two

“Ten minutes until the auction closes,” Joy announced to the crowd. “Now’s the time to start making your final bids. Then we’ll start the program.”

Her voice is as sparkly as her dress, Francine thought. On the stage with spotlights catching the sequins in her floor-length white gown, Joy looked like an older version of Vanna White. The dress was appropriate for mistress-of-ceremonies duties, befitting Joy’s role at the benefit, but Francine would never have felt comfortable in something that attracted so much attention. She was more than happy to be in a Mary Ruth’s Catering outfit and blending into the background.

In Alice’s absence and with Joy hosting, Mary Ruth had leaned heavily on her grandson Toby and on Francine and Charlotte for catering help, although Charlotte was not always much assistance. Tonight she seemed more fascinated by the allure of nearly naked men than by the delicious food.

The crowd in the Crown Room milled about the auction tables, sipping wine from etched souvenir glasses and cocktails from stemmed glassware. Francine could hear snippets of conversation as women queued up to top any late bids on auction items they really wanted. Those that relished the opportunity to look like they belonged at a fund-raiser were dressed to kill; others, particularly the younger women, were garbed in ripped jeans and Royal Buckingham Male Revue sweatshirts. They looked prepared for the party atmosphere that would ensue after the silent auction was over and the revue started. The men who’d accompanied their spouses laughed and joked uneasily and seemed ready to bolt as soon as dinner and the auction were over.

Eric Dehoney and five additional Royal Buckingham dancers worked the crowd. They were clad in dark chinos and brown polo shirts from the Brownsburg Parks Department. One of them must have been a licensed bartender because he assisted a Crown Room employee in serving local craft beers and wine from behind a portable bar. The others used their considerable physical charms to engage the women.

Francine watched from behind the buffet table she was servicing. To her they looked like well-built employees rather than male strippers. They were sexier fully dressed, she decided.

Mary Ruth snuck up behind her. “Stop staring at them,” she whispered. She carried a tray of vegetarian spinach lasagna with white sauce. “Would you please remove the old tray and take it back to the kitchen?”

“I didn’t know I was staring.” Francine picked up the pot holders she’d used to carry in the first of the dessert trays, a warm cherry cobbler that looked delicious. Mary Ruth never failed to amaze Francine with her food. She seemed to know exactly what would hit the mark with whatever crowd she catered to, and on this cold February night, the warm cobbler was getting a lot of attention. Though Francine had just carried it out, patrons had flocked to the dessert table and carved out almost half of it. She was certain some of them were eating dessert before supper.

“Not that I blame you for staring,” Mary Ruth said, sighing. “We just don’t have time for it.” As Francine removed a nearly empty tray, Mary Ruth nestled its replacement in the holder over the flame keeping the lasagna warm.

“What do you need me to do next?” Francine asked.

Mary Ruth looked over the two buffet tables. At one end, Toby carved roast beef to order from a huge slab. Toby looked pretty handsome himself, slimmed down thanks to Mary Ruth’s personal trainer. He sported a neatly trimmed beard and wore a large chef’s hat on his head and a white chef’s jacket over his catering uniform. He carved the meat to guests’ tastes and deftly transferred the slices to their plates. Some of the women flirted with him.

Next to Toby were several baskets of breads—small seeded rye rolls for making the beef into a small sandwich, chewy ciabatta rolls that went with the vegetarian lasagna, and slices of rosemary focaccia bread.

Mary Ruth assessed the situation. “We could use more of the focaccia. I have it in one of the warming ovens. Would you please slice it up and bring it in?”

“Could I have your attention, please?” Joy chirped into the microphone at the front of the room. “The live auction will begin in five minutes. That’s plenty of time for you to get your main courses and get settled. The delicious buffet will remain open during the auction, so if you haven’t gotten your fill yet or haven’t gotten to dessert, not to worry. The food won’t go away.”

“Fine for her to say that,” Mary Ruth murmured. “No matter how much she eats, she stays thin as a rail.”

Francine watched Joy come off the stage with unbounded energy. Earlier she had sampled nearly everything Mary Ruth had created, including both desserts, and suffered no ill effects. Even in her seventies, the sequined dress looked perfect on Joy’s slim frame.

Joy greeted people on her way back, encouraging them to bid heartily for the auction items. “It’s for a good cause!” she repeated to each group of attendees who stopped her.

She trailed Francine to the kitchen. She dropped her smile. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said under her breath.

Francine glanced around to make sure there was no one near them. “It’ll be okay. Try not to think about your … problem. Just enjoy each moment as it comes.”

“I’ve left a couple of gowns in the room backstage. I can pull a Vanna White and slip out to change into a different one if I need to escape. I don’t want to hyperventilate and pass out in front of all these people. Or worse.” She narrowed her eyes and glanced from side to side as if warning people to stay away from her.

