The Auction of the First Baked Chocolate Cake

The mailman arrives, his large blue mailbag thumps against his thigh as he walks up the stairs to the house.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart throbs in my chest making the same noise, growing louder with every step he takes. I swing open the door before he can put the envelopes in the slot.

He jumps back startled. “Well good morning Audrey.” He chuckles, “Excited for the mail today huh?”

“Just expecting something important is all.” I reply back, eyeing the large manila envelope in his hands.

He fumbles through the rest of the envelopes in his bag; double checking to make sure nothing is forgotten. My hands itch at my sides, as I fight the urge to reach out and snatch the envelope; the only piece of mail I actually care about.

After what seems like an eternity, he finishes sorting and hands me the stack of mail, a cheerful smile spreading across his lips. “Have a good day Audrey!” he calls, as he ambles down the stairs to his mail truck.

“Thanks Herb.” I mutter, staring at the manila folder on top of the stack.

My name on the front is spelled wrong as always, “Audrie” and scribbled in black permanent marker. There’s no return address, and the envelope has dried coffee stains carelessly dribbling down the back.

This is it. I think, a lump forming in my throat as I rip at the back of the envelope with my fingernails. Once open, I slip my hand inside and pull out a single sheet of paper. I move to the living room and sit on the couch, taking care to smooth out the creases in the paper.

It reads:

“Item found. Location- N 48◦12’39.5064” – E 16◦21’22.8126”

The Hotel Sacher. Date & Time- October 25th 8pm.

Currency to be used- the usual.”

At the bottom of the sheet is a chocolate colored wax seal in the shape of a piece of cake.

I put the coordinates into my GPS and track the location to Vienna, Austria.

Vienna? What are you after this time?

I commit the details of the note to memory and throw it into the fireplace in front of me.

As I dial the well known number of my employer, I watch the flames devour the tiny sheet of parchment until it is nothing but charred ash.

“Malcolm. Audrey here. I’ve got the next item on your list. It’s in two weeks. Austria. Better hurry.”

I listen to the gravelly voice on the other end give me further instructions and hang up.

So here is where I should probably explain myself. My name is Audrey Herring, and I work for a collector.

I don’t know all the details of the who and why, but I do know that every couple months, I get hired by this guy named Malcolm…that’s it no last name- just Malcolm, to find the location of an auction. These auctions are for the big spenders too, they aren’t your grandma’s estate sale or County farm auction. Usually the auctions are for one of a kind items, and usually they’re for things only insanely rich people with too much time and money on their hands care about.

This guy, Malcolm, he has me find auctions for all kinds of lame things. One time it was for the last feather of the bird that Attila the Hun used to scout his enemies. Big whoop right? He spent like 4 million dollars on the thing. The auctions are top secret, the only clue you get as to what they're about are the wax seals that come with the instructions page in the mail. This time it was a piece of cake, like what are they trying to say? That it's gonna be easy? So now I’m goin’ to Vienna for who knows what. The only cool thing about working for this guy is the pay is awesome, and I get to travel to some pretty sweet places.

2 weeks later- The Hotel Sacher; Vienna, Austria

I walk into the lobby of the hotel and struggle to pick my jaw up off the polished marble floor. Its that spectacular. No matter how many times I go to these things, I never get over how rich people can be. Part of me is angry, I mean do something good with your money right? And then a bigger part of me is envious; like what would I do with this kind of money? Would I really be saving the rainforests? Or would I just buy everything in sight?

I go to the front desk and slip the girl the wax seal of the piece of cake. She holds up a finger at me and disappears into the employee lounge, returning with a guy that towers over she and I like a giant. He’s wearing a silver sharkskin suit and bright green tortoise shell glasses over his dark brown eyes.

“Good evening Miss Herring, we’ve been expecting you.”

“Thanks, sorry my plane… er my jet was a little late in landing…weather and such.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and struggle to make eye contact.

“Of course.” The man smirks, looking at me the way they all do. Like I shouldn’t be here.

I straighten my shoulders and look at him expectantly. “So, should I escort myself to the meeting? Or?”

“No of course not, right this way Miss Herring.”

He takes my arm in his and walks me up to the right, past the ballroom, and into the lounge where we come to a small set of steps that lead down. I follow after him and he knocks four short times on a wooden door with a large gold peephole in the middle. The peephole is in the shape of a piece of cake. I tell ya, a theme for the evening is not lost on these people.

The door swings open; a swirl of perfume, cologne and alcohol greeting me as I walk into the room. 4 seats are set up in rows of 3, with their own little partitions circling each chair. Small turnouts mean that the item is so rare, only the people with real money show up.

I wait in my seat, amused at the goofy characters that surround me. Women with so many necklaces on that their heads actually tilt down a bit from the weight of them, men with monocles and bedazzled canes lying across their laps. These people look like they just stepped out of a TV screen and into real life for the first time.

The auctioneer arrives on stage, behind him a young man rolls a stainless steel cart with something on top covered in a white sheet.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are proud to present: The last slice of the first baked chocolate cake.” The older man removes the white cloth, and reveals a single slice of Sachertorte, its two layers still spongy, the dark, thick chocolate glaze on top still creamy.

Gasps fill the room. The woman next to me is actually sobbing into an embroidered flower handkerchief.

I stifle a giggle. A piece of chocolate cake, seriously? Malcolm you’ve really done it this time.

The older man waits for the room to silence and continues his speech. “Invented right here in Vienna, the Sachertorte is world famous for its layers of fresh Apricot jam and cherries. Commissioned by the Prince Klemens von Metternich in 1832, Franz Sacher created this marvelous pastry, using his love of chocolate to capture the richness in between the layers. Thousands have tried to replicate it, but to no avail. This last piece has been maintained and kept in a fresh state for many years, and now it can be one of yours.”

I look around the room at the other 11 people, their eyes hungry, greedy for this piece of cake. I shake my head and look at the sheet of paper Malcolm sent me, the largest amount he is willing to spend. It reads- 20 million US on it.

Like anyone is gonna pay more than a few hundred thousand. I think, shaking my head and smiling.

“The bidding will start at 7 million US dollars.”