AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nara
Ihated being late. And the irony was, I was always late. It was in my DNA. I was just not made for being early.
Or even on time, for that matter.
“Ouch, dammit!” Oooh, did I just say that?
“I’m so sorry, Miss Kincaid. I’ll be more careful.”
A model-esque saleswoman entered the wedding shop dressing room where I was acting as a human pincushion. She was dressed in head-to-toe black. Even the bun secured at the nape of her neck was black.
“Now, doesn’t that dress look lovely on you,” she purred. No doubt she said that to everyone getting fitted for a marginally attractive bridesmaid dress that they’d never wear again.
She waited. Guess she was expecting a reply.
“Yes, it is nice.” I sighed, looking down at the sweeping skirt. How was I going to walk in this?
“It’s better than the pink and purple confections I’ve worn in my other friends’ weddings. Who, by the way, are now all divorced.”
Her expression changed to one of extreme distaste, as if someone had stepped in dog poop and tracked it all over her white carpet. She hightailed it out of there, leaving me with the smirking seamstress.
The woman pinning my dress felt my pain, I could tell.
Before I could escape the shop, I was informed I’d be charged for the balance of my bridesmaid dress, having previously only paid the deposit. I handed over my credit card, fingers crossed the charge would go through.
“Thank you Miss Kincaid,” she said, handing the card back. “You can pick up your dress next week—”
But I didn’t hear the rest. My Uber ride was waiting out front.
I ran out the door, slipping into the car without my usual security measures like making sure the make, model, and license plate matched what the Uber phone app said would be coming for me.
But it was quickly obvious there was nothing to worry about. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’d just been picked up by Betty White’s younger sister. Betty White of Golden Girls fame.
“Hi, sweetie. What were you doin’ in that bridal shop? You getting married?” She steered into traffic like a champ.
“My best friend Joi is getting married in a few weeks. I’m in the wedding.”
“Isn’t that nice. She pick an ugly dress for you?” She cackled.
“Actually, it’s not too bad. It’s midnight blue, very simple.”
“So you can wear it again, right? Just like they all say!” More cackling.
She shook her white, permed head. It was a wonder she could see over the steering wheel.
“I remember my first wedding, back in 1955. Damn if we didn’t wear ugly dresses back then. We looked like cake toppers. And shit, I was a virgin for my first husband…” She jabbered the whole way across town while I checked my phone in the back seat.
We pulled up in front of the Hotel Vertigo. I wouldn’t have minded riding around with this ace driver longer, but duty called. I tipped her a ten and ran inside.
“Where’s the auction?” I breathlessly asked the concierge.
He pointed at the giant sign I’d just blown past, the one that said “Avenue A Fundraiser” in huge letters. I followed the arrow on it and headed down a corridor.
I quietly crept into the packed ballroom to avoid attracting attention. The fundraising auction was well underway, and I could see my assistant, Mimi, up in the front row.
I sent her a text to check in.
u bidding for me?
u bet, boss!
who u bidding on?
guy stage right. tall. expensive suit.
ok. thnks.
I fished out my glasses so I could see from the back of the room. This was another of those trendy New York fundraisers where certain desirable men and women were “auctioned” for dates, with all the proceeds going to charity.
The Avenue A homeless shelter was a great organization, and one I’d always supported. Bidding on a date wasn’t really my idea of fun, but to raise money for a good cause, I could be coerced.
Apparently, I’d missed the part of the auction where they sold off the women. Something about that was skeevy in a way that it wasn’t with the guys. But I pushed the thought out of my head.
There were six nice-enough looking men on stage, lined up in chairs like an old episode of The Dating Game.
I mean, you couldn’t auction someone with running sores, could you? This was a charity fundraiser, after all.
And wouldn’t you know, the guy Mimi had pointed out to me via text looked like a douche. Figures. The guys in these auction-a-date fundraisers were always douches to one degree or another.
The things I did for charity.
“Nara! How lovely to see you!”
If I’d just ridden with Betty White’s younger sister, this was her cousin. Another 80-something cutie with a tight perm, veneers, and a pushup bra.
“Mrs. Dolan, how nice to see you.”
She ran several of Manhattan’s big, high-profile fundraisers, and had dragged me into this one. She was a champ at separating people from their money.
Just look at me.
“Thank you for coming, my dear. The shelter so appreciates your support. Tell me, what is it your company’s technology does again? I think you told me once before…”
She must have been hard of hearing from how loudly she spoke; several people turned to give us the stink eye until they realized they were dissing an octogenarian.
I steered her away from the crowd. “We make an app that notifies a mom—or dad—on their phone the moment their baby has a dirty diaper.”
She looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. But her bright smile never wavered.
“Oh, an app. I think I’ve heard of those.” She wandered away.
