Kiss and Tell 1

by Faith Winslow

  Chapter 12

  The next few days went by like a blur. I was down and depressed and did everything I could to avoid both Mom and London. I didn’t want to talk about my unsuccessful job search, and I didn’t want to be reminded of my unsuccessful sexual encounter. I spent a good deal of time away from the house—that way I didn’t have to worry about running into London, and could at least tell Mom I was out looking for a job.

  The truth of the matter, of course, is that I was not looking for a job. I was just going out to go out and put up a front. I’d leave the house an hour or two before Mom was done with work, then I’d return after she’d been home for a while. Given the types of jobs she thought I should apply for, it wasn’t odd for me to go out at those times, and she completely bought the lie that I was walking around on foot searching for “Help Wanted” signs or places that looked like somewhere I’d like to work.

  Instead of doing what I said I was doing, I did some window shopping one day, some real shopping another day, saw a movie, and went to a gallery. On the fifth day, I decided to treat myself to something sugary and sweet and stopped in at a dessert shop that I’d never been to before but had passed a few times during my fake job search.

  I ordered a super sweet slice of dulce de leche cheesecake and was paying for it when I noticed a “Help Wanted” sign behind the counter. I figured what the hell and asked the guy at the register for an application—if I filled it out, at least my lie would have legs, and I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about things as far as Mom was concerned.

  As I ate my cheesecake, I read over the application. It was a standard one—just like the other three I’d filled out a week earlier. And just like those other applications, I was sure that this one would be ignored.

  Nonetheless, I reached into my purse to get a pen and fill it out. When I pulled out the silver “gift set” pen, true to my word, I remembered the handsome, older stranger who’d given it to me, and the thought of him put a smile on my face.

  I was partway through the application and nearly done with my cheesecake when, all of a sudden, I heard a familiar voice. “Nice pen,” the man said. I looked up from the table and saw the stranger standing beside me again.

  “Thanks,” I said. “A handsome hero gave it to me last week, after he saved me from a wicked barista.”

  The stranger chuckled. “Some guys have a thing for damsels in distress,” he said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  I smiled at the stranger, but was otherwise at a loss for words. I wasn’t used to this type of flirting and didn’t know what to say or do next.

  “Another application, eh?” the stranger asked. “Looks like you’re really intent on finding work. That’s a good thing. It shows you have motivation, character, and ethics, which a lot of people lack these days.”

  The stranger’s words were so kind, and I didn’t want to tell him how wrong they actually were. Little did he know this was the first application I’d filled out in a week, and little did he know that I was only doing it to appease Mom and validate my own lies.

  “My name is Anthony,” the stranger said after a pause. He held out his hand to shake mine.

  “Kirby,” I said.

  “Wow,” Anthony chimed back. “That’s an unusual name.”

  I’d suffered with my name for 22 years, but in all that time, I’d never come up with a good response for when someone commented on the uniqueness of my name.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s definitely unusual…unless you’re a vacuum or video game character.”

  Anthony stared at me for a moment. “Kirby’s Adventure?” he asked. “That’s a Nintendo game, right? Aren’t you a little young to remember Nintendo?”

  “I guess,” I answered honestly. “But I’m old enough to use the Internet, and that’s how I found out about the Kirby from the video game.”

  “Have you ever played it?” Anthony asked. He was still standing, and he looked awkwardly at the empty seat across from me, waiting for me to invite him to sit down.

  “No, I haven’t,” I said. “I love video games, but I’ve never played that one.” I wanted to ask him to sit, but quite frankly, I didn’t know what to say.

  “You should,” he replied, taking the initiative and sitting down.

  “If I ever find a Nintendo, I will,” I said. “Though I guess that’s a long shot nowadays.”

  “Not really,” Anthony said. “I guess you didn’t stop at The Emporium on your job search then.”

  “The Emporium?” I asked. I’d never even heard of the place.

  “Oh, Kirby,” Anthony said, shaking his head in the most adorable way. “You don’t know about The Emporium?”

  “No,” I answered. I couldn’t help but grin at the look on Anthony’s face. “What is it?”

  “Well,” Anthony answered, “I can tell you, or I can show you…. Are you busy right now? The Emporium is only a few blocks away.”

  I wasn’t busy, and I couldn’t think of anything I’d like more than to join Anthony, regardless of what The Emporium was. He was incredibly charming, and I enjoyed his company very much. Plus, he wasn’t bad to look at. Granted, he was much older, but he had a youthful air about him, and he seemed more steady, stable, and confident than most of the other men I’d dealt with in my life.

  “I have some time to spare,” I said. My face felt warm and flushed, and I was certain I looked a little more pink than usual.

  “I have to get my to-go order and put it in my car,” Anthony said. “Finish up your application. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  Anthony stood up and went to the counter, and I turned my eyes back to the paper in front of me. I couldn’t think straight and basically just stared at the words for a moment, trying to subdue the excitement that was brewing beneath my skin. I picked up my pen—the one that Anthony had given me—and twirled it above the application. A little voice inside my head was telling me to hurry up and finish, so that I could move on to bigger and better things.

