“I simply must have it,” Ellen thought to herself as she scribbled her name on the next blank line on the sheet of paper sitting next to the large oil painting. Her eyes darted from person to person in the crowded room where the silent auction was being held, checking to see if anyone had seen her pencil in her name. “No one!” She glanced back at the painting and fell into an admiring trance. She saw something in the painting, something almost magical.

Ellen hesitated between standing guard over the painting or milling with the rest of the crowd. Standing guard would guarantee that she could always increase her bid if someone else came along and tried to buy it. But on the other hand, her standing sentinel might attract attention to the painting, and what if so many people bid that she could no longer afford the painting? She stood still, wringing her hands in confusion.

Ellen’s quick-moving eyes fell upon a woman across the room. She admired her neat black dress and her lacquered red fingernails as she watched her pop something to eat into her mouth. “Why would such a beautiful woman be looking over here?” Ellen thought. A million ideas crossed her mind. “Could it be this new dress?” Ellen tugged at one of the sleeves, pulling out a wrinkle in the tulip-printed fabric. She patted her hair, wondering if the woman was appreciating the dye job she had done the evening before or the floppy blue bow she had pinned to her hair.

Ellen moved closer to the oil painting as she watched the woman in the black dress march across the room. “She’s heading right over here!” Ellen panicked, dropping her purse to the floor as she moved in front of the painting to hide it from the sophisticated woman. “Of course she would see my painting - it must look even more beautiful from afar.” Ellen didn’t want to pick up her purse, for fear of giving the woman clear, unblocked sight of the piece. She kicked her purse under the table and reminded herself not to forget it when it was time to leave. She glanced behind her at the painting, gazed lovingly at its gigantic pink and white peony blooms, and whipped back around to face the approaching woman. Ellen crossed her arms and knew that confrontation was upon her.

Shaking now, Ellen clutched the table where her oil painting was displayed. Any time the woman in black moved her head or refocused her eyes, Ellen tried to block her view from the painting. But this woman was insistent, and finally Ellen felt defeated. “If I am going to lose the painting, I might as well know right away, so that I can at least gethome early,” she thought to herself.

Ellen peeked around the bald head of the man who stood in front of her, horribly afraid of what she might see. “Is that woman putting down her name for the painting? Has she put a price I couldn’t possibly match?” Ellen’s hands shook. She watched as the woman in black looked at the painting, and then back into the crowd. Ellen slipped back behind the bald man. “Why isn’t she writing down her name?” Ellen wondered. “Is there something wrong with the painting? Is it hideous?”

With a change of heart, Ellen marched up to the table and bumped into the woman with the fancy dress. “Excuse me,” Ellen said while she scratched her name off the bidding sheet next to the painting. “Who would want such an ugly thing?”

Across the room, Diane looked at a mousy woman in a floral-printed dress. Diane could not take her eyes off her; the woman shifted her weight back and forth, running her fingers through her hair and scanning the room with her eyes over and over. “Why is there always at least one crazy in the bunch?” contemplated Diane. She reached for one of the hors d’oeuvres as the server walked by and popped a bacon-wrapped fig in her lipsticked mouth. She looked back at the collection of photographs on auction in front of her. Bright and colourful, they depicted smiling children. “And why can’t there be at least one real piece of art here? Everything is so dull and uncreative!” Diane smoothed her sleek black dress and adjusted one of her silver dangling earrings. “I thought the art world had moved past realism. Where are the straight lines of cubism, the interpretation of modern art?”

Diane watched as the crazy woman pulled at her hair and picked at her sleeve. She watched with the repulsion of someone driving past a car accident. “What is wrong with that woman?” Diane scowled. She decided she needed to have a closer look.

Moving quickly through the crowd, weaving around chatting people, Diane was almost close enough to decipher the type of flower printed all over the crazy woman’s pink and yellow cotton dress. Diane saw the woman start to look around a little wildly and she chuckled to herself. “What a weirdo! I bet she doesn’t even know what she’s supposed to be doing here - that’s why she’s not moving from that spot.” As she neared the woman, she slowed down. “Even if she is crazy, I don’t want her knowing I’m looking at her.” Diane inched the rest of the way over.

All of a sudden, the crazy woman took about four giant steps to her right, positioning herself among the people milling about. Diane could no longer see her. Diane glanced at the painting that was suddenly in her view. “Well - that’s a fine painting! Not quite my taste, but if I adored Monet, this would be the painting for me. Quite exceptional!” She shook her head and tried to find her crazy woman, afraid her entertainment for the evening had slipped away.