Kiss Me

by Joseph James Hunt

  “Sucks.” He set the bottle back on the desk. “Do you know who got me that gift?”

  She shook her head of loose curls. “I can find out, I know someone upstairs was keeping a record to make sure it was fair.”

  “Okay, you do that.” He grabbed the bottle again by the neck. “Think I’m gonna go have a drink and pretend I wasn’t humiliated in front of everyone.”

  Ava waved her hand at him. “Don’t be silly, everyone has already forgotten.”

  “I haven’t.” He grit his teeth. “And I’d like to, so when you finish, come and join me. I don’t know where I’ll be, or what I’ll be doing, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Ava left Blake to his own devices, often something she wouldn’t do, but since his demotion, and her having to take on more tasks and responsibilities for other writers and production staff, she had no choice but to let him.

  Blake had a secret room, an old abandoned cleaning cupboard, rarely used since the company hired external cleaning staff. He used it whenever he received negative feedback or criticism online. It was his drinking room, and while it was completely devoid of everything, including cleaning supplies, there was a small shelf against the wall and two chairs. He popped the cork and took a seat.

  He hadn’t used it in a while, not since he’d started to see Chris, and he didn’t have to go through it alone, but since he was given no choice but to be alone, he spent it in the best way he knew how, drinking.

  The champagne tasted warm, and as the bubbles coated his tongue, it reminded him of an acidic sparkling water. He swallowed hard. It wasn’t his first pick of poison, but he made do with it.

  “Stupid company, giving me shit jobs, crap presents, why don’t they just fire me?” he mumbled to himself, sticking his mouth around the opening of the champagne bottle and letting the liquid in. “I’m not emotionally stupid, I give people advice on their emotions, I help people cope with their shit on a daily basis. I’m the least unstable person.” He smiled at his thoughts. “If they want an unstable person, they should look to the pregnant one.”

  He looked at his watch. 14:55. Like watching paint dry, the more he checked the time, the longer it dragged.

  Ava? You finished? He texted.

  Almost but I have to run errands for Ruby.

  He skipped her message and jumped to Chris. Have you finished being busy yet? He added several sad emojis to the end.

  Minutes passed before he replied. Not quite. I have a lot today. We can talk tonight? Maybe we can try the new Indian place?

  Indian? So, no sex?

  Chris smiled at the text, sat in his office and going over notes from his meeting with the editors. I’ll have an Indian, you can have a salad and some ice water.

  Maybe. Think I’m spending the night with Dannika.

  He switched his text chat to Dannika.

  Danni. I need drinks. Come drink with me.

  Blakey baby, I’m in work all night, you know I’m doing the all-night film schedule this week. You and Chris have the apartment to yourselves, do something fun!

  Ugh. What are you filming? Most Haunted?

  NDA.

  He could hear the tutting on her tongue, almost like she was sat beside him.

  He moved back to Chris’ messages.

  Okay. Tonight. We can do Indian.

  Perfect. I’ll make us a reservation.

  Blake checked his watch again. 15:13. Perfect time to visit his favourite cocktail bar and find out what was on their daily specials menu, and pick out some great afternoon deals.

  He had the perfect office to evening look stored away whenever possible. A sharp black blazer and a crisp white shirt. Since his demotion, he was no longer being chased after by Ava or Nicole.

  Manhattan served drinks from 1 P.M. until 4 A.M. convenient and handy for Blake. He arrived, after drinking the entire bottle of champagne on little-to-no-food in his stomach. He found two girls waiting to enter and pulled them inside with him.

  “I’m Blake, I work for Vague, some stupid magazine, but it gets me into places.” He laughed, welcoming the girls into the bar. They were both blonde’s, gasping and gawking at the interior of the bar, as every newbie did when they first entered.

  “We’re from California,” they said together.

  Blake straightened himself out as their voices, together screeched on the inside of his brain, like seeing in double vision.

  He plied himself with cocktails, the cheapest on offer, while staring at his phone and waiting on a text or a call from Ava. She was predictable in the sense she was already ready to party and drown sorrows.

  It was 6:54 P.M. when Ava appeared through the doors of the bar.

  “Let’s party!” She said, flailing her arms in the air.

  Blake left the side of the two American valley girls and pulled Ava on his hip. “Shots!”

  She squealed. “Shots, shots, shots!”

  Hours meshed together behind Blake’s eyes. One moment he was in the bar, slamming empty shot glasses down, and the next, he stood outside in darkness as a cold stitch of air took his breath away. Ava had followed him outside, watching as he pressed his fingers clumsily into his phone.

  “Who are you calling?” She grabbed the phone from him.

  Chris’ name flashed on the screen, followed by his hollow voice coming from inside.

  “Hello? Blake—uh? What’s up?”

