Michael had been nervous throughout the entire auction, but nothing compared to how nervous he was now. He had been convinced that the auction would happen entirely inside the school. A date of some kind would consist of maybe playing outside? Going for a ride in the really cool space craft they had under the basketball courts? Instead, the little brown haired boy found himself in front of...somewhere. It had locked doors that looked really shiny. His hair was combed back, most likely on the way over, so it seemed a bit bumpy and messy, but most importantly his eyes were staring straight at the doors.

Yes, this was most unusual for him. He didn’t like to stare at things. The more he stared at them, the more they stared back at him. So seeing his reflection, he turned his head down to the rather shiny, yet still small, black leather shoes adorning his feet. These shoes really did complete the outfit in a splended manner. The black of his shoes met with the neatly hemmed edge of the short boy’s pants, which led up to the rest of his tuxedo combination.

In a fit of pure genius, one person decided that it would be best to simply give him one rose for Maxine. Of course, he didn’t look as much like a stud, standing tall at all the height his nine years of life had given him, he looked more like...a nine year old who was standing outside waiting for the doors to open for him. This was the time where Maxine was told to be ready for him there, and the driver from the mansion had dropped him off exactly on time, so he hoped he would not wait long.

Kat had attempted to steal all of his puzzles, and she had almost succeeded, but he snuck a little metallic brain teaser into his coat’s front pocket. Holding the rose carefully in one white-gloved hand, the other white-gloved hand dug into his pocket to pull out the silvery object, which made a light clinking noise, causing a light bit of content to show on his face. The brown-haired child moved a bit to be closer to the doors, holding his puzzle in one hand, and his rose in the other, with a fearful look on his face. It seemed so...large. Already the pocket handkerchief in his pocket was messed up from his fiddling, and his hair had started to become it’s usual mess in front of his face. He was getting antsy and needed something to do.

The elevator dinged open. A white cross-strap shoe stepped gracefully over the threshold with just the lightest click of heel. Maxine swept over the polished tiles of the Wolf News lobby, winking at the desk secretary on her way.

On her way, that is, to her evening's date with a fine young gentleman.

She was dressed in a white dress; a rather conservative one, by her own estimates. No slit up the side of the legs, and the only flesh she was flashing was her bare arms; it was a classic Marilyn Monroe dress. Perfectly modest apparel, for a perfectly innocent evening.

She could see the boy through the lobby's tinted windows. Naturally, he couldn't see her, which gave her a moment to smirk privately. He had a pocket handerkef. And the suit to match. And while she appreciated the efforts someone had taken to tame down his hair, she was just as happy that it was springing back up. A little bit of muss had never hurt a man's profile.

"A little younger than your usual, isn't he?" The secretary commented, one eyebrow raised. The woman was the same age she was; they'd even graduated from NYU in the same year, though their paths had never crossed on campus.

"Can you picture him all grown up?" Maxine flashed a grin. "Dibs."

The secretary snorted a laugh, and got back to typing something on her computer.

And with that, Maxine strode towards the doors to claim her auction spoils. For twenty-five bucks, you too could buy a boy in America.

"Good evening, Michael," she said, poking her head outside. "You know, I've been wondering something all day: have you ever been through a revolving door?" She inclined her head to the side, to the capsule-like glass protruding from the building right next to where they stood. She wasn't going to chance her dress in there, hence why she was leaning out the handicapped entrance... But really, what was the point of bringing a kid to a fancy building if they didn't get to use the fun doors?

Michael was not able to wait without doing something. He solved and put back together the brain teaser enough times for it to be considered boring, so he pocketed that in the little pocket with his handkerchief. After all, why else would there be a pocket there? Obviously, pockets were meant to be there so that you could put myriad puzzles and games away. He shifted from foot to foot, and nearly had a heart attack when his own two feet weren’t the only ones on the ground. He half expected the loud footsteps of his drunken father...just something in the back of his mind still made him believe that it was possible, but instead it was the heals of a lady that clicked against the uneven ground.

Michael turned his body, and lifted his head only momentarily to see that she was wearing a dress. It was a nice white dress. A compliment? Yes. Kat had versed him on the art of providing compliments...what to say? He was looking at her feet, so it was only natural that the compliment should come from his inherent need to look down. He cleared his throat, and a few moments after, he spoke to her. “Your shoes make a noise against the ground that’s different from my fathers.” And then nodded. Yes, that was a very lovely compliment. He hated his father, and the opposite of hate, was like. Anyone could understand that.

His voice was childish, of course, as he’d clearly not had a change in his voice yet, and his demeanor was as well. Despite all of Kat’s work to pretty him up, and place him in slightly comical adult situations, Michael had the rounded cheeks of a child yet. So much that he mumbled when he spoke, and the rose he held for her was handed to her as though the item was burning a hole through his hand, and he must be rid of it quickly. Soon, Michael was distracted yet again.

The revolving doors. Ah yes, the pinnacle of technology designed to make things more efficient. He remembered that for about a month he had a love for transportation methods. The revolving door always seemed like some kind of pinball game gone wrong. Still holding the flower out, since he didn’t realize that he was quite a bit farther away from Maxine than anticipated, he was forced to used his non-dominant hand to occupy his need to tug on something.

