Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (59 page)

Contrary to what I had first thought, River wasn’t one of the first off the block. Instead there were a good ten others who went ahead of him, all of them auctioned off by the mistress of ceremonies, Wisper. Some of those offered went for no more than a few dollars, and a couple of laughs. Prudence Kent was one of the early auctionees, and she raised several hundred dollars for the Dickens Home. Personally, I thought she should have gone for a lot more. She was a lovely woman—though almost plain when unfairly compared to Wisper— and had seemed rather sharp, witty, and genuinely very sweet during our brief encounter. She appeared a bit disappointed that I hadn’t joined in the bidding for her, but was also plainly delighted with the young man who won her as a weekend companion.

It was when Prudence was onstage beside Wisper and some of the others that I finally noticed I had stopped registering people by their privates—penises, breasts, butts, pubic hair, whatever—and started returning to traditional modes of appraisal—face, height, hair color. I’d taken Prudence in as a whole and was entirely charmed by her. Not that I hadn’t noticed her beauty, the length of her legs, the small, cuteness of her breasts, her overall attractiveness—but no more than I would if she were clothed. Instead I had absorbed the entirety of her at once—her presence, her personality, the way she smiled and laughed—and not remained locked in on the things you couldn’t ordinarily see just because I wasn’t used to seeing them.

I could now recognize that there were very real advantages to this lifestyle. Everyone was on an equal footing, no one was able to hide their physical secrets, and you couldn’t be separated by the arbitrary distinctions of fashion—an odd thing to recognize for someone whose entire livelihood is based on that arbitrariness.

And from the purely animalistic side, I also preferred seeing women in the nude to seeing them in clothes. That may seem rather obvious to anyone of a hormonal age, but for me it was a revelation that not all women were Playboy models, yet were still quite enjoyable to look at. Not that women couldn’t be lovely in clothes, but after years of looking at them in tiny shreds of fabric designed to entice one to want more, I just wanted the more without all the teasing and falsity of enhancements. Honestly, there was nothing more appealing, or more attractive, than a human body—a female human body in particular—unadorned, and I was beginning to see no need to embellish it. And now, after only about a day here, public nudity did seem almost natural.

Almost.

Perhaps it was the fact that I was finally starting to see those around me as people rather than ‘nudists’, or perhaps I had just become overwhelmed with the endless sea of unmentionables. Whatever the case, it nonetheless surprised me that I was somehow becoming attuned with the environment around me.
More
comfortable, if not
entirely
comfortable.

I took another scan around the crowd looking for Ms. Waboombas, when a chorus of delighted female voices rose from those gathered near the stage, and I turned without much surprise to see that they were responding to River. He strutted before them, confident, and hung (I said I was not
entirely
comfortable), and took a turn around the platform to make sure anyone who hadn’t seen him before now would have their chance at a full, three-hundred-andsixty-degree view. As you can imagine, there wasn’t a woman in the crowd who wasn’t appreciative of his thoughtfulness.

“Isn’t he wonderful, folks?” Wisper called into the microphone, receiving a boisterous response. Then she turned to her other sibling, Petal, who smiled and shook her head in sisterly disbelief. “Our own, particular, little brother. Fortunately, its only two days, and
you
don’t have to live with him.”

River smirked at her, and the women who now crowded the stage mockingly booed her. Wisper laughed and stepped aside.

Satisfied with the reaction he had received, River glided over to stand proudly at the forefront of the stage, and in the back, Wisper held out a hand to accept bids.

“What am I…” she began, but was immediately cut off.

“ONE HUNDRED!”

“TWO HUNDRED!”

“TWO-FIFTY!”

The bidding raced on like that, uncontrolled, and unprompted, until a particularly loud voice cut through all the others…

“ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!”

…and was followed by silence.

Every head turned and looked around for the source of the bid, and every eye in the place came to rest on Ms. Waboombas. Tall, exotically brown-skinned, regal, Wendy stood near the center, back of the crowd, and it parted to allow the new gunslinger a clear aim so no one in her path might accidentally be shot. With one bid, and four words, she had contained the raging flow of River frenzy and drawn every eye in the town down upon her, and her alone.

