Auction Ch. 12A

Chapter 12 was roundly criticized by readers, so taking their comments to heart, I have rewritten the final chapter entirely, letting Steve tell the story. I've used no editor in this project -- it started as a solo effort and remains so and all errors are mine and mine alone. All participants are over the age of eighteen. This is a story of fiction and any likeness to any person, living or dead, is no more than idle coincidence. So here's Steve's story to end the auction series once and for all -- with apologies in advance to the BTB brigade.

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For those who came in late, my wife Dianne agreed to auction herself as a sex slave for a weekend in a desperate effort to overcome our financial crisis when both of us lost our jobs. She blindsided me a month or so later by agreeing to spend a week with the same buyer to act as his escort to a conference in London after meeting him and staying at his German estate. The result of those activities enabled us to pay down our house mortgage and talk about starting a family.

I was not happy with Dianne's decisions but I could have stopped her from going and didn't, so it would be hypocritical of me to raise objections at this stage. Besides, she returned to me in good health and more loving than ever so we put the episodes behind us and began our serious search for work in a market that was already starting to show signs of rebounding.

After distributing my CV to almost every engineering outfit in the city (I'm an engineer specializing in oil and gas plant construction) I was overjoyed to receive a request for interview from the local office of a leading international company. The offer they put was both good and bad. Salary was great, about treble the amount paid by my last job. The conditions were not so good. Only single accommodation was available. There was an insistence on an unbreakable 12-month contract with heavy penalty provisions and a two week vacation at the mid-point. I took it, reasoning that Dianne had made her sacrifice for our financial future and now it was time for me to step up.

It came as no surprise that Dianne was not overjoyed with my unilateral decision to take the job without discussing it beforehand, but she begrudgingly acknowledged that it would consolidate our position for the future. Three days later, a tearful Dianne bade me farewell at the airport, vowing to make my mid-year vacation "an occasion to remember forever". Little did she know how right that prophecy turned out to be!

Nearly forty eight hours later, I dragged my stuff out of a grubby cab at the entrance to the gated company accommodation complex in Caracas and thoroughly exhausted after countless airport transfers, found a guide and was directed to my room. Dumping my suitcase in a corner, I collapsed on the bed and fell into a deep sleep, vowing to call Dianne as soon as I awoke. My cell phone battery had long since died so I would need to recharge before calling. It could wait.

Jet lag caught up with me, for I slept until the following morning, awakened by a security guy to remind me that I was required at an induction and familiarization meeting in an hour. I hastily showered, put my phone on a charger, dressed and hurried to my meeting. Most of my work, I discovered, would be done in the city office located next to the accommodation village, but I would also need to oversee practical works at the remote construction site for one or two days a week. On site communication was so poor that the company set up its own long-range radio link with the office.

Switching on my phone as soon as I returned to the room, I double checked that international roaming was active and heard the familiar ping of an incoming message. There were two, both from Dianne. The most recent started first. "I tried to phone you but my call went straight to voicemail, so I've sent you an email with all the details. Love you." The earlier message was even shorter. "Hi Darling, it's me. Please ring me as soon as you can. It's urgent."

I scurried to my briefcase to set up my laptop to open my email. It was not an easy read.

"Hello Darling.

I tried to phone you but when I could not reach you I was forced to make a decision. You may not like what I am going to do, but since you're going to be away for the next twelve months, it won't affect us anyway.

Helmut rang me soon after you left to ask me to submit to nine months with him under the same conditions as before. I would be based at his estate near Hamburg where he has servants, and I would be required to accompany him to various corporate functions around the globe, similar to the London conference I attended with him recently.

His demands take me out of my comfort zone at times, but Helmut would never hurt me. The clincher is the money. For nine months he has offered me five million dollars, US.