Occaisionally it happened that Michael needed to pull something, just as a reason to keep himself grounded, and not to get too self-assured.And this was of course the reason he started to tug a bit of his hair free from the grasp of the combed look it had before.. As he stared at the revolving doors, he mumbled something, slightly hard to hear. “Revolving doors are more efficient to prevent drafts and they can transport suitcases and larger families at times...this one is smaller. So it just prevents drafts.” He could sound like a know-it-all, sure, but Mikey was extremely nervous, and it was apparent in his voice. In fact, the little boy was actually shaking. He continued holding the Rose out, still tugging on his hair with his non-dominant hand.

Maxine's smile twitched just a hair wider; her eyebrows climbed a touch higher. The redhead had gotten her fair share of compliments in her life: compliments about her hair (thank you), her freckles (no thank you), her legs, her—well, that wasn't appropriate for present company. Sincere compliments, spontaneous compliments, premeditated scheming rat-faced compliments from men who wanted what all men—but really, Michael was years away from thinking like that.

And that's what made his compliment so sweet. He was just complimenting her to compliment her. No ulterior motives, no carefully weighed sugar sentiments, just...

Just her shoes. Making a different noise that his father's.

"Why thank you, Sir," the redhead graciously grinned. "And might I add that your suit is a better cut than my prom date's." She accepted the rose, though it took her a step further out the door to do so; it shut behind her, with the strange slowness than handicapped entrances had, and surveyed her date more properly.

His cut little hankie-pocket bulged—she could just see the edge of a puzzle sticking out. No real eye contact, hand compulsively working its way through his hair, and actually shaking as he mumbled out his answer.

D'awwww. He reminded her of Bruce Wilkins, on their first date. But he'd been thirteen. And she'd been rather younger herself, then; a tender fourteen.

Well. Let it never be said that older women didn't know a few tricks.

"That," the redhead said, with an approving nod, "was a very detailed and accurate answer. But," she held up the rose like a forestalling finger, "you left out one very key element of this architectural arrangement. If the designer's sole purpose was to keep out drafts, a double door arrangement would have been equivalent and reduced the need for extraneous doorage." Yes, extraneous doorage: witness the door she had just come through, as well as the similar entrance flanking the revolving door's other side. "So why choose a revolving door instead?"

She left him a moment to puzzle this problem, before offering her palm to him. "I believe a demonstration might be beneficial. May I have your hand?"

If the hand was given, she would lead him through the revolving doors, with a careful hand on her own skirts to keep them from getting caught. They would go into the building.... in, oh, a rapid spin or two.

Revolving doors were the best. Girls who were all grown up might not have the excuse to play around in them... but girls who were all grown up with a kid in tow sure did. It was like taking a toddler trick-or-treating: everyone knew who really ate the candy.

Now you see, Michael wasn’t necessarily used to too many compliments. And if he’d left the mansion as he wanted to, he wouldn’t have received the compliment she paid to him in return. Michael was more comfy in his white shirt and blue jeans, as they were more practical than anything, instead he looked down at bright, shiny black dress shoes that he was told he couldn’t really scuff without getting in trouble. He saw a bit of dirt on the front of his shoe, and with his other foot tried to scrape it off. The boy’s eyes widened slightly and he realized that he’d just actually scuffed his shoes…all by his own doing. Michael shifted a little bit and the boy looked slightly uncomfortable now. He continued holding out the rose.

Michael was now blushing quite a bit, however, because he wasn’t really sure how to interact further with the woman. Was he supposed to say something else nice? Maybe compliments were what conversations were made out of when someone was on a date with another person. How would he know? “You…you have red hair and it’s…it’s…” How did he say that she styled it well? What was the proper code? This was so complicated just to talk to someone, but he was told that he had to make a conscious effort. “It’s held up nice.”

There we go. It was completely fine now, he had said another compliment, and his turn in this round was completely over. As the door shut, Michael nearly jumped, but he was okay. The boy adjusted one of his gloves, still clutching the rose in his hand. Maybe it was supposed to be in her hair? Red things go with red things…right? Where did the rose go? Michael’s brow furrowed in thought, but he decided to let it go for now. He’d figure it out later. The boy straightened, but still didn’t look her in the eye, just giving her slightly scared glances every once in a while.

Michael stared at the ground as he thought about her next question. Truly…that was a good point. The doors could be just double doors…and then things would be okay. But…there was a loophole in that. He didn’t really understand that correcting woman on a date to satisfy his own personal situation wasn’t right. “Isn’t…isn’t it better for people…who…have bags?” He wasn’t sure how to explain it in words, however, and the boy trailed off. Oh…he supposed that maybe she might know what she was talking about .That was weird. Michael shifted on his feet a bit in silence.

Then the woman spoke again, and she reached out for his hand. Michael looked at it, lowering the hand with the rose to the side, however, the other hand was actually empty. So it would be possible for him to hand it over to hold her hand, but he hadn’t done that with anyone yet. Michael looked down at this empty hand and wriggled his fingers a little bit. It should be fine, just so long as his glove didn’t come off, and the boy slowly reached his hand out and took the woman’s hand, holding it tightly. He was still unsure and his blush was redder than the inside of a watermelon.