Surprisingly, she wasn’t naked. She wore a stunning, red evening gown, matching shoes, and jewelry. Her dress was elegant and tasteful, and cut in a style that showed only what needed to be seen and nothing more. She smiled, supremely confident, as every man in the area with a clear view dropped a jaw and craned his neck for a better view.

Even I had to admit, she was ravishing. Her make-up appeared to have been done professionally, and showed enormous restraint. Colors blended, accented, and highlighted, rather than stood out. Her hair was pulled back stylishly in a tight bun, and her lips were parted in a slight, knowing smile.

She was, once again, in complete control, and loving it.

Unfortunately, she was in control with
my
money—or rather, my
non
money.

I scampered in her direction and tried anxiously to wave her off, but, of course, it was far too late. There was a contract involved. Pizeley M. Boone had made that abundantly clear.

“We have a bid…” Wisper said quietly into the microphone, astonished, “…of one hundred thousand dollars.” She paused, not sure if she should even bother asking. “Do I have another?”

One woman started to raise her hand, then reconsidered. Another coughed. They all looked toward Wendy, surprised and deeply disappointed. Their fun had ended far too soon, and not with anyone they knew and could tease, admire, or joke with.

Who was this newcomer?

I moved over to Waboombas and stood beside her. Wisper caught sight of me and scowled. Knowing how smart she was, she had probably figured out that I was somehow behind this and was wondering what my game might be.

“Ms. Waboom—Wendy,” I said. “I’ve recently discovered that I…” I briefly hesitated, “…I don’t have any money.”

Wendy continued looking around at the wondering crowd, soaking up their attention, and didn’t bother turning to me.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m broke,” I said, more curtly. “In this dimension, my money is worthless.”

She turned directly to me this time, and her smile faltered.

“What?” she asked again, though her terrified tone told me plainly that this time she’d heard me perfectly.

I shrugged, not sure what else I could say.

“SOLD!” Wisper said firmly. “To the woman in the red dress.”

Waboombas looked as if she’d been shot.

“Corky,” she said quietly, her voice sounding desperate. “I don’t have any money either.”

“I know,” I said. “But don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get us out of this.”

“You sure?” she asked, clearly not buying it.

“I’m sure.”

“You
positive
?”

“I am positive,” I said, feeling nothing of the kind.

She didn’t look convinced. Damn. The woman was far too insightful.

“I swear to you, I will make good on this,” I said, not explaining that it might be through my physical incarceration. “If I have to sell everything I own, my home, my car—everything—we will work this out, and nothing will happen to you.”

Wendy smiled, still a bit nervously, then pulled herself up to her full height and walked off to claim her prize. Confidence was, apparently—justified or not—her natural state of being.

“Let’s go, handsome!” she called out to River. “Your ass is mine for two whole days, and I ain’t wastin’ a second of it.”

River, for the first time since I’d encountered him—maybe for the first time in his life—looked nervous and unsure of his future. Good, served him right.

I had finally crossed some kind of personal line, or barrier, or Joseph Campbell threshold into a hero’s journey. I was going to get to Wisper, and I was going to make this work somehow, even if I had to go to jail to do it.

And now was the time. Petal stepped up on the stage and took the microphone from her sister, and Wisper moved, shyly, toward center stage. She had her head down slightly, then folded her hands behind her back and raised that lovely head, confidently, chin up, eyes out, lips smiling. Everything about her nude figure radiated magnificence.

What a girl,
I thought.

