Cindy had been a member of the social club for a while. Living in a small town with just a few pubs to choose from, she and her friends prefered the comfort of a privately run establishment just for members. Sometimes it felt like having a spare flat to meet friends at, almost like having a second life away from home.

The club didn’t turn a large profit, but the member dues and the sales at the bar managed to keep the doors open. Then came a series of building repairs that drained the bank account and put pressure on the club to rethink its finances. No one wanted to raise the membership fees or prices on the menu, so some alternative ideas were explored. The club committee discussed many options and they decided to start with a neighbor-labor auction. Members would donate labor for some task in exchange for the recipient making a donation to the club. The event was planned and everyone gathered at the club on the last Friday of the month.

The main room was crowded that evening. They rarely had all the members at the club at the same time, but this was pretty close. Expectations were high as the event began. The committee had chosen one of the most gregarious and entertaining members to be the auctioneer. He had spent some time in community theaters and was happy to take on the roll for the evening. He was so excited that he brought in a small wooden platform to act as a stage for the event.

Cindy and her girlfriends were sitting at a table in the back. They sipped their drinks, swapped stories of the past week, and laughed. Cindy was neither particularly outgoing nor shy, but quietly in the middle. She often preferred to observe the fun rather than be in the middle of it all. She liked a sense of control in her life, and took pride in following the rules.

The room quieted down when the auctioneer took the stage and explained to the crowd how the auction would work. Cindy and her friends glanced at each other to see if any of them were going to get up on the stage. It was a clear case of “I couldn’t possibly, but you certainly should.”

First up was a man well known in town as a handy repair man. As he stepped up to the stage he exchanged a few whispers with the auctioneer.

“First item up for bid,” The auctioneer announced, “is the painting of a room by Mr. Smith. Walls, ceiling, and trim. As long as you don’t live at the Sistine Chapel.”

The crowd laughed and began discussing the condition of their own homes amongst themselves.

“Remember, all proceeds tonight go to keep our fine pub here in tip top shape, so have another swig and please bid generously. Who will start us off at £50?”

The handy man gave an exaggerated look of faux disgust for valuing his work so low, but soon the bids started coming and the price rose to a very respectable sum.

“Going once, going twice,…sold!” The auctioneer banged his pint glass on the bar and the deal was sealed. The room applauded the first sale of the night, the handy man took a bow, and he returned to his seat.

Next up was a woman known for the amazing gardens around her house. She consulted with the auctioneer and then stepped up onto the stage.

“Now, I know where most of you live,” the auctioneer lectured the crowd. “and I can safely say that you ALL need to bid on this one. Next up is an afternoon of gardening care from the talented Mrs. Taylor. Pulling weeds, pruning, planting, or for some of you, she will simply find a patch of hospitable soil in that overgrown mess you call a yard.”

The members laughed, pointed at each other, and the bidding began.

Cindy and her friends refilled their drinks and continued to enjoy the auction. The event was going well and it was uplifting to see so much generous participation from everyone in the name of fixing their club. As the evening went on, and the drink count climbed, Cindy felt a little guilty for not bidding on any of the labors up for auction. There just hadn’t been anything offered that she needed. As they got closer to the end of the night Cindy’s friends pressured each other more and more to bid on something or even better, go up front and offer their talents.

Eventually the auctioneer asked, “Are there any more items up for bid? We’ve had a good night so far, but there is still time for another.”

One of Cindy’s friends lifted Cindy’s arm up and yelled out “We have one more!”

Cindy jerked her arm down and glared at her friend, but it was too late. The auctioneer extended his hand towards Cindy, and the crowd started clapping. With an angry snarl at her friends, Cindy stood up and walked to the front.

When Cindy got to the auctioneer she paused. She realized she had no idea what she was going to do next.

“What labor are you offering?” He whispered.

Cindy did not have a plan. Her line of work did not translate to working at someone’s house. She knew the whole crowd was watching her and she felt a slight panic coming on.

“Ahhh…, I don’t know.” She whispered back. “I guess I could cook a meal, or organize a closet, or maybe walk a dog?”

Cindy felt unprepared and nervous.

“That’s a bit vague, love.” The auctioneer whispered back. “I’ll need to polish that up a bit if we hope to get some bids.”

He helped her step up onto the stage. Now all eyes in the room were looking at her, evaluating her, wondering what she was going to offer. Cindy felt the spotlight on her. She was embarrassed to just be there, and froze still, hoping something, anything, could save her from all this attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have saved the best for last.” The auctioneer announced. “May I present to you here, your good friend Cindy, who is generously donating 3 hours of personal service.”

Cindy, frozen, still looking straight across the room at the wall on the far side, struggled to make sense of what the auctioneer had just said. Personal service? What is that? Does he think I will be someone’s assistant? Am I expected to go shopping for someone? Or wash their dishes? Oh god. Help. What is happening?

The murmur in the room brought her focus back to reality. The crowd didn’t know quite what to make of it. The auctioneer sensed the confusion in the room and tried to jump start the bidding.

