“Two minutes,” the auctioneer bellowed from the back steps. “Two minutes ‘till auction, people.”
Everyone turned to face the doorway, tossing their heads and stomping their feet like restless cows. The girl with the quiche plate returned and Derek took another three. “Cheers.”
“Excited for the auction?”
“Not as much as the free food.”
She laughed too long and hard. “That’s so funny. You’re Derek Hardiman, yeah?”
He smiled, aware the suits were watching. Howard was an idiot. How the fuck was this supposed to help him get a house? “Uh, yeah. I am.”
“That’s so cool. Could I maybe give you my number after the auction?”
Derek’s brain stalled. “Ah, sure.”
“Great! Be back soon.” The cute server ducked away.
He shouldn’t have done that. He didn’t want to go out with some girl he met at a property auction, and up close she had that ‘lie back and take it for clout’ vibe. Derek watched her offer a quiche to the only other single guy he could see.
“No, thank you,” the man said, sounding bored. He had an accent. An American, Derek guessed. The guy stood straight as a plank, hands clasped behind his back like he was the president or something.
“One minute,” the auctioneer shouted.
On instinct Derek swallowed, shifting his shoulders as though he was about to run onto the field.
Okay, Bloke, get in there. Bid high. Win the house. Tell the server I forgot about my girlfriend. Find someone married who likes getting choked. Easy.
He glanced up at the brick house. If he fixed it up, it would look like his mates’ places when he first came to Melbourne for footy. Back in the days when it blew his mind that you could live near a stadium. Back when his whole life had been Albury and football and Mara.
Stop it. Not today.
But he could already see her, sitting in the wildlife reserve with pink and purple flowers in her hair.
Mara. Mah-rah. Mara Temple. The first girl who’d ever made his heart stop. She loved him like her whole world would collapse if she didn’t. She ground her sweet, unshaven cunt against his mouth and begged, screamed, for more. His cock jerked against his leg. Ten years and she was still getting him hard in public. Still sending him searching for her in clubs. When was he ever going to be done?
“Alright, everyone. Gather round! Gather round!” The auctioneer waved his hand at the house behind him. “I’m Matthew Pane, and on behalf of everyone at Pane Real Estate, I’d like to thank you all for coming here today. Bidding’s about to start. So, get your pointing fingers ready because it’s gonna be—”
There was a small crunch. Derek craned his neck and saw Matthew Pane from Pane Real Estate had stepped on a lawn light embedded in the grass. Pane gave a loud, cackling laugh. “Sorry about the property damage, folks! I’ll pay to replace that, of course. Or I’ll take it off the house price, eh? Eh?”
Derek saw a muscle jumping in the American’s jaw and his appreciation of him rose.
“Anyway, what was I doing? Running an auction, that’s right!” Pane grinned around at them. “One small announcement before we get started, and don’t look so grim because it’s a bit of a fun one—”
The auctioneer’s gaze searched the crowd, locking in on him like a heat-seeking missile.
“—we have a celebrity in our midst today! Derek Hardiman of the Hammerhead Sharks!”
Derek tried to smile as everyone except the American turned and applauded. He fought the urge to pull out his phone and stare at it until everyone looked away.
“Jesus,” a husband muttered. “How are we gonna outbid Derek Hardiman?”
The guy threw him a disgusted look as he and his wife pushed their way toward the back gate. There was a pause and two other couples followed.
“Oh, don’t be like that, folks!” the auctioneer called. “Stay and have a play!”
Derek looked away. This was so fucking gross. The showmanship, the competitiveness. He wished he could have made a private offer, wished it wasn’t so fucking hard to buy a house. The American had turned away slightly. Derek felt like he’d failed him. It had been the two of them, normal humans here to bid on a house, and now the auctioneer had outed him.
Matthew Pane rubbed his palms together, a move so cheesy Derek would have laughed if it had been on TV.
“Alright, folks, without further ado, I’d like to open the bidding on this lovely house at eight hundred thousand.”
And they were off, bids flying every ten seconds. Eight hundred and fifty thousand, nine hundred thousand…
“One million!” Pane bellowed. “Can I see a million one?”
Derek held off. He had orders from Howard to wait until the bidding hit two million.
“The house’s a piece of shit, and the land block’s awkward,” he’d said. “Developers can’t do much with it. I’d be surprised if it goes for over two mill. Hold your horses. Let the amateurs get out of the way before you jump in.”
He didn’t have to wait long. In five minutes, most of the couples had bowed out, ducking away with phones pressed to their ears, as though they’d suddenly remembered an appointment.
“Two million!” the auctioneer cried, his cheeks red with excitement. “Can I see two million one?”
There was a pause. His stomach churning, Derek raised his finger. The auctioneer spotted him at once. “Mr Hardiman has entered the fray! That’s two-one! Can I see two-two? Two million and two hundred thousand?”
There was a loaded silence. Derek felt his heart inflate.
“Can I see two-two?” the auctioneer pleaded. “Anyone? Mr Thompson?”
The developer shook his overly-gelled head. Derek held his breath. He was close—he might even have it. Then slowly, almost lazily, the American raised his hand.
Derek felt betrayed.
“Two million and two,” the auctioneer said gleefully.
And to his dismay, they were off again, three of the developers jumping back in to bid along with two remaining couples.
Two million and eight hundred thousand.
Two million and nine hundred.
He wasn’t the only one who’d been holding his cards to his chest. Derek went back to waiting, determined not to spike the price, but it didn’t seem to matter. Whenever bidding stalled, the American raised his hand. The same subtle motion over and over, as though he had all the time and cash in the world.
When the price hit three million, both couples backed down. The women were in tears and one of the husbands was muttering death threats. The developers huddled together like scared penguins. Derek guessed they weren’t expecting the bidding to go this high. But he could still afford it. It would be tight, but for his dream house, he could swing it.
“Three million and one?” the auctioneer demanded, raising his arms like a gladiator. “Three point one, ladies and gentlemen?”
The American raised his hand.
“Come off it,” hissed one of the suits.
“Three million, two hundred,” crowed the auctioneer. “Three million and three?”
There was a long, painful pause. Derek pictured his kids, dark-haired and blurry-faced, running out the door and seeing crowds flocking to Bright Stadium on game day. He put his hand in the air.