George Forrester had been in New York for two weeks waiting to speak with his new employer. He was feeling a bit peeved and if it weren't for the healthy payment he had already received, he would have been outright angry at his treatment. It was with relief that he finally found himself in front of Fisk Enterprise headquarters to finally confirm his new employment and meet his future boss.

He entered the building and signed in at the front desk. After a short wait, he was directed to the executive floor where he again found himself waiting. Finally, he was approached by an executive assistant who ushered him to Bartholomew Fisk's office. He entered the massive room and approached the man behind the desk. Fisk did not acknowledge him at first beyond motioning him to sit, while continuing to read a document on his desk.

After a few minutes, Fisk looked up, "You come highly recommended Mr Forrester."

"Thank you sir...," George began before being interrupted by Fisk.

"Please don't speak until I've finished. As I said you come highly recommended, but frankly you were not my first choice for the security detail. The truth is I've been criticized for not employing any African Americans as security officers and I need to rectify that situation. You are a diversity hire, do you have a problem with that?"

George answered through gritted teeth, "As long as I'm being paid the same as others in my position, I can deal with it."

"Good, we understand each other. You'll be acting in a dual role. You'll act as security as well as one of my drivers. Tonight I'll be attending the Art Institute Gala where I expect to purchase some rather valuable art. You will see to its transport to my residence at The Charlton House. Your new residence will be at that hotel in a room you will be assigned by my Executive Assistant, Miss Myers. You will be on call twenty-four hours a day with the exception of days I am holding events at my residence, in which case you will find other accommodations until 8AM the following day. You will also be signing a non-disclosure agreement concerning anything to do with me, my family, and my friends. I am paying you a great deal and expect my money's worth. Are we clear?"

Once more George held his temper in check, "Yes sir."

Fisk looked at George closely, "Good, welcome aboard. Go see Miss Myers, she'll give you the paperwork to sign and a document outlining your duties, as well as my schedule for the week. You can go now." He waved his hand dismissively.

George got up and left the office feeling both grateful and cheapened. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

The Art Institute Gala, like all events of this type was more about the attendees than about the charity it represented. Although a great deal of money would be raised for whatever cause de jour was benefitted, in this case, a fund for the restoration of Art damaged by a series of unfortunate floods in Louisiana that invaded local museums, all eyes would be on the those individuals wealthy enough to afford the four thousand dollar a person tickets.

The top of the New York food chain was represented by Bart Fisk, Charlie Howe, and the other ten couples seated at the two prime tables nearest the stage that would be the center of attention during the auction later that night. They were bedecked in a dazzling display of magnificent jewelry and one of a kind designer outfits. There were enough Botswanan diamonds, Colombian emeralds, Burmese rubies, and Sri Lankan sapphires to feed a small country for years. The smug smiles emanating from those two particular tables were effectively a taunt to the other attendees.

Further away from the stage and far more cheerful, Bertram and his friends sat drinking and snipeing, one of their favorite pastimes.

"I thought the Raj was over," Bertram commented while pointing to the Fisk tables.

"Not in their minds," Devon said, "it's all rather vulgar in an opulent sort of way."

"That vulgarity pays your bills, boys. The only reason you can afford to be here has a lot to do with that dirty dozen," Elaine pointed out, "Where is Wilson, by the way?"

Bertram made a face, "He's become very touchy about me paying his way and these ticket prices are out of his league. I also think he has a case of the nerves. He really wants Jager's piece to get a good price."

"As do we all," Elaine agreed, "I suspect he'll do very well. With everyone here, let's hope those 'vulgar' people choose to flex their financial muscles. Let's hope they try to show off."

"I'll drink to that," Devon agreed while raising his glass, "Sorry Wilson isn't here, he makes our group far more attractive. No offense, Ezra. As for the rest of you dinosaurs, I make no apologies."

"Nor should you, you over-dressed fossil." Elaine chuckled.

About an hour later, after all the obligatory preening for the various paparazzi and news outlets was complete, the auction was ready to begin. Bertram and his compatriots studied the catalog. Siggy's piece would be presented near the end of the auction. They debated whether that was good or bad and no consensus was reached. As the night's celebrity auctioneer, a renowned theatrical director, approached the stage, the room's cacophonous rumble lowered to a steady hum of anticipation.

"Now the fun begins," Bertram announced, "Is anyone here bidding on anything?"

"I may, just to pass the time till zero hour."

"My goodness Elaine," Devon said with a crooked smile on his face, "You just love to spend money. It's a wonder Fisk doesn't invite you to sit at his table."

