For three hours, I sat in that chair. The stylist washed, cut, styled, and curled. The makeup artist worked on my face, patiently concealing the dark circles, highlighting my eyes and lips. The manicurist fixed my bitten nails. When it was all over and they handed me a mirror, I didn’t immediately recognize the woman staring back. My hair was styled in soft waves. My face was fresh. My eyes large and expressive. My lips a vibrant red. I looked alive. Beautiful. Not like a janitor worn down by life, but like a woman.
“It suits you,” the stylist said. “You look completely transformed.”
I changed at the salon, putting on the dress and a pair of low heels, and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My heart was pounding. I was terrified. Terrified of going to the party, of seeing Greg’s reaction, of hearing what he’d say. But I was even more terrified of staying home and continuing to live as I had before. A taxi dropped me off at the hotel around 9:30. I was two hours late. The salon had run behind, but I got out of the car and walked toward the entrance. My legs felt weak. My hands were trembling, but I kept walking. A doorman opened the door for me. I entered the lobby, checked my coat, and walked toward the ballroom. Music. Laughter. A hum of voices. I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
And I heard my husband’s voice booming across the hall.
“Who wants to spend a night with my frump and listen to her squawk? The starting bid is five bucks. Come on, don’t be shy. It’s a charity auction.”
The room was laughing. Someone shouted ten bucks. Someone else cheered on their drunk colleague. And I stood in the doorway as the world around me seemed to stop. He didn’t know I was there. He thought I was at home in my old robe, clearing the dinner table. He was auctioning me off in front of all his colleagues, partners, and important people. Five dollars for me. For my life. For the right to spend a night with the woman he called a frump. The blood drained from my face. I stood there unable to move. Slowly, the room began to notice me. Heads started to turn. The music softened.
“Well, look what we have here,” someone said loudly. “A beautiful woman has arrived.”
Greg turned around. His drunken gaze slid over me, not recognizing me at first. He squinted, trying to focus.
“Now if only a beauty like that would show up instead of my hag,” he slurred and let out a cackle.
A few people standing closer recognized me. A whisper started to spread. Isn’t that the janitor, Anna, Greg’s wife? No way. Greg, that’s your wife. He froze. His eyes slowly traveled from my shoes up to my face. His expression shifted from drunken amusement to confusion, then to shock.
“Anna,” he stammered.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The words were stuck in my throat along with the tears.
“What, you decided to play dress-up?” Greg tried to smile, but it came out as a crooked grimace. “Well, whatever. The lot still stands. Five bucks for a night with the wife. Who’ll bid more?”
He was continuing his drunken joke. Even after seeing me, even after realizing I’d heard everything, he didn’t stop. To him, it was just fun. Just entertainment for a drunk crowd. I stood there and felt something dark and cold rise within me. Not tears. Not self-pity. Fury.
“One hundred thousand.”
The voice came from the back of the room. It was low, calm, and confident. Everyone turned at once. A man was rising from a VIP table, tall, in his forties, in an impeccable suit. I’d never seen him before. He walked through the room and the crowd parted for him.
“One hundred thousand,” he repeated, approaching me, “for the privilege of spending the evening with this lady.”
The silence was absolute. Even the music had stopped. Everyone looked from the stranger to me, then to Greg. The CEO of Greg’s company, standing near my husband, turned pale.
“Mr. Thorne, are you serious?”
“Completely,” the man replied. “I’ll transfer it to your company’s charity fund tomorrow. Assuming, of course, the lady agrees.”
He walked right up to me and extended his hand.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Marcus Thorne. It would be my honor to rescue you from this circus.”
I looked at him, not understanding what was happening. One hundred thousand dollars for me. The janitor. The frump. The woman who had just been auctioned off for five bucks.
“I heard your husband mention that you sing,” Marcus continued. “Allow me to guess that you do it beautifully, since he’s so afraid to admit it. Would you like to spend the evening away from this noise, away from the drunken clowns?”
His voice was gentle, but there was steel in it. He looked me in the eyes, and in his gaze there was no lust or mockery, only respect. I took his hand. It was warm and strong.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I would.”
Marcus turned, holding my elbow, and led me toward the exit. The ballroom was silent. Greg stood with his mouth open, still not processing what was happening.
“Anna!” he finally yelled. “Stop! Where are you going? It was a joke!”
I didn’t look back. We walked through the entire hall. At the exit, Marcus retrieved my coat from a stunned coat-check attendant and helped me put it on. A black car with a driver was waiting at the entrance.
“Where would you like to go?” Marcus asked, opening the door.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Anywhere but home.”
“I know a place. Trust me.”
I nodded and got into the car. The last thing I saw looking back was Greg’s face in the restaurant window, drunk, confused, and angry. The car pulled away. We drove through the city night. The lights of holiday garlands, decorated shop windows, and Christmas trees flashed by. I was sitting in the back of a luxury car next to a stranger who had just paid one hundred thousand dollars for the right to spend the evening with me. It all felt surreal.
“Are you cold?” Marcus asked. “I can turn up the heat.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. I was shivering, not from the cold, but from what had just happened. The humiliation. The auction. The one hundred thousand dollars. The escape from the restaurant. It all swirled in my head like a wild kaleidoscope.
“Forgive my directness, but you look like you either need to talk or you need to sit in silence. Which would you prefer?” Marcus said.
I looked at him. In the passing streetlights, I could see his face, calm, with strong features and faint lines around his eyes. He wasn’t looking at me with lust or curiosity, but with something like empathy.
“I don’t understand why you did that,” I managed to say. “You don’t know me. Why pay one hundred thousand for—”
“For the chance to pull a human being out of a humiliating situation?” he finished for me. “I didn’t pay for you like an object. I paid to stop that shameful spectacle. To show your husband and everyone else that the woman they were tormenting is worth more than they can possibly imagine. And for me, one hundred thousand is not a problem. I have money. But you tonight—you didn’t have a choice until I showed up.”
The car turned off a central avenue and headed toward a park. I recognized it. An old historic city park that was usually closed in winter, but now its gates were open and thousands of lights glowed within.
“I rented the park for my company’s event tonight,” Marcus explained. “But I canceled at the last minute. I decided I didn’t want to spend New Year’s in a crowd. Now I’m glad I did. It gives me a chance to show you something beautiful.”
