The Family Business

The Auction

"Going once? Going twice? Sold! For $865,000 to number 132!"

I find my hands moving to join in the applause, approving nods and hissed whispers of 'well, there goes another to 132' fill the room. I can't lie, it's music to my ears. I attempt to seem discontent, but I'm beaming. It's all I can do to keep myself from looking like the cat that ate the damn canary.

"Next, we have a truly exquisite piece, again by the elusive La Llorona, called Courting Banksy!"

As the curtain pulls back, a huge portrait is wheeled to center stage accompanies with the ooos and awws of the crowd. I, too, can't help but feel a mixture of joy and longing when I look at the painting... it simply radiates passion and power and art. Easily one of my favorite pieces.

"Pictured here we see a beautiful oil on canvas painting of Banksy's own self portrait along with presumably her own, posed in the style of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss with both their faces pixilated and entirely in gray tones with gold accents! The opening bid for this piece is 500,000."

Immediately half the crowd's paddles swish into the air, and I am lost again in the blissful feeling of bidders shouting around me, some composed and elegant, others desperate and shaky, all aggressively trying to outbid each other for my piece. My piece. Mine. Ugh. I wish I could take credit for my work, I deserve it after all, but father's orders. Although, I'm not completely unknown: upper echelon patrons, auctioneers, and a select museum curators know me as Christine Huang, La Llorona. To most, however, I am nothing more than a cultural sensation, another faceless and pretentious artist in the wind. Feeling smug, I raise my paddle for a 1.6-million-dollar bid. Suddenly I become aware of heads turning and gasping, and I spin slightly in my chair to see Robin Gunningham enter the room.

"Banksy! It's Banksy!" I hear the whispers of shock around me as the auctioneer attempts to revert everyone's attention to the painting.

"Er – we have 2.2 million going once—"

"Six million dollars." Gunningham says steadily, sneaking me a wink as he does. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Six...? Um- Six million going once! Twice!" Every eye remains turned to Gunningham, to Banksy, jaws on the floor. "Sold! To Mr. Robin Gunningham for six million!"

Not one person applauds as Mr. Gunningham approaches the piece. I can't help but smile now. 6 million. And all for me, unlike the rest of the money which goes to my parents, this buy is all for me. Since they organize the majority of high bidders like 132, who really aren't buying a painting but are buying services from my parents, my dad gets the wired money directly from my manager. I don't even get the pleasure of it touching my bank account. No, straight to offshore it goes. But this, this purchase from Banksy, this is all mine. Pride swell in my chest and suddenly I'm afraid I will cry. I clear my throat as people begin filing out of the room and prepare myself for what is to come.

After the auction, we are guided to a large ballroom set with standing tables and various layouts of food, ranging from tiny desserts to huge cuts of meat roasting over open flames. The chattering of guests and the flare of music cause me to lightly sway from foot to foot, and why not be honest? The champagne definitely helps. I'm technically only 19, but who cares? Tonight is my night. Robin walks in, immediately swarmed by guests trying to impress the infamous artist, and he obliges. I feel drawn to speak to him, again probably due to the champagne, but my manager grabs my arm harshly and pulls me to the side.

"Ow! Careful with the goods okay, Van! Asshole." I mutter under my breath. His real name is Sir Constantine Van Hostenburg, but that's so fucking pretentious I can't stand it. He hisses at me to act like a lady as he puts on an award-winning smile and places my arm in a vice grip tucked against his own.