  Chapter 13

  “That was quick,” Anthony said.

  It had only been a few minutes since he left the dessert shop with a big box of baked goods, and I guess he wasn’t expecting me to come out so soon. If he’d known about my lack of work experience, he probably would’ve better understood why the application didn’t take me so long to complete.

  “Yep,” I replied. “I whizzed right through it. You piqued my interests with this Emporium thing.”

  “It’s The Emporium,” Anthony corrected, “and I think you’re really gonna like it.”

  Anthony gestured for me to follow him, and together we walked down the street, making idle chitchat about the other storefronts along the way.

  “This area has seen a lot of growth and development over the past couple of years,” Anthony explained. “Several new businesses have popped up, and most of them have been very successful. Some have failed, but that’s to be expected, I guess.”

  I didn’t really know what to say in response to Anthony’s comments. I wasn’t used to talking to people about things such as economics and neighborhood growth, and I hadn’t been invested enough in the area over the past few years to notice any significant change. Yet, as Anthony went on and on about things, I started to see the area in a new light, noticing places I hadn’t noticed before and seeing imaginary lines drawn between them, suggesting how the different businesses fed into each other and helped each other thrive.

  “Here we are,” Anthony said at last. We’d walked a few blocks and were now outside of a building that had very dim windows that appeared to be covered by some type of stick-on film. The signage was very simple, and, from the looks of the place, you wouldn’t have any idea what was going on inside. I realized I’d passed it before, but never bothered to investigate further, since I thought it was a dive bar or some other type of seedy establishment.

  Anthony opened the door, and as soon as I could see inside, I could tell that The Emporium was not a bar or seedy establishment of any kind. It
was a video arcade.

  “I don’t know if they have Kirby’s Adventure here,” Anthony said as the door shut behind us, “but they have standing arcade games and pinball machines, and they have two of every game system ever invented—from Atari to PS4.”

  My eyes widened as I looked over the place. I’d never seen a collection of games like this before. Sure, I’d been to arcades before, ever since I was a kid. But those were mostly in malls, and they had a very limited selection, especially as compared to what was in front of me in The Emporium.

  I stood there in silence as I examined the place. Anthony laughed and smiled at me. He could tell that I was impressed.

  “The system games are back here,” he said, leading me toward the back room. “We’ll see what they have for NES. NES means Nintendo, by the way—Nintendo Entertainment System.”

  As soon as we got to the back room, we were greeted by a guy who looked exactly like the type of guy you would expect to work at a video arcade. He was a little pudgy and had dark black hair that matched his thick black glasses and tight black T-shirt.

  “What’s your poison?” the guy asked as we approached.

  “NES,” Anthony said.

  “Ahh, keepin’ it old school,” the geeky dude replied. He handed Anthony a laminated “menu” of games and told him to flag him down when he made his selection.

  As Anthony read over the games on the list, I looked around the back room a bit more. The space was filled with large televisions of different makes and models, including old-fashioned tube TVs. There was also a sign that said Back Room Protocol, which went on to describe how The Emporium handled system game play. According to the sign, the employees had exclusive access to the systems and games, and would load them for patrons upon request and availability. Patrons could pay to play by the hour and were discouraged from using cheat codes.

  “No Kirby, Kirby,” Anthony said, handing me the sheet. “But there are plenty of other NES games on here that are fun. Find one that sounds fun. We’ve come too far not to play at least one.”

  I took the menu from Anthony, and, to be completely honest, I didn’t recognize about 99 percent of the titles on the list. I tried not to make this obvious as I scanned the titles again. I recognized the game called Dr. Mario—I’d played it on my cousin’s old Game Boy when I was a kid—and I told Anthony I’d like to give that one a go.

  Anthony went over to the geeky employee. “We’d like to visit with Dr. Mario for an hour or so,” he said.

  “Excellent choice,” the younger man said. “I’ll load it on TV-3 for you. It should be up and running in a minute or so.”

  Anthony and I walked around the room until we found a television labeled TV-3. It was one of the old-fashioned tube TVs, which made sense since Nintendo was one of the older systems.

  As soon as the TV booted on, the game was on the screen, and I felt a sense of nostalgia that made me grin. Anthony and I sat down on the fake leather futon in front of the TV, and he took control of controller-1. He set the game to 2-player mode as I grabbed my own controller and readied myself for a fierce pill-staking battle.

  I chose a game I’d played before, but I hadn’t played it in this particular format, so there was a bit of a learning curve. Anthony laughed at me a bit when I repeatedly made poor moves, and I could tell that he wasn’t playing as well as he could play, so as to give me more wiggle room.

  We continued to play game after game, and the more we played, the more comfortable I got with the gaming system and the better I performed. When my game stepped up, Anthony stepped his up, too, and by the time we got to the fifth or sixth game, it was a pretty even match.

  Like they say, time flies when you’re having fun—and time definitely flew by as Anthony and I played. Before I knew it, a warning flashed across our screen, telling us that we had only 5 minutes of game play left.

  “Wanna play some more?” Anthony asked, not taking his eyes off of the screen.

