Descending Jackal

Lot 218

     It was mostly a fair game at Southwind auction center.  The given Saturday was light, sixty or so semi-interested participants, and 329 lots for sale.  Many of the items were common knickknacks for the activity including; Aunt Martha's gardening clothes (still dirty), a box of old Whiskey bottles (various shapes), china dishes (made in Malaysia), and one locked trunk... Lot 218.

     Jaquelin arrived just after the auction began.  Her three inch heals made quite the clack as she darted across the dingy tile floors.  It seemed as though all eyes met her with each step, and her mind tried to fill in the why.  A few short clacks more, and she was near check-in.

     "Good day," remarked the check girl.  Her bouncy attitude was only diminished by the smell of old cheese that never seemed to leave the auction hall, no matter how many scented candles she lit.  "Do you have a number, and may I take your coat?"

     Jaquelin shook out a quick no as she folded her coat across her arm.  After a quick moment, and the removal of an offending hair from her face, she looked down at the check stand saying, "So... the number?"

     "Sorry, Miss."  The girl quickly pulled a cardboard slip from under the counter, and wrote in large numbers a six and a five in black marker.  "Make sure you use this to signal all bids, so there is no confusion about who's bidding."  She flipped the card to show preprinted lines.  "Here you have space to write down your purchases so you can keep up.  I just need your I.D. to log you in."

     It took a moment for Jaquelin to realize she was expected to react.  As the young girl was explaining how things worked, her mind wandered; followed by her eyes to a strange trunk in the far corner.  It was a dingy brown, with a leather look to the outside, yet the covering was not her focus.  She could see an old world padlock, secured in place, keeping all mystery inside that shell.  What treasure would it hold?  Money, jewelry, or something of more value?  Her focus was broken by a piece of dingy white cardboard, with the number sixty-five written by hand, shoved into her face.

     "Thank you," muttered Jaquelin as she snatched the card from the girl's hand, and laid her I.D. on the table. 

     It took only a minute before it was done and the check girl said, "Remember, all sales are final.  No bid can be retracted once made.  Have a nice time, and thank you for coming to Southwind!"

     Her thoughts turned, as did her body, to finding Thomas.  He was older than her (almost forty) with a lightly balding head.  Jaquelin found the polite shine it gave under florescent light rather cute.  He would most likely be dressed in jeans with a tee shirt and sport coat; a throwback to his teen years he wouldn't let go, and canvas high top shoes.  Fortunately for her, he was easy to find in a crowd.

     She slinked into his row, making her way to the empty chair at his side.  The heals didn't help her be quiet, nor did the short length, low cut dress she wore make it easy to bend.  In her mind she was an elephant trying to tip toe on broken glass, but all that changed with Thomas; and his first look with that broken smile.  Now she was complete, and never felt more beautiful.

     After a polite kiss in public, and a quick snuggle for affection, they sat calmly waiting for the next break in the auction to talk.  At risk now was a three foot long panoramic photo of the U.S.S Missouri, black and white, framed in dark wood.  "Seventy-five cents I am bid," rang out from the speakers, "who will make this one dollar?"

     Thomas shot his number up shouting, "One dollar!"  He looked over at Jaquelin saying, "I love running them up!"

     "You might get stuck owning that you know."