A/N: A version of this short has been rattling around in my brain for a while now as part of my expendable AU so when I saw this square on my bingo card there was no way in hell I could refuse to write it.
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Bingo #1 Bow Tie
Six Curving Lines
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It seemed as if hundreds of people had shown up to my little charity event. Not the couple dozen I had expected to be willing to take a look at my doodles. And we'd gone full glitz and glam. The women wearing dresses that cost more than the average person's yearly salary to the perfect fitted tuxes adorning every male in the room, including myself.
I reached up and stuck my finger between the collar and my throat yet again, convinced that it needed to be loosened.
Myla reached up and tugged my hand away, placing an outrageously priced glass of champagne in it, in what would surely be a failing effort to prevent me from fidgeting any more. "It is not too tight," Myla informed me, an amused smile on her lips and lighting up her eyes.
"I just… I guess I'm a little overwhelmed by… by all this," I tried to explain, poorly at that.
She shook her head, trying not to laugh at me. "I told you exactly what to expect and you're still surprised by the turnout. Wait till I tell you how the bidding is going."
I damn near choked on the sip of champagne. "I knew it." I'd known there to be little chance anyone would give a damn about the doodles of a man so out of sync with the current society that they'd have little interest in paying money, no matter how worthy the charity, for the artwork, well what Myls called artwork adorning the walls about us.
"Knew what?" She curved her arm about mine and encouraged me into motion. We made our way through the room, me still kind of ogling everything. I'd participated in a few other charity events, though as Captain America instead of Steve Rogers. Superheroes brought in the money and I had volunteered at any number of events for causes I believed in. It hadn't been until after some discussions with Myla that I realized that I didn't have to go through others to do these good deeds, I could simply create and back my own charity.
Myls had caught me doing some fumbling research on the matter and, after a couple of discussions with Pepper, who put me in contact with the right people to get me started, the Steve Rogers Foundation had been born. Once I had the solid base I needed, the revenue stream became the next major hurdle. So over dinner one night I brought up the subject of selling my art to Myla who had suggested previously that she could arrange a showing with ease.
I had scoffed at the time, but with little more than a raised eyebrow, she gave me a quick rundown of what would be required. Then she gave me the number to an agent she knew and trusted.
At the time I hadn't questioned how or why she had any clue about art or high-end charity events, I'd simply taken full advantage of her knowledge.
And now, as I had expected, the whole grand plan was falling apart at the seams.
I sighed softly. "Knew this was a stupid idea."
She shot me a confused look.
"Oh, not the charity. I want… need to do that, but this." I waved a hand about at the one-percenters we strolled by like a lost antelope through a pride of hungry lions. Most turned to look at us as we moved past them all polite nods and smiles. A few pulled Myla in close for a quick word or two, many of which praised the success of the event. I had a rough idea of how much it had cost to host this showing and seriously doubted we'd make enough money back on the artwork to cover even a quarter of it.
"This what?"
Even with the interruptions and side conversation, she had no problems continuing our personal discussion.
We stopped in front of the drawing that had been made the centerpiece of the show. Not my choice, others including my agent, Pepper and Tony had all insisted this be the focal point. I had no clue why since I considered the piece unfinished. A simple charcoal drawing, and that barely. A total of six curving lines that when you squinted just right resolved itself into a woman sleeping on a bed. One arm curved about an unseen pillow, hair blending into the curve of a back, her face in profile, the sheet low enough to show the rise of her buttocks.
Yes, Myla had been the model and dead asleep when I'd sketched one late night I'd returned from an op and she'd welcomed me home in the best way possible.
"This," I reiterated. "The… art. I knew it wouldn't bring in nearly enough."
She broke out into hysterical laughter.
All nearby eyes turned to her at the even to my ears inappropriate sound for the hoity-toity venue. However, when they realized who precisely had been throwing protocol out the window, through the glass no less, just simply shook their heads and smiled before returning to their conversations. Pretty much everyone who had chosen to attend this event knew Myla if only indirectly.
And I had no idea how.
Not that it really mattered.
"Myls, what the hell is so funny?" It seemed reasonable to me to be at least a smidge upset that this grand idea had failed so horribly.
"Steve," she somehow managed around a snicker, "you really have no clue do you?"
I scowled, or tried to, it was hard to be upset when she still laughed, real humor in her eyes and demeanor.
"Come here, you." She tugged me towards the tablet mounted on the wall next to the drawing, blending in almost perfectly with the wall so as not to detract from the artwork itself. "You understand how the auction works yes?
I nodded. We'd chosen a silent auction style. Bids placed on a list – the tablet – and the highest one at the end of the night would take home the prize. Apparently, an app made it even simpler as you could literally check the bids and up your personal one at any time discreetly. No making it obvious you wanted a piece of artwork by standing in front of it and announcing your intentions.
I shifted to take a look at the current high bid on the tablet and blinked. Twice.
I recounted the number of zeroes.
"Holy shit," I muttered under my breath. "That can't be right."
"It is," she assured me. "I feel like I should say 'I told you so', but I'll wait until the final tally has been completed."
"Gee, thanks. I think."
She shook her head. "How can you have so little self-confidence in your work?"
I frowned slightly, my eyes turning to the piece before us that to me still seemed incomplete. "They're paying for the name," I groused. "They'd pay through the nose for a used handkerchief of mine."
She snorted at the unintentional pun I'd stuck in there. "Not these people. Trust me. These are not fanboys, they're art connoisseurs and want pieces that will gain in value. Yes, your name and the charity got them in the door, but they would not put money down on these pieces if they had no real interest in them. They'd just write a check and schmooze." She shifted to stand before me, a look of pure honesty in demeanor. "Every drawing in here has a five-figure bid or better on it. This one might very well break seven before all is said in done."
I closed my eyes for a long moment trying to absorb those words. People really liked my art? And were willing to pay through the nose for it?
Her hand on my cheek got me to open my eyes. The most intimate contact we'd indulged in the entire evening. We'd both had concerns about advertising our relationship. The paparazzi may have been banned in here, but several professional photographers wandered about taking photos. A pic of me kissing Myla would probably net them a whole lot of money and make the front page so we took all due care to come across as no more than coworkers and friends.
I'd be thanking her later when we got back to the suite at the hotel.
Cameras flashed, but she didn't seem to care. "Steve Rogers is one hell of an artist and deserves every accolade he will receive tonight. Got me."
I swallowed hard. The earnestness in her voice, her eyes. I don't know how I kept forgetting that she saw me, not Captain America, at all times. "Got it."
She grinned and I could tell by the look in her eyes that she wanted to kiss me. I leaned down and she kissed me on the cheek. "Come on. Time to press the flesh and talk up all the good this money is going to do for kids in Brooklyn."
"Aw do I have to?" I faux-whined. I actually enjoyed talking about the plans I had for this charity.
"Yes, you do." She tugged me into motion, heading towards an older couple who had been casting glances in our direction for several minutes.
With a smile I resigned myself to the suffering through the conversation with complete strangers knowing, in the end, it would be worth it with Myla by my side.
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finis