Joy’s “problem,” as she’d confessed to Francine, was that her divorce from her husband Bruno had left her scarred. Bruno had left her for a man, and now at the mere suggestion of sex, she either hyperventilated or her stomach cramped like she was going to throw up. Both were embarrassing. She’d given up on men a long time ago, but now that she was dating Roy Stockton, a retired sheriff from Rockville, she wanted desperately to overcome her problem. It was for her that they were checking “go to a male strip show” off the bucket list. At #57, it wasn’t very high, but it had become an integral part of her therapy. She hoped that the atmosphere of craziness would offset her negative reaction to nearly naked men, and she would get over her phobia once and for all.

Francine removed a pan of focaccia bread from the oven and proceeded to slice it into pieces with a bread knife. “You’re setting yourself up for failure if you plan to fail. Why don’t you spend your time visualizing your success?”

Joy’s normally high-pitched voice got even higher. “If I visualize those young men gyrating anywhere near me, I get nervous.”

“Listen to yourself. You said you’re nervous, not repulsed. That’s a totally different reaction than you’ve been having.”

“That’s right! I did say that!” She started to stand up straighter, but then her face fell. “I still feel repulsed, though. And a little nauseated.”

Charlotte burst through the doors into the kitchen. She carried a dinner plate full of sweets from the buffet table: cherry cobbler, the sandwich cookie cake, and scalloped apples, which had been on the table with the sides, but was tasty and gooey enough for dessert. “What are we talking about here?”

“Shoes,” Joy said, covering. “These things are killing me. How did we ever wear high heels to work every day?”

“I never did,” Francine admitted. “Nurses can wear sensible shoes. But I know what you mean. They used to wreak havoc on my ankles when I wore them.”

“Yep, now we’re liberated women,” Charlotte said, savoring a bite of the cherry cobbler. “We can show up at big events like this and wear sneakers and no one cares a whit about it.” She was indeed wearing Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops no one could miss. They were bright orange. She’d paired this with a floral patterned dress in pink that screamed senility next to the orange tennis shoes.

Francine finished piling a pink gingham cloth-lined basket with cut focaccia bread and whisked it out to the dining area. She blinked and let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light in the Crown Room. She replaced the empty basket on the table. Hungry guests coming through Toby’s carving station snapped up the bread almost as soon as she set it down. Francine noticed that the seeded rolls for the roast beef were nearly gone. She wondered if Mary Ruth was tending to that or if she should go back and do it herself.

“Francine.” Toby used a stage whisper to get her attention. “Could you come over here? I need you to cover for me.”

“Ummm.” Francine looked around, hoping to see Mary Ruth. “I’m not really very good at carving the roast beef. Maybe I should go get your grandmother.”

Meanwhile, Joy made her way back up to the front and pounded a gavel on the lectern to get everyone’s attention. The DJ in the back lowered the volume of the background music. “Please don’t stop eating and drinking,” Joy said. “Though, from the looks of it, I didn’t need to remind you of either.” That got a laugh. “I hope you’ve all had time to finish bidding on the silent auction items, because that part of the evening is now closed. We’re going to start the live auction here in a minute, but first I want to introduce Camille Ledfelter, whom I sure you will all recognize as our Town Council President. She and her nephew, Eric Dehoney, are responsible for putting together this event to raise money for the new indoor aquatic center. Camille?”

Francine edged closer to Toby. He handed her the large meat fork and the carving knife he was using on the roast beef. “I’d rather you took over right now before my grandmother comes back into the room.”

Francine took the knife and fork, but hesitantly. “Why?”

He put his tall white chef’s hat on her head. “Because I have to leave.”

He must really have to use the bathroom, she thought.

Camille Ledfelter had already situated herself behind Joy at the lectern, so she was able to slide up to the microphone. Camille was in her early sixties and believed in heavy makeup to try to disguise her age. She wore eyeshadow that was lake water blue and long fake eyelashes Francine likened to seaweed growing out of the lake. Camille sported a black evening dress with a beaded bodice. The audience applauded loudly for her. She was the first woman to head the Town of Brownsburg.

“Thank you, thank you for that.” Camille applauded the audience. Francine wasn’t sure why she was applauding the audience for applauding her, but Camille had a way with crowds. The audience applauded even louder.

Toby took off his white jacket and offered it to Francine.

She shook her head. “Much as I don’t want to get my outfit dirty, that jacket’s never going to fit me.”

He grabbed a white apron from a package of spares under the table. He helped Francine slip it over her head and tied the drawstrings tightly behind her waist. He seemed to be in quite a hurry.

“I hope you’re all having a good time getting to know the men who’ll be entertaining us shortly,” Camille continued as the applause faded. “I know you are as committed as I am to seeing this vision come true for Brownsburg. All the surveys indicate that the number-one attraction residents would like to have is a recreation and indoor aquatic center that is second to none in the area.”