  Ava pressed the phone to her ear. “It’s me, Ava. Blake’s really drunk.”

  He groaned. “I’m sleeping. Send him home.”

  She nodded. “Okay? Where do you live?”

  He chuckled. “No. His home. I don’t want to deal with him.”

  Blake watched Ava’s face as she hung up. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

  “No. Don’t be silly. He wants you to go and get some rest.”

  “Is he up?”

  She shook her head. “He said to go to your place.”

  Blake sighed harder, dropping to his knees.

  Ava forced herself over him, picking him up beneath his arms and hauling him to his feet. “You’re going to get in a taxi and go home, okay?”

  “But who will keep me warm?”

  “Wrap up.” She waved a hand out, hollering at a taxi on the main road. “You have change for the taxi, right?”

  “Can I Uber?”

  She chuckled. “Company spending has cut Uber.” She opened the passenger door. “In you get.”

  He groaned, reaching inside his pocket. “I have change.”

  “And your phone.” She handed him his phone. “Get home safely,” she said, before providing the driver with Blake’s address.

  “He better not be sick,” the driver said. “There’s a seventy-pound soiling charge if he does.”

  Ava nodded. “He won’t.” She turned to Blake and straightened him upright. “Drink plenty of water and sleep.” She fastened him in with the seatbelt. “Text me when you’re home.”

  Blake nodded. “Okay. I hope Chris doesn’t hate me.”

  She smiled at him. “He doesn’t. You woke him up, but he doesn’t hate you.”

  “Alright, are we going?” the driver grumbled.

  Ava slammed the door shut.

  Blake stared out of the window, out onto the streets and wet floors from where the unrelenting rain poured. He looked through his phone to see he’d sent several accidental messages to Chris, random words and emojis throughout the night, nothing made sense to him, all words jumbled together as he saw had attempted to reply.

  SIXTEEN

  Irresponsibility

  One text message stood out to Blake, it was a message confirming dinner plans with Chris. A message he later forgot all about and continued to drink at Manhattan, even though he’d told him where he was, he’d promised to meet him at the restaurant, and the several messages that followed were all about how he’d let him sit alone looking like a fool.

  Blake apologised several ti
mes. He tried in person, but Chris was notorious for being a dick, it was his hard shell, and even though he’d been on the inside of his shell a few times, once he was on the out again, it felt like not even a nutcracker could change it.

  Friday, the end of the week, and the company Christmas dinner. Blake tried to make a joke about how he wouldn’t miss the meal to Chris, but it fell on deaf ears, he wasn’t interested, and he wasn’t listening, even as he tried to approach him in his office.

  Nicole pulled Blake into her office before the decent to the restaurant.

  “I’m worried about you, Blake.” She chewed on the lid of her pen. “You’ve not been yourself, and it’s showing in your work.”

  Blake stood in the doorway with a hand cocked on his hip. “What else do you expect? I’ve been demoted, I’ve been moved from my office, you’re only keeping me because it’s better than firing me.”

  “You’re in the same boat as many other writers.”

  “And they feel the same.”

  “I haven’t spoken to those personally.”

  “Maybe you should, I’d be surprised if we all make it until April.”

  She smiled. “Why? What have you heard?”

  “They’re one step away from shutting it all down and selling it off for spare parts.” Blake snapped his fingers. “Who’s that guy—the one who owns all the news.”

  “Rupert Murdoch?”

  “Yeah, he’ll buy the magazine out, strip it of all the writers, and give the best writers new jobs at other magazines and newspapers he owns.” Blake sighed deeply into his chest, dipping his chin. “It’s happened before.”

  Nicole shook her head. “Not something I’ve heard, we’re not being acquired.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get a better job if he does take over.”

  She tapped her pen on her desk. “As long as you start doing a better job, Blake.”

  He grit his teeth. “Maybe if I felt valued, I would,” he scoffed.

  “I’m not doing this with you again. Let’s go to Farrer’s and have a good time.”

  Farrer’s, a traditional restaurant and pub in Manchester, the company had a long-standing reservation there for its company meals. There were thirty-two people out for Christmas dinner. All on one table, fifteen people at either side, and one person at each side, manned by Harold Dasher, the owner, and Vanessa Wayne, editor-in-chief of the magazine.

  Ava pulled Blake to a seat beside her. He clocked eyes with Chris who looked away, sitting between Danny and Alice, the other film writer. Blake sat between Ava and Ruby, he stared at Chris, hoping he’d look back. He smiled, but there was nothing but a cold glare.

  Ava tugged on Blake’s sleeve. “Are you and Chris okay?”

  Blake grumbled. “I don’t know. I’ve been a dick.”

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Yeah, maybe not while everyone is here.”

  Blake looked around. It was an echo chamber of voices. He called to a waiter with a hand. “I’ll have a white wine, any Pinot Grigio.”