I refused to answer at first, to give me the chance to talk to you about it, so he gave me 24 hours. When I had not been able to reach you before he rang back, I had to make the call and I have agreed to go. I am not going to pretend that I don't understand your feelings. You made it quite clear after my last trip to Germany. Steve, you must understand that I love you and only you and that this contract will set us up for the rest of our lives. I must leave my computer, phone and personal belongings behind and have agreed, as previously, that I will make no attempt to contact you during the contract period.

You will be in my thoughts every day until we meet again.

All my love

Dianne."

I read the damn email again, hardly believing its contents. I tried to phone Dianne but all I got was her recorded voice asking me to leave a message. I told her I loved her and disconnected. I sent an email, telling her to abort this crazy plan. We did not need Helmut's tainted money. Even as I sent it, I knew the email would sit unopened in her inbox for the next nine months.

My feelings ran through despair, anger, frustration, disappointment and hopelessness as the circumstances hit home. I tried not to think about what Dianne might be doing. It was just too painful. I buried myself in my work and decided to write Dianne a detailed email once a week in the form of a love letter. Even though she would not read them until she returned home, it would give her a diarized record or my activities while we were apart. I poured out my heart in the emails and it helped to keep me sane during a time when I was in the depths of despair.

It was in the recreation room of the village one day, when one of my expat Australian colleagues was reading an industry magazine.

"Hey Steve," he called across the room, "Isn't your wife's name Dianne?"

"Yeah".

"Is this her, mate?" he said as he threw the magazine to me.

I thumbed through to find the page. The story featured a European oil and gas conference with photos from the ball which ended the event. Three photos in the set featured the German industrialist Helmut Muller and the "glamorous Australian who has been his constant companion, sparking rumours of serious romance." That was bad enough, but the photo catching my eye showed Dianne with her arms around Helmut's neck, exposing her left hand. Our wedding and engagement rings were missing, replaced by a huge solitaire diamond. I stumbled to my room, opened another bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and wept until the alcohol knocked me out.

Life went on in Venezuela. I was surprised by the praise heaped on my team by the overall project boss, who singled out my leadership as the primary reason for the group's outstanding performance. He pulled me aside later, suggesting that I could do with a few days off. An oil and gas conference coming up in Texas would give me a much-needed break from the rigors of the job and would give me a chance to mingle with industry leaders from overseas. I jumped at the chance, since I was due for my half year break.

A couple of weeks later I stood in a queue of engineers waiting to register at the convention centre desk. I recognized a few of them and while chatting, briefly spied the German who had control of my wife as he strode purposefully across the other end of the room and disappeared. Had he brought Dianne with him, I wondered? My heart beat wildly at the thought of seeing her so unexpectedly. After registration I wandered around the conference venue, inspecting exhibits, talking to colleagues and always looking around in the hope of catching a glimpse of my wife.

A dinner on the final evening was the highlight of the gathering, with Helmut Muller listed as the keynote speaker. I registered for the dinner and confirmed my return flight to Venezuela for the following day, when I received a call on my hotel room phone. The guy identified himself as the event coordinator and asked me to visit him at his office to discuss a matter of importance the next morning -- the morning of the final day.

I rapped on the guy's door and was confronted by a genial American who introduced himself as Sean Sinfield, head of security.

"Mr Hammond -- I have a very delicate matter to discuss with you and it gives me no pleasure to have this conversation with you."

My senses were instantly on full alert. Was this a prelude to some sort of problem with my Venezuelan project? I didn't have long to wait for the answer.

"Mr Hammond this is not easy for me to do, but I have to advise you that your wife will be at tonight's dinner. I am advised that there are contractual obligations preventing you from making contact with her, or she with you. Now I don't know whether there is a restraining order in place or whether there are other reasons for this, but before we proceed, I need you to understand that we are committed to ensure that regardless of what reasons may have brought about this circumstance between the two of you, our security will be under strict instructions to ensure that it is enforced. If you make any attempt to contact your wife while on the expo premises, you will be escorted out and excluded from re-entering. Are we clear?"

