Bidder Rivalry

Chapter 1: Gideon-2

The picture didn’t come out perfect.

Curtis was making a silly face, Beth’s smile was a bit exaggerated, and Gideon would swear his mother was looking at the dress shoes on his feet—his father’s shoes—instead of at the camera.

“It’s perfect to me,” Gideon said aloud as he dusted the frame that held it some twenty-five years later. In the time that had passed, Beth’s dress was a little less vibrant, her blond hair and their mother’s a little less golden. Curtis’s eyes shone just a bit less mischievous, and the shoes Gideon wore looked more gray than black. “But still…yes…perfect.”

Gideon remembered watching his family rush to the car as if it was yesterday. Curtis’s face was so animated, Gideon could almost hear him laughing, then and now. Beth’s arms were flailing, her mouth wide open, probably singing at the top of her lungs and conducting the rest of the choir she would no doubt nearly drown out. Gideon had watched the red minivan until he could no longer see it. Then he’d drawn a tiny Christmas tree in the fog his breath had left on the glass.

“Milk or hot chocolate with your cookie?” Gideon’s grandmother had asked.

“Mom said…”

“I know what she said, but those sparkling, charming eyes of yours…who can resist them? Milk or hot chocolate?”

“Milk.” Gideon had followed right behind his gramma, clomping toward the kitchen in his father’s shoes.

He touched them in the photograph. “So many holidays have passed since then,” he said. “I can’t wait for everyone to visit this year.”

‘Twas two weeks before Christmas, 2016. Gideon was cleaning his tiny apartment in Las Vegas, Nevada, the one he’d moved into just after the new year.

“Plug your ears, Priscilla.”

Priscilla was a goldfish.

“Daddy has to vacuum, and then we can put up the Christmas tree.”

Gideon turned on the Hoover he’d purchased at a thrift store just down the street. Starting by the front door, he removed each shoe from the rubber mat there, eight in all, cleaned the whole thing with the brush attachment, and then did the tile underneath. Every shoe went back in its precise spot once finished, the smallest ones with the Batman logo on the heel first, then a sparkly pink and silver pair. Gideon’s ratty old sneakers were size eleven, the same as his father had worn two and a half decades earlier. There was always an empty space left beside the next pair, two scuffed brown penny loafers. Gideon hoped he’d finally be able to fill that space this Christmas.

“All done,” he said just eight minutes later. “And I even did all the corners, because it’s almost time for angels and Santa Claus.”

The walk-up above a dive bar called Elvis’s Vegas Sing-Along had three rooms, a living room and kitchen that Gideon counted as one, a bedroom, and a bathroom so small he always dried off in the living room after a shower. Gideon had poked fun at his living situation with the last guy he’d brought up after dinner and a movie, a liquor delivery guy named Patrick. “I sleep in all four rooms.”

“You take turns?” Patrick had asked.

“No. My head’s in the bedroom, my feet are in the kitchen, one hand is in the bathroom, and the other’s in the living room.” It was a dumb joke. Maybe that’s why Gideon’s first date with Patrick had also been their last. On the other hand, maybe it had more to do with Gideon’s fetish.

“Onto the shoe shelf.”

Dusting wasn’t quite as quick. In fact, it took forever, because Gideon was still as meticulous as he had been when putting icicles on the Christmas tree back when he was a kid. He also liked to relive the history of each piece in his collection as he wiped it down. “Maybe I should take a break first. What do you think?”

Gideon knew the answer to that was no. He couldn’t help himself, though. He had to check his laptop.

“I know. I know,” he said as he opened the screen. “I swore I wouldn’t look for another half an hour, Prissy. I’m not going to bid, though. I just want to make sure it hasn’t gone up too high.”

He signed into his BuyBay account.

“Still $147 even…with forty minutes to go. By the time I finish the shelf, bidding will be just about ready to close.”

Reading the description on the screen one more time, Gideon felt a lump in his throat.

“Blah. Not today.” He stood. “I know. We’ll put up the Christmas decorations now, and dust the shoe shelf later. I think it’s close enough to the twenty-fifth that they’ll still be special, don’t you?”

Priscilla didn’t offer an opinion. She likely didn’t have one.

“We’ll put the little tree right here beside you.” Gideon patted the counter next to the sink where Priscilla’s bowl sat. “And we’ll put some lights around every door…and some garland over there.” Now Gideon was excited. “Curtis and Beth will love it.”

He went to the closet. With so few Christmas decorations, they all fit in one boot box. “Mmm.” The scent of leather wafted through the air when Gideon moved it. The boots that had once been inside it were on one of the shelves on the other side of the room. Two walls were entirely taken up by the handmade pine unit Gideon had built, sanded, and varnished himself. It rose all the way to the ceiling, with five levels—ten shelves in all—each one illuminated with amber rope lighting from Kmart to show off the items Gideon had set out.

“Beautiful!” Loops of gold tinsel followed the line across the top of both sections, leaving long, flowy, fluffy tails to cascade down either side. “It’s not the original from back when I was seven, but it looks just like it.” Gideon sighed. “Too bad we don’t have room for a big tree with the shelf here, huh?” The contents of it would likely distract any visitors from looking at one anyway. Not that Gideon had much company over. He was kind of shy, at least in his everyday persona.

Gideon plugged in all the lights, stood back to admire his work, and then looked at the clock.

“Pretty. Can’t admire it too long, though. I think it’s time, Priscilla.”

