I held out for Editor Hour at the charity auction. I mean, hell, I’ve already had any other kind of guy I’d ever wanted to try on for size (and may I say, I’d certainly never paid for any - at least not in cash).
I waited for the last guy. The last guy on the left. In the back row. He stood out like a big bright blue sore thumb, handsome but gaudy, and throbbing for attention.
You’d think, with editors being on the auction block, the emcee'd have followed old time typewriter pecking order - peck, hunt, peck, left to right with the characters moving along, hit return, and then go baby, go, left to right again. But for some reason, the emcee called for bids on these guys in cornstalk hacking order, two orderly rows, beginning on the left side of the first row and on down the line; then, when she reached the back row, she called right to left, in a long loop.
I wasn’t complaining, though. I just kept my Amex to myself, and waited, and let everyone else get all pulsed up and frenzied about this or that gray-suited buy.
Finally, the one I wanted was the last man standing. I whipped out my plastic – zero balance and ready to roll. He caught my eye, or I caught his – even now, I’m not sure which way that really went, and the bidding began, but I just kept my card held high, and even though I recognized a few women around me – a couple of furry animal types, a rhino thong woman, and this hedgehog chick, and a bird so pissed off at me she just about caught fire – I kept my card up in the air, and I took home my prize.
…Do what? Did he read my novel? Did he like what he read? Oh. Uh…sure he did. He loved it.