"Abundantly, Mr Sinfield," I spat sarcastically. "I had no idea that my wife would be in attendance, nor is it my intention to make trouble, but whether or not I contact my wife is hardly your concern. I have no contract and I can assure that there is no restraining order to keep us apart. If your security men attempt to interfere with me in any way, expect my legal people to make life very difficult and expensive for you. I'm not an American, but isn't this supposed to be the land of the free?"

"I hope you do not put us in a difficult position, Mr Hammond. You and your organisation are respected members within the oil and gas industry. This situation is not one of our making, but I have been instructed to make you aware of the situation."

"OK Mr Sinfield. I repeat that I will not set out to cause you or your staff any trouble and I do appreciate the difficulty you're facing. If however the opportunity to speak to my wife arises, I give you fair warning that I will not avoid it."

Sinfield shook my hand, smiled thinly and thanked me for my cooperation.

The day passed without incident. Returning to my room for a shower, I dressed for dinner and returned to the expo, trembling with excitement. I was escorted to my seat, which as promised, was at the end of the Grand Dining Hall, adjacent to one of the access doors. Two big guys in suits, obviously security, stood with their backs to the wall where they could see across the entire hall, but also within an arm's length of my seat. The head table, set on an elevated platform with a speaker's podium alongside it, was still empty.

The arrival of VIP guests caused a stir in the crowd. Staff were circulating, making sure that guests had drinks as they were seated. I drew my breath when Dianne entered, dressed in a figure hugging, shimmering gown that displayed her perfect figure to perfection. A waiter drew back her seat while Helmut stood aside for a moment, releasing her hand and smiling indulgently. A black rage came over me, threatening to drown out Sinfield's warning. I cast my eyes downward to examine the intricate thread on our tablecloth. I reached for my glass and took a long sip of tasteless wine, but the effort was useless. I could not go on. Slowly rising to my feet, I gripped the table to steady my shaking body, my eyes locked on Dianne. The two security guys started to move, but I made a calming gesture to put them at ease. Dianne looked up at that moment and for the first time, realized that she was looking directly at her husband. She began to rise, but shaking her head slightly dropped back in her seat while Helmut muttered something in her ear. I had seen enough. Spinning on my heel, I vented my anger by walking back to my hotel room instead of catching a cab.

The pain of my wife's betrayal was too much. What had started as a dubious means of stabilizing a dangerously precarious financial problem had morphed into the destruction of what I fondly deluded myself was a wonderful marriage. How could I have been so stupid? Dianne had made her choice clear tonight. She had an opportunity to end it but elected to publicly humiliate me instead. If this was her idea of love, then she could shove it.

My weekly email to Dianne was cathartic. I wrote several pages of vitriol mostly pointing out how selfish she had been, about how duplicitous she had been in arranging her supposed slavery contracts with Helmut and how I wanted nothing further to do with her. I avoided use of the D word. That could wait until I returned to Australia six months from now.

The following morning dawned brighter. Finally I felt some control over my life and despite the sadness of saying goodbye to the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, felt surprisingly upbeat. With a couple of hours to spend before leaving for the airport, I rang Sinfield, asking him for Muller's phone number.

"Thanks for walking out last night. You saved us from an embarrassing outcome. You might like to know though, that your wife left in tears minutes after you walked out. She was escorted by one of Muller's security detail who I understand took her straight back to her hotel."

That was an interesting development, I thought. Perhaps Dianne has a conscience after all.

"You know that giving you his number could cost me my job, don't you?"

"Yeah, but you know the arrogant bastard is behind this evil scheme. I give you my word that I only want to speak to him by phone, just once, and that he'll never know how I came by his private number."

Sinfield softened. "I bleed for you man. You've been served one hell of a hand and I have to admire your way of dealing with it. I guess I owe you one from last night. You didn't get it from me, but the number is ..."

It was time I gave Muller a bit of payback, or so I thought at the time. It turned out to be a really bad idea.

"This is Muller."