Elaine laughed, "I'm far too scandalous for their tastes. Also, I don't really think I qualify. I may be heartless, but I do have the remnant of a soul left."

"That would certainly be disqualifying," Devon agreed.

"Have you ever noticed, we never see any of their children?" Ezra asked.

Elaine laughed, "They don't have children, darling, they have heirs."

Their conversation was interrupted by the auctioneer, "Good evening New York! Welcome to the Art Institute charity auction for the Gulf Coast Restoration Fund. Most of you are familiar with the rules...simple really, highest bid wins. You can pick up your items any time in the next three days, but payment must be made in full tonight after the bidding has concluded by check, cash, or credit card.

"Bid high and bid often! If benevolence alone is not enough motivation, a portion of your expenditures will be deductible and most important of course is the exceptional quality of the Art available," he paused and scanned the audience before continuing, "All right ladies and gentlemen, the first item up for bid is this..." he motioned to a piece which had just been brought on stage and placed on a large easel, "signed Andy Warhol Marilyn Monroe silk screen, thirty-six by thirty-six inches, numbered seventeen out of an edition of two hundred and fifty. We will start the bidding at ten thousand dollars."

The auction proceeded at a brisk pace with some very good prices being realized. Fisk's table was particularly active with several of the prime pieces being purchased by his court. Penny Mellon was the winning bidder on a striking ink and gouache Baselitz for $193,000 and Charlie Howe, who was an enthusiastic collector of graffiti influenced art like Keith Haring and Basquiat, purchased a delightful hand signed and altered print by Banksy for $135,000. Fisk for his part left his mark with the purchase of a Claes Oldenburg sculpture of an eraser for $435,000.

There was a marked tension at Bertram's table as Siggy's piece was finally brought on stage and placed on the easel. There had been several pieces offered from new and emerging artists, with the range of winning bids between ten to thirty thousand dollars. Devon openly crossed his fingers as the auctioneer presented the piece.

"Next up we have item fifty-four in your catalog, The Evolution of the Devil, by Siegfried Jager, mixed media on wood, fifty-two by thirty. We will open bidding at five thousand."

Several hands shot up and the bidding proceeded briskly, fueled by Bart Fisk and Charlie Howe. As the price increased rapidly, Bertram's smile increased in direct proportion to the skyrocketing bids. When the bids surged past thirty thousand, Devon began applauding. Even the generally calm Elaine sat forward in stunned disbelief as Fisk's final bid of sixty-seven thousand dollars was acknowledged by the resounding clack of the auctioneer's gavel.

"Dear god," A slightly breathless Elaine commented in admiration, "that was beyond my wildest expectations. I have to hand it to you Bertram, you conducted those filthy rich fools like a maestro. I'm going to have to seriously reconsider the price points for Jager's art at his show."

"Speaking of the gallery show," Devon asked, "do you have a time frame in mind?"

Elaine thought for a moment, "Well, we should strike while the iron is hot. That having been said, I need enough time to promote it properly and produce high quality catalogs. At least six weeks, but no more than two months."

Bertram added his thoughts, "We'll need to keep awareness high. If I can convince Fisk or Howe or one of their minions to commission some piece or pieces, we'll have all the added publicity we need."

Devon chuckled, "Not to mention the fact that a commission is needed for us to win our bet."

Elaine made a humorously annoyed face, "I'd hoped you had forgotten."

"Not likely. I'll bet Wilson will be pleasantly surprised at tonight's result," Devon added.

"He'll have an orgasm," Bertram laughed, "he made quite a nice chunk of change tonight and I imagine Jager will be thrilled as well."

Elaine stood and motioned to her friends, "Let's blow this pop stand and find a nice disreputable bar to continue our celebration. These people here are deathly dull."

"Hear, hear!" Devon seconded as they all stood and made there way out of the event.

George waited patiently at the loading dock waiting for the two artworks Fisk had bought to be packed for delivery. Though no art aficionado, he was expected to inspect the pieces prior to their being sealed in their crates and sign a document affirming delivery. He smiled after inspecting the over-sized Oldenburg eraser and duly signed the accompanying paperwork. He stepped over to the Jager piece. An uncomfortable feeling overtook him. He didn't know why, but there was something oddly familiar about the contorted image of the Devil. He shook the feeling off and signed the document.

After the crates were loaded into his vehicle he headed to The Charlton House, still confused by his reaction. He felt agitated as he tried to catch those thoughts and memories just out of his reach. Strangest of all, he realized that his teeth hurt.