Glory
I’ve never been to one of these bachelor auctions, but my dear friend and mentor, Sylvia, wouldn’t take no for an answer when she called me up and invited me as her plus one.
“My grandson’s one of the bachelors,” she explains. “I need you to outbid the wannabe desperate housewives of Denver so I can protect him.”
“Aren’t these auctions voluntary?” I ask in confusion. “Doesn’t your grandson WANT to be sold to the highest bidder?”
“Irrelevant,” Sylvia answers. “He has terrible taste in women, and I’m tired of him bringing his flavors of the week around when he visits me.”
“So you want me to fake date him this one time?” I smirk, not exactly sure how that would solve his and her “flavor of the week” issue.
“It’s for charity. Think of it as on-the-job training,” she rationalizes.
She’s not wrong. I spend my days salvaging relationships and coaxing individuals through difficult times. My definition of “Netflix and chill” is a date with myself, a nice bottle of red, and a wedge of brie. I haven’t had a partner in over a year, and he left me because he said I psychoanalyzed every step of our relationship. I wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been dating other women under the guise of “working late.”
We walk into the ballroom and head for the line at the tables. It’s a silent auction this year. According to Sylvia, we check out the eligible bachelors via their headshots and descriptions, then the celebrity host will parade them on the stage for an in person assessment before we place our final bids.
Glittery letters spelling out “Win a Date With…” hang over the tables. The candidates range broadly, as evidenced by the first few I peruse.
Walt Jackson: Journalist at The Denver Post. Advocate for sufferers of chronic rhinitis. Loves a woman in sync with his sensibilities.
Ducky Dale: Resident crooner at Right Side of the Tracks lounge. Prefers down-to-earth women who love humor and vintage shopping. Favorite color is pink.
Thad Hamilton: Owner of Hamilton Repertory Theatre and lifelong performer of the arts. Prefers small town girls who love animals. Philanthropist for several children’s charities.
“Wait.” I glance up at the letters and re-read the name. “Win a date with Thad Hamilton? Is that on purpose?”
“Why?” Sylvia eyes me suspiciously.
“That’s the name of a movie. Well, it’s TAD Hamilton, not Thad, but that’s hilarious,” I laugh.
“That’s my grandson,” Sylvia deadpans.
“Oh,” I giggle snort around my hand. “I’m sorry, Sylvie, it’s just a funny coincidence. Have you never seen the movie?”
“Haven’t heard of it,” she replies.
“It stars the guy who married Fergie.”
“The Duchess of York?”
“Who? No, Fergalicious. The Black Eyed Pea,” I explain. She stares at me blankly. “Anyway, they’re not together anymore. His name’s Josh something. I can never remember his last name. I don’t even know what’s up with Fergie nowadays.”
“Oh, are you talking about that little Stacy Ferguson? My daughter used to watch her singing show growing up,” Sylvia remembers.
“She had a singing show?” I guffaw.
“Yeah, with that Jennifer Love girl. They were cute. That ghost show still gets me.” Sylvia clutches her chest.
Avoiding the confusion over who-in-the-what now, I bring our attention back to her grandson. “So this is the one you want me to save from himself.”
“Please,” she begs. “That boy…”
Sylvia talks about her grandchildren often when I see her, but until now, I’ve never seen any of them. He reminds me of Jerrod Carmichael.
“Okay, let’s hope he’s not the most popular.”
“Don’t you worry about the money, honey.”
“Appreciate that, Sylvie. At least it’s for a good cause.” We run into a handful of women crowding around a particular candidate. I peek over a random shoulder to get a better look at the name. “Although I think this Jake Black, adventure sports extraordinaire, might outshine them all.”
When my eyes land on the next bachelor, my blood rushes to my feet. Of course, they would ask him to auction himself off in the name of charity. Of course, he would jump at the chance to sell himself to the highest bidder. For all I know, he’s been on the list every year just to get a free meal and a one-night stand. Before Sylvia can catch my reaction, I turn away from my ex’s handsome mug and ask, “Shall we grab a table?”
Now that I have my marching orders, I can leisurely ogle the other bachelors as they’re introduced onstage and devise a plan to avoid Danny Cleaver this evening. I follow Sylvia to a table near the stage, and she doesn’t miss a beat.
“You going to be okay seeing him up there?” Her voice soothes the wound I thought had closed a long time ago.
“My focus is your grandson,” I assure her. “Don’t you worry about me, Syl.”
“All right, honey.” She takes her seat and I settle beside her. We’re both open targets from the stage, so I can only hope the lights blind the bachelors and hide me from exposure to the womanizing hunk who broke my heart.
The lights dim, and a booming voice welcomes us to the auction. A spotlight shines on the stage, and the omniscient voice introduces the celebrity host this evening.
“Hey, that’s the guy from the Tad Hamilton movie!” I exclaim when Josh Duhamel walks across the stage.
“Oh, why, yes! That’s the military gentleman from the Transformer films,” Sylvia recognizes.
“Never seen,” I admit, and don’t plan to anytime soon, regardless of the silver fox standing front and center. Action films land very low on my long watchlist of rom-coms both small and big screen, but it’s no surprise Sylvia’s seen them with so many grandsons she’s had to entertain.
For a moment, I feel a twinge of sadness over my ticking biological clock, but I push it aside and focus on the stage. I’ve still got time to find Mr. Right and start a family. My career’s finally peaking, especially with the success of my podcast bringing in new clients weekly. I’ll save up for a year or two and then maybe come to one of these auctions with the determination of a wannabe Denver housewife.
Josh Duhamel goes through the introductions for the evening before announcing the bachelors who will come out one by one and preen for the audience before final bidding. Starting with Jake Black, he rattles off the stats and reads a fun fact given only to him by the eligible man.
When Thad finally appears, Sylvia gasps, and I focus my attention on the stage. Prior to Thad, I have been scanning the audience and gauging the hungry faces over each slab of meat. Fortunately Danny has yet to take the stage. Now I peer at the adorkably bespeckled man in a three-piece checkered suit. A hot nerd version of Jerrod Carmichael! Hubba hubba…
Clearly I have a new type, and thy name is Thad Hamilton.
Sylvia’s eyes narrow. “That’s not Thaddeus.”