Sitting at the kitchen table—a TV tray and a folding chair—Gideon booted up his laptop. “Still $147.” His finger poised over the Enter key, he fixated on the countdown clock in the upper right corner of the BuyBay.com page. “Seven seconds remaining, plenty of time. I want those shoes.”

They were ugly as hell, plain black leather lace-ups a size and a half too big, but Gideon had to have them.

“Better too big than too small. Five, four, three, two…” he counted off, and when the clock got to one—BAM!—he put in the final offer, $147.01.

Unlike other auction sites, BuyBay had no rules about minimal incremental increases. A bidder named 90sFandemonium had put up the $147 even. Gideon pictured him as a walrus of a man in a ratty T-shirt he wouldn’t change out of for days, even after dripping French fry ketchup on it, his keyboard, and his half-exposed gut as he cursed at the Internet gods because his bid had been one upped. One cent upped.

“Ha, loser! Game over.” Gideon sucked in the paunch at his waist. At least the undershirt he had on as an outer shirt was clean. “I don’t even like ketchup, do I, Prissy?”

As usual, Priscilla had nothing to say. That was probably a good thing.

Gideon checked his email for his order confirmation. “Come on.” He cruised BuyBay.com often, though he didn’t order much. Disposable income wasn’t exactly plentiful. This time, however, he couldn’t resist. “Daddy needs an old pair of shoes.” He turned to Priscilla.

Nothing.

So, Gideon stood. He paced around the four hundred square feet of space, pausing at the front door, then rushing back to the computer. A few clicks brought up his email list again. Still nothing.

“Shoot.”

He switched over to the BuyBay site to check the status on the item.

“No f*****g way! I got that bid in on time.”

According to the page, the winning bid was $147.00, posted at 7:24 P.M, six minutes before the auction closed.

“That bastard!” 90sFandemonium was in for a beatdown. “He cheated, Prissy. I don’t know how, but he did.”

Gideon clicked on BuyBay’s Contact Us button and started a note.

Listen, you f****d up, lowlife cretins.

Then he recalled the phrase about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Dear sir or madam:

Re: Item 348-91B

I believe this item should have been awarded to me. My bid of $147.01 was submitted with one second left on the bidding clock.

Gideon wished he’d gotten a screenshot.

One second is one second, after all, and my raise is perfectly legitimate according to your regulations, which, yes, I actually read before checking the little box. I understand mistakes are sometimes made, and I’m definitely willing to forgive this one as long as I am awarded the shoes. If I do not hear from you within 24 hours, I will contact my attorney and we can let the courts resolve this very unfortunate issue.

Sincerely,

Gideon Star

“They won’t know I couldn’t really afford the shoes, let alone a lawyer,” Gideon said to Priscilla. The real reason he’d bid $147.01 was that his credit card only had $148 available credit. Another 99¢ and he would have been out. Gideon had no idea how he was going to buy Christmas gifts for his mom and dad this year, but he’d figure something out. “They want me to have those shoes, too. I know they do. I already got Curtis’s and Beth’s…and Mom always said handmade gifts are better anyway.”

The guitar, sitting in its spot on the two-seater sofa caught Gideon’s eye. “There’s always the song.” He got a pang of guilt—and some other twinge. Gideon had been promising his family a song for years, his mom and dad, his brother and sister. “It’s almost finished. I swear,” he’d told them just the other day. “The new job…the new apartment…You know how it goes.”

Another year, another excuse.

“I don’t want to spoil your surprise, Priscilla, but guess who’ll be getting fresh, clean water in her bowl and an extra bit of fish food from Santa. Maybe even a little green plastic tree I bought around Halloween…if I can find it.”

Once Gideon proved he wasn’t a robot by identifying buildings that could be stores, he submitted his BuyBay note. After the Your message has been received notification came up, he stood to survey his collection. Gideon knew just where he was going to put Frank Funn’s shoes. Frank Funn, as portrayed by Brock Anderson, was Gideon’s favorite TV dad. Barely seven at the time, Gideon had first watched The Funn Family Christmas episode way back in 1991, just a few days after Beth’s school concert. The story was entitled “Walk a Mile in Dad’s Christmas Shoes” and was all about how Skippy Funn went out to play in the snow in a brand-new pair of dress shoes his father had been given for Christmas. That TV era was chock full of schmaltzy sitcoms. Since this one was on Saturday mornings, on a network for pre-adolescents, it was the schmaltziest of all of them. Skippy got in big trouble, but then, in typical Act 3 fashion, he and Mr. Funn had a long, sweet talk to work everything out. Afterwards, the whole family hugged, and then burst into a rousing rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” in front of a twelve-foot, decorated tree. It was quite sweet and very wholesome.

“Fathers and sons…” Gideon said, thinking back over the dozens of times he’d watched it since, on VHS, DVD, and YouTube. “Nothing can tear them apart.”

After checking his inbox one more time, “I didn’t really think they’d write back that fast,” he plopped down on his sofa with a sigh. It was almost time to head off to work. “Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me.” Gideon cleared his throat. “I know.” He’d had a thought while ascending the vocal scales. “I’ll wrap the shoes up when they come and sign the card from you, Priscilla. You’d get them for me, wouldn’t you?” Gideon got up and went to her. “You would if Capital One let fish apply for credit cards…because you know why I want them so badly.”

As always, Priscilla was noncommittal.

Grabbing his garment bag through the window to the fire escape, Gideon headed toward the door to step into his canvas slip-ons. “See you when I get home, sweetie.” He blew Priscilla a kiss. “When I do, those shoes had better be officially mine.”