That’s what you got from all that?” She rolled her eyes at me. “No. He doesn’t. And he hasn't since the night the cops came over. He's been living at his mother's house until last night when he moved into his new apartment—which he had to sell his motorcycle to pay for. Now, keep listening and pay close attention.”