“All right,” Petal began “You all know my sister, Wisper. The waitress with a heart of gold who organized this thing, and I must say, did an absolutely fantastic job of it because even the little hors d’oeuvres—she made those herself, you know, and they are sooo good, so if you haven’t tried them, you really need to, especially the little chocolate mousses—because this isn’t just ordinary food, we’re talking about here, folks, this is something that was delivered from the kitchens of the gods, and shows just how multi-talented she is, and how good at time-management she can be since she did those in her frickin’ spare time between mod…her…uh…day job and organizing this whole auction thing because not only is she the prettiest thing in Nikkid Bottoms by far, she has talents you’ll never get a chance to discover in just two nights, and two days—not talents like sexual talents, so don’t get any ideas, although I’m sure if she was really into you or something, anything is possible, but…”

As a delighted murmur rose from the gathering crowd of men, Wisper shot Petal a look, and her talkative sister finally discovered another fine place to put a period.

“Sorry,” Petal said, a little hurt. “I was just selling you, is all.”

Wisper’s look said plainly that additional selling would be severely punished.

“Okay, fine,” Petal whined, and as every available male in the place tensed for the frenzy of bidding to commence, she opened the floodgates. “Then, without further ado, which is such an odd thing to say really, especially if you don’t know what an ‘ado’ is…”

Wisper rolled her eyes and held up a hand.

“What am I bid?”
she said, not needing a microphone to be heard.

“One hundred thousand dollars!” a voice shouted, closing any potential floodgates with a slam.

Wisper’s eyes went wide and she froze, hand in the air.

The entire audience, including me, gasped and turned to her bidder-slash-suitor. Washburne just smiled that cat-eating-my-girl’scanary smile of his and stared unblinking at Wisper. She only stared back, though without the same feelings I noted. Washburne, apparently, believed a hundred thousand to be the magic number, given Ms. Waboombas’ instant success.

And from the looks on all the men’s faces, and the fact that I was broke, he was probably correct. I gritted my teeth and fumed. Dammit. How did ordinary people
live
without wealth?

“Oh,” Petal said. “Wow. That was fast. So. Okay. I guess we’re done. Going once, going twice…”

“
Five
hundred thousand!” I said.

If it was possible, this new gasp was even louder and more shocked than the previous one, and now every eye trained on me. Which really wasn’t a good thing because at least some of the eyes belonged to police officers and angry teenagers, possibly one or more of those who had been chasing Morgan and me earlier. And apparently Ms. Waboombas hadn’t quite gotten River out of the picture quickly enough because I saw their faces appear at the edge of the crowd, and River just couldn’t be less happy, no matter which part of him you studied.

“Withdraw your bid!”
Wisper snarled.

“What?” I said, caught off-guard by her anger.

“I do not want you bidding on me!”

“Do the rules say anything about you getting a choice in the matter?” I asked.

She said nothing and continued glaring at me, then abruptly turned to Petal, who looked sheepish and could only shrug.

“Never been a problem before,” Petal told her older sister.

Wisper turned her attention back to me, speaking volumes without saying a word.

“Then my bid stands,” I said.

She glared at me, fixedly, as her expression slowly softened to one of hurt and sadness. It was unexpected, and I instantly wanted to do whatever it took to make her happy again. Except withdraw my bid.

Then Washburne went and made things even worse.

“Seven hundred thousand!”

I drew a breath to respond, but Wisper cut me off. “Let it go!” she said furiously.

“No,” I said, and began to speak again, but she cut me off once more.

“I don’t want anything to do with you!” she said. “Not now, not ever! Don’t force me!”

Now it was my turn to be hurt.

Every eye was on us, ping-ponging back and forth between her and me with expectation, and I could physically feel how everyone present wanted more—if just so they could understand what the hell was going on. Unfortunately for Wisper, I wanted to know too, and only stoked the fires of interest in the crowd.

“Why not?” I asked, genuinely not understanding.

“Why
not?”
She was plainly shocked at my ignorance. “Look at you! You’re the only one in this entire crowd, in almost this entire town, who’s wearing pants—if you can even call what’s left of them pants. Yet I know—
inside
—you’re thinking
we’re
the one’s who are weird.”

I started to respond, to deny it, but then abruptly realized she was right and only goggled, wordlessly, like a gaffed flounder. To my mind, even with the modest gains I’d made in my time here, on some level I believed that everyone in this town
was
weird. Ridiculous. Even laughable.