"This is the husband of the lady who was your escort last night. I understand something upset her at the dinner and that she had to leave before your keynote speech. I hope she is well."

"So, Mr Steve Hammond has finally emerged from the shadows. Your wife is fine Mr Hammond. It appears she ate something that disagreed with her. How is Caracas, Mr Hammond?"

I was tipped way off balance. Had Dianne talked to him about my location?

"Surely, Mr Hammond, you must have wondered how the Venezuelan opportunity came about when all your applications were being rejected? Have you never wondered why your lucrative pay deal is nearly double that of your colleagues? Perhaps, Mr Hammond, you are phoning to thank me for my intervention in your professional life."

I struggled for self control.

"Why you arrogant bastard!" I raged. "You're not going to get away with this. My work at the project is winning me widespread praise and the new methods I've introduced are getting me noticed in the industry around the world. I owe you nothing."

"Of course you don't Steve. I can call you Steve, can't I? Your performance has indeed been somewhat of a revelation. An unexpected bonus, if you will. When you finish this contract you leave with vastly improved job opportunities and a solid international reputation. Congratulations. Now about your wife. You really don't expect her to return to you, do you? Her contract is complete in a few weeks, well before you return to Australia, but I must inform you that I intend to make it very difficult for her to leave. Have you noticed that she no longer wears your wedding rings?"

I decided to try to take the initiative by bluffing.

"Our love for each other has never wavered on either of the occasions that she has been with you. You mean nothing more to her than a very big pay cheque." I began with more confidence than I felt. "She professed her love for me before leaving to take up her current assignment with you and she is a woman of her word. I have no doubt whatever that she will not betray me as you seem to suggest. Are you a man of your word, or a devious, perverted back-stabbing mongrel?"

Before he could get in another word, I disconnected the call, well aware that I had lost this debate by a country mile. I was confused. Dianne's sudden departure from the dinner might suggest that she had feelings for me after all and that her contract with Muller was, as planned, strictly business. Sure, it was a dirty sex-ridden business, but was it justifiable in her eyes? Was I judging her too harshly?

I went back to the job, maintaining as much dignity as I could muster in the circumstances, for by now there was not a manager in the construction company who did not know about the Australian engineer whose wife had run off with the principal financial backer of the project.

My weekly emails to Dianne continued, even though I knew she could not access them. It felt good to express my deepest thoughts and feelings. Dianne would know that our relationship could never be the same after her behavior in Texas. I wasn't even sure that I wanted her back. I made sure that she understood the depth of my despair over her betrayal at the dinner, expressing over and over that she had an opportunity to come back to me and she chose to stay with Helmut. Well fuck her! Each time though, the aftermath to that betrayal haunted me when I tried to make sense of her sudden walkout.

Six weeks before the termination of my contract in Venezuela, I received a surprise email from someone named Maria in Germany. I remembered her as one of the two young live-in sex slaves Muller kept on his estate. The message was brief, indicating that Dianne had returned to Australia but was in danger. I immediately emailed back for details but there was no further news.

A second email followed a day or two later. It came from my neighbors Helen and Pete, good personal friends. Dianne returned home with obvious bruising to her face and arms but left them with the impression that she had escaped from Germany and that someone would be coming to look for her. She hid her car in Pete's lock-up garage, bought another in their names, borrowed cash and fled without telling them where she was going. Several emails later, we were totally mystified by Dianne's disappearance, to the point where Helen seriously considered reporting her to authorities as a missing person. I convinced her to hold off pending my return and penned another email to Dianne in the forlorn hope that she might receive it. There was no reply.

I hoped that Dianne received her five million dollars so that I would feel less guilty about leaving her.

My Venezuelan project boss called me in for a final chat and did his best to convince me to sign on for another year, offering an obscene amount of money to change my mind but the bad memories from my association with this place and how I came to be here in the first instance made that impossible. I left with a glowing reference and a very healthy bonus. I idly wondered whether Helmut had any influence in the payout. I hoped not and took it with grace.