An Eye for Art

Chapter Fifteen

No matter the season, the evening twinkle of the moon sparkled the same as it did in the winter. Glass panes reflected the moon's image as if it wanted to see itself dancing among humanity.

My lungs breathed in the air as Mason and I entered the auction house, arms linked together. People of the high and rich class dazzled in their black suits and blue and taupe dresses. I stood out like a sore thumb as eyes ogled me down with smiles etched on their faces. I stuck with my favorite colors: beige and red, but Gabriel chose the dress; I glided through the lobby with Mason in a tight-fitting, sheer beige dress decorated with a crimson, moss pattern. My body tinted my cheeks to match my dress as if I put blush on when really my anxiety was the only thing burning through my makeup.

"How are you feeling?" Mason asked, lightly kissing my temple.

"I'm nervous, but I feel alright." I bit my lip. Mason grinned.

"You look stunning, Adilene. There's nothing to be worried about."

"I've never been in a room with so many wealthy people."

"They may outshine you in the bank department," Mason began, "but you outrank them all with your beauty." He stopped walking and spun me in a circle. A smile crept onto his lips, and I bit mine as more fire flamed under my skin.

We grabbed a couple of glasses of champagne that were traveling around on trays and toasted to the last month of our university experience.

"To walking across the stage in three days and pursuing our passions," Mason announced, raising his glass.

"To walking across the stage in three days and pursuing our passions," I echoed. Downing our drinks, we set the glasses back on a wandering tray and sought our seats.

White flowers, table covers, and drapes complimented the intricate brown walls and chairs, and glimmering yellow lights hung from the walls and were buried in the flower centerpieces. Elegant was an understatement of this festivity. We took our seats labeled with our names as the rest of the crowd shuffled to theirs.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the host greeted from the stage, "Welcome to the 27th Annual Abbot Auction. This is a tradition for my family, and we are pleased to see all of your faces this fine evening. As always, the proceeds from this event will all go to the Hasbro's Children's hospital in Providence, so your money will be well spent. Before we start the auction, I want to say, on behalf of the rest of the Abbot family and myself, thank you to everyone who contributed to the auction this year. You all have our gratitude." The host bowed to the crowd. "Without further ado, we shall begin." The audience clapped with delight as the first piece up for auction was brought onto the stage.

Mason cupped my hand in his lap as we observed the bidding.

"The first piece of the evening is called Maqool Fida Husain by Maria Gilmartin. This piece famously represents Gilmartin's use of symbols while transitioning from his original work and view of the female form," the host spoke. . . "The bidding will begin at 30,000 dollars." Numbers shot up as people battled for Gilmartin's painting, which portrayed women's faces and a body under blue, pink, and yellow tints. The auctioneer rambled away the numbers like a melody he's practiced for his whole life. The process was fascinating. These people were willing to pay almost one year in college or more in one night.

"78 for 56,000 dollars, going once. . . going twice. . . sold to number 78. Thank you, you may pick up your winnings at the end of the evening." Multiple pieces of art came and went. Mason didn't raise his tag for anything. We simply observed artworks being sold off one by one.

"Are you going to buy something?" I questioned.

"Yeah. I'm just waiting for something specific. We get to see what will go up for auction before the event occurs, so I know what I want." I nodded in response, witnessing every laugh, winning, and loss that occurred that evening.