The applause swelled and subsided again. “I’d like to thank my nephew Eric for his help in coming up with a unique fundraising opportunity to get us started toward our goal in raising half the funds to build the facility. Could we have a round of applause for the men who are sharing their, uh, talents with us this evening?”

The women applauded loudly and whooped and hollered. The men were more reserved. Francine couldn’t blame them. This was a no-win situation for them.

Toby steered her over to the roast beef. No one in line was paying any attention right then to the carving, so Francine had a moment to think about how she would carve the meat. She turned to ask Toby a question but found he’d vanished.

“Eric, could you come up here?” Camille asked. Eric rose from the Council table and bounded up on stage. He took the microphone from her.

“Thank you, Aunt Camille. Let’s get this auction started, shall we? I’m going to bring back our official MC, Joy McQueen, in a moment.” Applause started to form, but Eric cut it short by holding up his hand. “I’m sure you all love her fun and inspiring reports on senior life for Good Morning America, but first, I want to introduce a few live auction items you didn’t see on the official list.”

He paused for dramatic effect, and the room grew quiet quickly. Francine stopped fumbling with the fork and carving knife and concentrated on what was happening on stage. No one was paying any attention to her and the roast beef anyway.

Joy, standing upstage, arms fixed at her side, tried to be inconspicuous. She looked like she was either waiting for her next task or getting ready to bolt. With easy access to the backstage area from where she stood, bolting was a likely option. Francine worried what Joy would do. Camille, meanwhile, had vanished backstage.

Eric continued. “We’re going to auction off dates with the single members of our dance troupe.” A couple of younger women who had tables close to the front stood and applauded appreciatively, causing Eric to laugh. He singled them out by coming closer to the edge of the stage and pointing to them. “We like that attitude. Let’s make sure that translates into money for Brownsburg Parks!”

Eric snapped his fingers and the DJ in the back brought the room lights down to nothing. He switched to pole mounted spotlights that made Eric the only lit figure in the room.

“And our first dancer up for auction tonight … he’s back behind the bar. He’s as smooth as the drinks he’s poured out for you. Shout out your bids for Isaac Washington!” A new spotlight shown on Isaac.

Francine had to laugh at the name, clearly an alias. Isaac Washington was the name of the bartender Ted Lange played on “The Love Boat.”

The music, which heretofore had been soft jazz music suitable for dinner, now pumped up with a heavy drumbeat and pulsating techno rhythm. Isaac stripped off his shirt in time to the music revealing a well-defined torso with broad shoulders and a washboard stomach. Eric took two bids for him, but then a woman Francine recognized as Cass Carter, ex-wife of Council member Fuzzy Carter, made a preemptive bid for him at $600. From the area near the bar she held her wineglass aloft in triumph when no one moved to outbid her.

“Well, there’s a woman who knows how to get what she wants,” Eric said, throwing in the towel on Isaac as he couldn’t draw anyone to go higher. “But there are more to come, ladies, like our next single dancer. He’s served you already once tonight by carving up some roast beef for you. Now he’ll be carving out a place in your heart. He’s our newest recruit for the Buckingham Revue. Ladies, say hello to Toby Burrows!”

Francine nearly dropped her knife. Toby Burrows? That’s why he needed to get away so fast? He had certainly become a lot sexier with the weight loss and the neatly trimmed haircut, but she wasn’t sure about this. Or maybe she was used to thinking of him as Mary Ruth’s grandson and couldn’t contemplate his changing physique and how that had affected his personality. She stared in shock as Toby Burrows came out from behind the stage curtain and joined Eric.

The room rocked with clapping and whistling. Music blared a pounding beat throughout the room. Toby’s hands shook, and he fumbled with the buttons on his Mary Ruth’s Catering polo shirt. He began gyrating his hips, moving to the sounds. The two women who’d made the first bids on Isaac stood up again and whooped along with the music. They were joined by women at other tables.

Toby untucked his shirt from his pants as he danced. He reached a hand over his shoulder and grabbed the back of his shirt and slowly yanked it up over his head, revealing a tanned, toned torso. When did he get ripped like that? Francine wondered. While his muscles were nowhere near as sharp and defined as Eric’s, his body fat percentage had to be in the single digits.

“Let’s start the bidding,” Eric said, glee in his voice. “Do I hear a hundred dollars?”

“Two hundred,” shouted the two women standing together at one of the front tables. They laughed at each other when they realized they’d declared the same bid at the same time.

Joy bolted backstage. Francine sighed, but there was nothing she could do.

Mary Ruth came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of cherry cobbler. It was heavy, and she moved quickly to get it to the dessert station. She spotted Francine holding the carving knife and frowned like this was completely unexpected and she was having a hard time realizing what was going on.