“Cindy can help you with whatever you need. She is really quite talented. As the last item up for bid this evening, who will start us out at £100?”

The room buzzed alive, heads looking around to see who was going to bid so much for such an undefined promise. The auctioneer looked over the crowd, trying to squeeze out just one more sale for the evening. He really didn’t want to have to lower the price to get traction. That would be too embarrassing for Cindy and for himself. Cindy regained her composure enough to look around at all those faces staring back at her. She managed a slight smile, mixed with a heavy dose of nerves. She looked at her girlfriends sitting in the back, hoping they would bid on her to make up for their cruel trick. The girlfriends all sank back in their seats, hiding behind their up tipped drinks.

Then a hand went up. Everyone, including Cindy, turned to see who it was. Tony, one of the members on the social club committee, had his hand raised, and his gaze locked on Cindy.

“Yes!” Proclaimed the auctioneer. “We have an opening bid. £100. Can I get £125?”

He looked around the room. While everyone was curious, no one raised their hands.

“£125? No? Ok then. £100. Going once, going twice...”

A hand at the bar went up. Everyone turned to see it. Cindy was surprised to see it was the woman bartending. And puzzled that the bartender was on the phone.

“£125!” The auctioneer yelled pointing to the bartender. Back to the rest of the room he called, “Do I hear £150?”

Without taking his eyes off Cindy, Tony’s hand went up again.

The audience squealed with excitement, and turned back to the bartender. The bartender was quietly talking into the phone, and then she nodded and raised her hand again. The auctioneer acknowledged the bid and turned back to Tony, trying to fan the flames of a bidding war.

Tony Raised.

The bartender raised.

Tony raised.

The bartender talked quietly into the phone and then motioned for the auctioneer to approach the bar. The auctioneer leaned in and exchanged some quiet words with the bartender. The audience was excited and eagerly awaited the next development.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please bear with me for a moment . We have someone on the phone who is also bidding on Cindy.”

The conversations in the crowd bubbled up at this development, and everyone stared at Cindy, looking for her reaction.

Cindy was frozen. Frozen from embarrassment. Frozen from uncertainty. Frozen from having all those eyes staring at her up on that stage, all wondering what she was going to do in exchange for such a large donation to the club.

The auctioneer walked to the side of the stage and motioned for Cindy to lean down.

“The person on the phone has a request before the bidding continues.” He explained.

Cindy looked at him with wide open eyes, not saying a thing.

“Could you please turn 90 degrees and face me. Apparently the person on the phone would like to see…umm…hear about…, your profile.”

Cindy was too tense to process or discuss this. She simply obeyed and turned to the side.

The auctioneer looked back to the bartender, who talked quietly into the phone, paused for a moment, and then acknowledged Cindy’s profile with the approval of a raised hand.

The crowd gasped and spun to Tony.

Tony raised.

Like at a tennis match, they all turned to the bartender. The bartender exchanged more quiet words with the person on the phone, and then looked up. She very discreetly raised one finger and motioned it in a small circle to the auctioneer. Normally this would have been a secret signal between two people, but when everyone in the room is watching you, nothing is discreet. The auctioneer turned to Cindy but he didn’t have to say anything. Cindy had seen the gesture just as everyone in the room had seen it. She took a deep breath and let go of her will to resist. She turned another 90 degrees so that her back was now to the crowd. The room went silent. Cindy didn’t have to see them to know that everyone in the room was staring at her body. They were staring at her ass, her thighs, the back of her head, the wrinkles of her blouse where it puckered into her armpits. She left her arms still at her sides. There was no point in smoothing the back of her shirt, checking the way rested on her ass. Her yoga pants hid nothing. If it could be seen, it was being seen, by everyone in the club.

The auctioneer recognized the tension in the room and scrambled to try and save the situation. He leaned in to Cindy and asked her a question. She nodded yes. The auctioneer waved Tony over to the bar and consulted with him and the bartender. After a moment there was a nod from the bartender. The auctioneer clapped his hands loudly, startling everyone from their trance.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We have reached an outstanding conclusion to an outstanding night.” The auctioneer bellowed. “All parties have agreed. Each of these two bidders will be donating the current bid price, and Cindy will be giving 3 hrs of personal service to each of them! It’s a double win!”

The audience erupted with cheers and applause. Cindy had become the most valuable contributor to the evening’s fundraising effort.

“Thank you for a great evening, and thank you all for your generous donations to keep the club on the up and up. Let’s all have a drink to celebrate!”

The crowd dispersed around the pub and into the snugs, and typical Friday evening socializing resumed.

Cindy’s friends approached the stage. Cindy had not moved. She still had her back to the room, hoping if she waited long enough it would all just go away.

“Hey, Cindy. Are you OK?” One friend asked.

“That was amazing! You raised more money tonight than anyone else.” Another friend added.

Cindy wasn’t thinking about the money. She wasn’t even thinking about how her friends had set her up for such humiliation. She was now worrying about what she was expected to do for Tony and for the mystery person who had been on the phone. She couldn’t decide if she’d had too much to drink, or not enough.