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This was a custom-designed room, apparently just for events such as these.
It was set-up like a theater — a small entry area, with a bar and some scantily clad cocktail waitresses serving canapés. Past that were a few rows of red leather armchairs, the kind you would find in a high-end movie theater, with call buttons, swivel tables, and specialty blankets. Beyond the seating was the pièce de résistance — a wall of glass.
I’d worked in Vegas long enough to recognize a wall like that — it was bulletproof glass. Working from there, one could presume the girl would cross into the room beyond the wall, stand under some lights, and then be put up for auction, all while feeling safe behind her cocoon of glass. She could make eyes at the men, flirt, and flounce, but they couldn’t touch her. Clever, I thought, before being immediately disgusted with my own reaction.
“Hey, Tate, you made it,” Mac shouted from across the room, beckoning me over with one ring-covered hand.
A sickness began to develop and molt in my stomach. I didn’t belong with these types of men. I was above this archaic trade. An unwelcome consideration flitted across my mind — what would Kiki think of this? It certainly didn’t fall under the heading of “becoming a better man.”
“Glad to see you here,” Mac said as I joined one of the small clusters.
He threw an arm around my shoulder. I didn’t shrug it off.
Through gritted teeth, I muttered, “Hello, Mac.” To the others: “Gentlemen.”
The other fellows nodded before looking away sheepishly. I suspected none of us were too proud to be here. I knew most of them — fellow casino owners or Vegas bigwigs. Most had wives, a few had daughters. More than anything else, it was a depressing display.
“Well,” Mac said, gripping me tightly to his side. “Shall we get this show on the road? I’m sure we’ve all got places to be, girls to fuck.”
The men around me laughed in unison, like a stilted mariachi band.
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to say as little as possible to Mac, lest I accidentally explode in the process. “Let’s.”
He let go of my shoulder and turned to the rest of the room, where some twenty or so other guys were chatting away.
“All right, fellas, let’s everyone take your seats. For those of you who are new here—” he turned to me, and to Darian, who had also appeared and looked as uncomfortable as I felt — and winked, “one woman will be put up for auction. Using the paddles at your seats, you’ll place a bid. Should you win, all money is to be paid via wire transfer by tomorrow morning. Any questions?”
There was general silence and the shaking of heads.
“Good. Then get another drink and begin making your way to the theater, as I like to call it.”
Jesus Christ, this was a sordid mess.
Without any other option, I moved to the bar, and as Mac suggested, poured myself a shot of Ketel One. I threw it back in a single swig. A tall, gawky man next to me watched the process. He was one of perhaps three or four in the room who I didn’t immediately recognize, which was curious.
“Your first time?” he queried in a high voice.
“Yeah.”
“Mine too.”
Without asking, I took another glass and poured a second shot, this time passing it to him.
He received it gratefully, though appeared to have some trouble swallowing the hard liquor. Perhaps he’s a virgin too, I thought. And maybe that’s why he’d like to get a girl who’s also a virgin, to feel less naïve.
Or, on the other hand, maybe I was just trying to make up a viable excuse for him, as I had so desperately tried to on my own behalf.
“You nervous?”
I shrugged. “I’d just rather not be here.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “The feeling’s mutual.”
I lifted up the bottle of vodka and poured us both a second shot, which we took together in silence. As the liquor slid down my throat, I wondered how many people were here out of real interest, and how many had been bullied into it by Mac and his compatriots.
“Guess we’d better take our seats,” the man said, a little tremor in his voice. “Wouldn’t want to miss this, right?”
I nodded, and setting down the bottle, followed him to the large armchairs.
Looking around me, I saw a sea of old white men. Besides the man I’d done shots with, who was maybe a few years older than me, and the newest member of the casino owners group, I was the youngest in the room by a country mile, save poor Darian who looked a little green. Maybe that’s why the town was so old-fashioned. It was run by guys who almost remembered a time before women could vote.
After some rustling and clinking of ice, it seemed like everyone was settled in their seats and anxious for the affair to begin.