She looked up toward the stage where Toby was now unbuckling his pants. She gasped and the tray wobbled in her arms. Don’t lose it, don’t lose it, Francine willed. Despite her force of thought, the tray slipped from Mary Ruth’s arms. It dropped onto the dessert table with a thud and bounced in the direction of a table of patrons. Globs of red gooey cobbler flew everywhere, smacking attendees indiscriminately. Cherries rolled down their clothes leaving smear marks.

The collision of the full dessert tray with the table unsettled the warming container. It rocked underneath the mostly empty pan of cherry cobbler. Mary Ruth tipped toward the table and tried to brace her fall. She sought something to grab. Her arms flailed about. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she shrieked. She reached for Francine and almost touched the roast beef. But not quite. Her hands windmilled as she fell into the table and took it down.

The spill-resistant warming container under the near-empty cherry cobbler pan failed to live up to its promise. Fuel spilled onto the floor where paper napkins had settled, setting them on fire. Those who hadn’t been hit by the cobbler were quick to realize they needed to put out the flames. They stomped on the fiery napkins.

Unfortunately they also stomped on cherry cobbler. More cherry filling squirted into the audience.

“Just a little accident, folks,” Eric said. His voice sounded reassuring, but his eyes were wide with alarm. “Keep the bidding going!”

“Two-fifty!” shouted an older woman.

Those trying to stomp out the flames kept bumping into the roast beef station. Francine dropped the knife and fork and held onto the table with all her might. It rocked but didn’t go down. The lamp stand warming the beef began to teeter. She reached for it and almost lost the roast beef in the process. She watched the lamp go and clutched the beef in a bear hug. She felt warm juices running down her arms.

Someone with poor aim ran out of the kitchen with a fire extinguisher, blasting away at anything that looked like it might catch on fire. He managed to put out the flames and coat everyone in range with a white spray at the same time.

Toby, meanwhile, had bounded down the stairs at the sight of his grandmother’s collapse. By the time he reached the back of the room, he was going full speed. He slipped on cherry cobbler and skidded toward the roast beef station. “Watch out!” he yelled. He grabbed at the air, trying to find someone or something to halt his advance. He found nothing. His feet slipped out from under him. He fell onto his back and kept sliding.

Toby streaked toward Francine feet-first like a missile honing in on its target. Francine stared wide-eyed at the oncoming disaster. She tried to side step as Toby barreled into the carving station. His first point of impact were the table legs. They collapsed like potato chips hit by a steam roller. Francine was re-securing her bear hug on the roast beef when the Toby juggernaut knocked her feet out from under her.

Still clinging to the roast, she landed backside first onto his chest. Toby had his hands out and braced her fall. As they came to a final halt, Toby sat up. Except for the slab of roast beef, they looked like they were a couple posing for an Olan Mills portrait.

“I have a bid of two-fifty for the male half of the co-ed bobsled team,” Eric cracked. “Do I hear three hundred?”

“Three hundred!” shouted a woman with a husky voice.

The bidding continued while the people around the wrecked buffet station helped Toby and Francine to their feet. Someone took the beef from Francine and toted it back to the kitchen.

“Are you all right?” Toby asked Francine as they got to their feet. “I am so sorry.”

“A little banged up, but I’ll be all right.” She brushed herself off and looked away while Toby straightened the only thing he was wearing, his pants.

Mary Ruth also rose to her feet, albeit with help. Her face was slimed with cherry filling and dotted with pieces of fruit, looking like a contestant in a pie-throwing contest. She wiped the filling from her eyes with her apron.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to speak over the pulsating music that was still playing. She turned to the two young women covered in cobbler who had braced her under the armpits. “I must have hallucinated. I thought I saw my grandson …”

It was then that Toby, who had been facing the opposite direction, turned and made eye contact with his grandmother. Mary Ruth blinked. She looked down from his face to his bare torso and then down to his unzipped black chinos.

Thank heavens he’s still wearing the chinos, Francine thought.

Mary Ruth collapsed again. The women seemed to anticipate her fall and gripped her tighter. She remained upright but her head hung like she had passed out.

“Grandma?” Toby said. He started toward her but slipped on the cherry cobbler again. He tilted backwards and fell into the only upright buffet table left. It went down with him, raking along the wall and dislodging every electrical power strip plugged into the wall. The music stopped, the lights went out completely, and the room was in darkness.

“Four hundred!” shouted a woman Francine recognized as the neighborhood cougar. “I want him to take me luging!”

The laughter was cut short by the sound of a blood-curdling scream. It sounded like it came from backstage. Worse yet, it sounded like it had come from Joy. Then someone else yelled, “Fire!” and the alarm went off.