The First 100 Kisses

by Danielle Bannister

  “Guess we’ll find out,” I say, waving the package at her.

  I can tell that she wants to start a conversation with me about my 'condition', and I have no interest in participating, so I turn away quickly and rush up to the front counter where there is, of course, a guy behind the register. Not a supermodel looking guy, but still, not bad on the eyes. The type of guy I could see myself dating, and here I was about to put a pregnancy test on his counter. How good a friend is Gail, really?

  Since no other register is open, I wait in line behind two frat boys with a pack of beer under each arm ahead of me. I hide the test behind my purse as best as I can and pretend to have a sincere interest in the advertisement on a chewing gum display to my right. Ooh, look, this one has no sugar. I frown. No sugar, but three ingredients I can't pronounce. I'll stick with the sugar. I know that's grown from the earth and not cooked up in some chem lab.

  I see a slight look of disgust on the cashier dude as he watches the frat boys depart, which makes him instantly more appealing. My eyes dart down to his left hand, as they always do when I see a non-hideous looking, potentially dateable guy. Not claimed. I smile at him. He returns the smile through a golden beard that could use some manicuring. I can’t help but notice his name tag. Brian. I smile wider. His name starts with a B. The fates have spoken. Instinctively, I know my date with Adam is gonna tank, primarily because Gail set us up, and as much as I love her, she has no idea what I like in a guy. Might as well move on.

  Taking a deep breath, I bat my eyes. Yup. I am pathetic.

  “Looks like those guys are about to have some fun,” I say nodding after the nimrods who just left.

  Brian doesn’t show any response. “Never been a fan of alcohol poisoning.”

  “Good point.” I fiddle with the box in my hand.

  “Can I help you find something?” he asks when I don’t say anything.

  Don’t be a chicken. You have to do this 25 more times!

  “Actually, there might be. Any chance you’d be free to go out sometime?”

  The guy looks at me for a second.

  “Wait, are you asking me out?”

  I bite my lip and pray that no one can hear us.

  “Um, yes?”

  He looks down, clearly checking out my breasts before he answers. Nice.

  “Cool. Sure, I guess.”

  My eyes light up. “Yeah? Great, awesome. Well, here’s my number,” I say digging into my purse and pulling out my business card. I slide it across the not so smooth glass counter. It’s more brown than clear, which is frankly disturbing.

  “K,” he says tucking my card in his shirt pocket. “That all?”

  Is that all. Is that all I needed? “Oh, I need to get this, too.” I nudge the box toward him, sort of hoping he won't actually notice what it is. Brian’s eyes pop up at me. So much for that.

  “Oh, no! It’s not for me. Promise. It’s for a friend. She’s actually in the bathroom now, waiting to pee on it.”

  I’m not sure why I think that clarification will help my situation.

  “Here, just take this.” I throw some money at him and rush off to the back. “Call me.”

  Poor Brian just stands there, holding a limp twenty, thoroughly confused by what just happened. Gail owes me big for this debacle.

  By ten past 8 we are officially uber late for dinner, but giddy as school girls. Gail is not pregnant, and I got Brian checked off my list in return. We’ve been laughing so hard about how ridiculous the whole situation is that when Harold opens the door for us at the restaurant, I have almost forgotten why we're here. Ugh. Adam. Gail's date will be tolerable. Charles. He works at her dad's company. He's a wet noodle, but a noodle you know is better than the one you don't.

  “I want a vodka martini in my hand before we sit down at that table, got it?” I hiss in her ear.

  “But of course, darling.”

  The Maître d’ greets Gail like a life-long friend, giving air kisses on both cheeks as only pure snobs know how to perform.

  “Garmond, can you see that we get two Vespers before we dine with those vulgar men?” she giggles and flashes her sexy smile at him. Predictably, he does just as she orders, something Gail is quite used to.

  “What the hell is a Vesper?” I whisper.

  Gail glances down her elegant nose at me.

  “Seriously? It is only the best martini you will ever have in your life. Trust me. They are to die for.”

  Our drinks arrive on a small tray held by the most uptight waiter I have ever laid eyes on. He has so much gel in his hair to slick back obvious curls, that I can almost make out my reflection in it when he lowers his tray for us in some sort of bow. Gail is oblivious to the waiter and his grandiose gestures; he is, after all, only the vehicle that brought her drink. Slick Rick, as I will forever remember him, leaves us alone. I take a huge swig from the paper-thin glass, feeling the olive brush my tongue. After I swallow, I am assaulted with the strongest martini I have ever had in my life. My throat feels like my flesh is being eaten away.

  “Holy shit!” I croak, coughing a bit as my taste buds regain consciousness.

  “Told you,” she winks and loops her arm around mine, dragging me to my doom.

  Three hours and four Vespers later, Harold is helping me to the car. I am laughing my ass off and barely able to stand up straight.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Harper?” I hear him ask in some far away corner of the world.

  “She’s fine. She just had to endure the world’s most boring date known to mankind. Remind me that I need to fire Adam. I never realized how ridiculously droll he was. My date was no better. Note to self, just because they have hair, doesn’t mean they are instantly fuckable. Take us back to my place. I don’t want her home alone this drunk. Knowing Dee, she’d end up dead in a puddle of her own vomit.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” I hear his sexy voice say.

  A door shuts near my head and I smell Gail’s perfume waft over me before I feel her weight shake the seat around me. It kind of makes me want to hurl. The fun stage of drunk is starting to wear off, now comes the reason I don’t normally drink this much.

  “Ugh, why aren’t you shitfaced, too?” I moan. I try to sit up but it only makes my stomach swirl. “That was the most horrendous date I have ever been on.”

  “I have had worse,” Gail says, looking down at her nails. It's true. She has.

  I rub my hand over my forehead, which has begun to perspire. Shit. I am gonna be sick if this car keeps bouncing.

  “I should not have taken your drink,” I groan.

  “No, what you shouldn’t have done was order a third.”

  I grumble something I can't even comprehend as I roll down the window to feel the breeze on my face. “Adam should count as five dates, you know. That was torture.”

  There is something about her silence that feels off. Or maybe I am just about to pass out. We hit another damn bump. Yup. Definitely about to pass out.

  ***

  Journal Entry: Adam is not worthy of his name. If God made man like this guy, we would have died off centuries ago.

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