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“Ladies,” snarls Anne from the side of the stage nearest us, gesturing wildly for us to strut our behinds over there like heifers at a cattle market just ready to be appraised.
“God, put a sock in it, Anne,” I gripe, realizing that the insufferable tight ass's bark sounds like the mating roar of a sexually frustrated T-Rex I’m fairly sure I once heard simulated on the Discovery Channel.
Nisha grips my hand as we put on our best pageant smiles and waddle ourselves up there, with me being grateful for the whiskey buzz taking the edge off current proceedings.
The guests whoop and cheer as we all stand in a line, grinning inanely and pretending we don't want to be struck by lightning so that we can escape the cattle sale.
I glance down at my frock, checking that it’s not translucent in the lights beaming onto the stage. That’s all I need. I contemplated pulling my hairband out to kind of cover my breasts more but decide to spare Anne from the mini-stroke she’ll have when she spies the pink ends.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, our first dance is being offered—”
The MC sounds like he’s just about to get a lap dance as he verbally salivates over our first auction sacrifice, Hachiko, though her boyfriend has been given strict instructions to win, so at least she won’t have to slow dance with some creep who thinks he’s paid for more than a dance.
“Remember, all money donated is tax deductible,” croaks Anne whose on-stage personality seems to have morphed from Trunchbull to Tinkerbell within the last half hour.
Hachiko smiles bravely as the bids go all the way to…
“Four hundred dollars!” The crowd erupts as her boyfriend wins the bid for the slow dance. “Sold to… James!”
He crosses the dancefloor as she takes a few steps down off the stage, planting a giddy kiss on him.
“God, I’m not cut out for sex auctions.”
“It’s not a sex auction,” Nisha sputters. “Try to take the stick out of your ass as you walk down there so that you actually enjoy it.”
“Did you see how fast the men were bidding? What do they think they’re getting with this dance?”
“A tax receipt?” quips Nisha making me smile for real for the first time since I got up there.
“And now, our beautiful Nisha!”
She grips my hands as bidding starts…
Ten minutes later, I find myself thoroughly alone, trying to resist the urge to fling myself off stage as the MC sounds like his erection is now doing the talking.
Only for you, Carrie… Only for you.
It’s not Carrie’s fault. I’m not normally this miserable or jaded. I love a good belly flop into the ridiculous as much as the next girl, but right now, all I want to do is disappear to some place where there are no men around, and certainly don’t fancy dancing with one who thinks I owe him something.
“Our last dance is with this delicious young creature…”
I slow-blink at the MC and his chubby sweat-beaded face the color of blanched red peppers.
He did not just phrase it like that.
The crowd erupts as if someone just spiked their drinks with Viagra and they think I’m about to fling my clothes off and pole-dance for them.
As they settle down, I hear Anne bellowing something in my direction. Loud.
“Indigo. Can you turn around for us?”
My lips part against my will and for a second I wonder if I’m being punked.
The foghorn can not be serious…
I stand still as a statue in a moment of stage fright from hell until, upon the whoops of a bunch of drunken well-dressed strangers, I turn around slowly, incredulity pumping through my veins.
“Mmm… De-li-cious,” fawns our lecherous MC. “Who’s gonna start me at one hundred dollars for three slow dances with our scrumptious young Indigo?”