  I looked at the clock on the nearby wall. It was nearly 6 p.m., and I knew my parents would be wondering where I was.

  “I’d like to,” I replied, “but I really should be getting home soon.”

  “Alright,” Anthony said. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was a little let down. He kept playing his side of the screen, though. At this point, it was moot. I was already on the losing end—and the 15 seconds or so I took to look at the clock distracted me enough to make a few additional errors. Still, I tried my best to play as the timer ticked down in front of us.

  We had 4 minutes, then 3, then 2, then 1. I hated that I had to stop playing, and that I had to end this random evening with a perfect, fun gentleman.

  When the timer hit 0, I set down my controller in defeat. We hadn’t been keeping a true tally, but we both were aware that Anthony had kicked my ass more times than I’d kicked his.

  “Good game,” Anthony said, setting down his controller, as well. “Sorry you can’t stick around to play more.” Something about the way he said that last part made me tingle all over.

  “Me too,” I replied.

  Anthony went over and paid the geeky dude for our hour of play, then returned to me, Together, we walked to the door and left.

  “Thanks for telling me about this place,” I said once we were outside. “And thanks for a really fun time.”

  “Thank you, Kirby,” Anthony said back. He looked at me in a very intent way. “I know you don’t have time to play Nintendo for another hour, but can I convince you to come get a drink with me?”

  I thought about Anthony’s invitation and knew I should say no. My parents would be waiting for me, and they’d probably be upset if I came home tipsy and told them I’d been out playing video games and drinking with a man at least twice my age. But as I looked back at Anthony, I couldn’t say no, no matter how badly I wanted to.

  “Okay,” I said with a smile. “But I really can’t stay out too long.”

  “I understand,” Anthony replied. He took my hand in his, and I felt butterflies in my tummy. “There’s a nice tavern just down the road, going back the same way we came.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. My voice cracked a bit from excitement.

  Chapter 14

  “What can I get you?” the barmaid asked.

  The tavern that Anthony had led me to was pretty calm at this hour. We were two of less than a dozen customers, and I was definitely the youngest person there. Generally speaking, it looked like a pretty low-key joint, not like the college bars and clubs I was used to.

  “I’ll have a bourbon, straight,” Anthony answered before turning to me.

  “A martini,” I said. I’d never ordered a martini in my life, but I figured it was a classy drink and it’d make me seem less out of place and better suited to my more sophisticated companion.

  “Can I see your ID, honey?” the barmaid asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, reaching into my purse to grab my wallet. I extracted my driver’s license and handed it to her. She looked at it, then looked at me, then looked at it again.

  “Thanks,” she said. “What kind of martini?”

  I wasn’t embarrassed when she asked to see my ID. I was 22, after all, so it made sense that she’d card me. But I was totally embarrassed when she asked me what type of martini I wanted—because, quite frankly, I didn’t know. I thought a martini was a martini and didn’t even know there were different kinds.

  “Vodka or gin?” she asked. She wasn’t so much trying to help me as she was trying to speed things along.

  “Vodka,” I replied. Then I said something totally dorky. “Shaken, not stirred.” I’d heard it in a James Bond movie or something, so I figured if it was good enough for James Bond, it was good enough for me.

  The barmaid nodded, then went off to make our drinks. We were sitting at the bar, and I watched as she pulled the bottles from the shelves and poured. I probably stared at her more than I should have, but I was nervous and didn’t know what else to do.

  A
nthony tried to make small talk about the tavern and its history. Although I was interested in what he was saying, most of his comments were lost on me. I’d never been in a situation like this one before—where I met up with a stranger and hung out with him for a while—and I was as excited as I was scared.

  When the barmaid returned with our drinks, I immediately took a sip from mine, and I nearly gagged. If I hadn’t been out in public, I probably would have spit the liquid back into my glass. This was my first martini, and given how it tasted, it would be my last. It was the grossest drink ever, and I had to force myself to keep it down.

  Anthony, on the other hand, seemed to better appreciate his bourbon. He sipped at it and sighed.

  The next sip I took from my glass was a much larger one. I figured if I took bigger sips, I could finish the drink faster, and that way, I wouldn’t have to deal with the disgusting taste for much longer and could get home before my parents went ape shit.

  As we dragged at our drinks, Anthony asked me a few questions about myself, and I ended up sharing more than I thought I would. In addition to telling him about how I’d just graduated and was looking for a job, I also mentioned how I was back home living with my parents. Indeed, I felt a little humbled to tell Anthony that, but it kinda just spilled out. I felt very comfortable with him, and he didn’t seem to judge.

  “We all go through transitional stages,” he said as I drank the last disgusting sip of my disgusting drink. I didn’t know what ingredients went into a martini, but whatever did, it was foul and strong.

  “Can I get you another?” the barmaid asked, appearing from out of nowhere.

  “No thanks,” I said, biting my lip. The last thing I wanted was another martini.

  Anthony placed his hand over his glass and shook his head. In bar talk, I guess that meant that he, too, was passing on a second round. “We’ll just cash out,” he said. “Thanks.”