  “You sure?” Ava asked. “You want wine?”

  Blake smacked his lips together. “When don’t I want wine?”

  She held her hand to the waiter. “I’ll have a glass as well.”

  “What did you mean?” he asked.

  She pursed her lips and chewed on the inside of her cheek. “After Manhattan, I’m surprised you’re drinking at all.”

  “You’d be surprised at what I’ll do to forget.”

  The wait staff poured the wine into their glasses until everyone had a glass, once they’ve finished Harold stood and clanked a spoon against glass. “Wel—wel—” He cleared his throat. “Welcome. I’m glad you could all make it here this evening,” he said. “As the Christmas edition goes to print, and the magazine forges a new path, taking us to places where we’ll find further success and reap greater benefits.”

  Blake scoffed and poked Ava in the arm. “Except, they’re screwing everyone,” he whispered, taking a gulp of wine. “If they really wanted to be successful, they should think of their employees first.”

  Ava glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “God knows what they’re doing.”

  “But they think they’re doing the right thing.”

  She smiled. “If it was up to me, I’d fire all the male writers.”

  “All?”

  She squeezed his arm softly. “Except for you, of course.”

  When the menu came around the office taking orders for the Christmas meal, Blake had ordered lamb as his meat, the rest where an assortment of steamed vegetables, gravy, mashed potatoes, and large head-sized Yorkshire puddings. There was no beating a Yorkshire pudding with a traditional Christmas dinner.

  Blake polished off his glass of wine before the food came out. He requested a second, and was swiftly directed to the open bottle on the table, it was a free-for-all on alcohol. It meant Blake wasn’t being watched or monitored when it came to his intake at least, even if Ava was keeping her own private tally.

  Across the table, Chris sat laughing and joking. He’d barely touched his wine, mainly because he wasn’t a huge drinker, and with the mindset of his body is a temple, he rarely drank more than necessary for a light buzz, only drinking more if he was mimicking the behaviour of someone.

  Three hours passed and they were on desserts. Blake barely touched the main course; there was a lot on the plate, too much for him to consider eating it all. Since Blake was chubby as a child, portion control has always been his way of not eating beyond his means, but when the dessert menu came around and he’d more than finished a bottle of wine on his own, he decided to treat himself.

  “I’ll have the warm chocolate brownie with ice cream, and caramel syrup,” he said, handing the closed menu book back to the waiter. “Please.”

  “Of course.” He nodded.

  Ruby grinned at Blake. “Eating for two?” she joked.

  He looked at her, narrowing his eyes as he scanned her, picking at the bread basket she’d dragged from the centre of the table. “Eating for an army?”

  She slapped her hand on the table and laughed. “Oh, whoa.” She wiped at the crocodile tears in her eyes. “So, I heard you and Chris and no longer dating.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, we feature writers have our own party, and I heard you were no longer a thing, even after that disgusting slow dance you do together in the staffroom with his hands wrapped around your waist.”

  “Sorry? What?” He turned to Ava who’d been listening in. “Did you know about this?”

  She butt her lips and winced her face. “I heard rumours, but I wanted to see if you’d say anything, I mean, it’s about you.”

  “It’s the first I’m hearing. He hasn’t called or texted, and he won’t speak to me at work.” Blake took Ava’s glass of wine and drank it. “Okay.” He stood.

  “What are you doing?” Ava asked.

  Ruby watched. “This will be entertaining.”

  Blake walked around the table to Chris, making a beeline for him as he sat comfortable in his chair, minding his own business, waiting for the evening to end so he could get home and be in bed by a sensible time.

  He tapped Chris on the shoulder. “Need to talk with you.”

  Chris glanced behind at Blake. “Another time?”

  Blake huffed. “No. Now.”

  “Oh, god. What is it with you?”

  “I heard we’re no longer a thing.”

  Chris nodded. “Yeah, I need someone with more maturity, Blake.” He stood, face-to-face with him.

  “What? I am mature.”

  He tried to grab at Blake’s arm, the want to avoid something public, to take him somewhere quieter. “You think drinking a full bottle of wine is a meal.”

  He shook his head at everyone around listening. “I don’t, but it’s made up of all those grapes.”

  “It’s alcohol.”

  “Whatever. So, w
ere you going to tell me?”

  “You didn’t show up for dinner. You stood me up. You were too busy getting wasted. That’s not a life for me.”

  He chewed on his lips, sighing. “Great. Well, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry, won’t fix this. Sorry isn’t a fix-all glue.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, take it or leave it.”

  Chris glanced around at everyone watching them. “I’ll leave it.”

  Shared gasps pulled everyone to silence.

  Blake watched. “Now, I guess you all have something to talk about.”

  “And, I started seeing my ex.”

  It hit him, like a brick, he hoped and prayed it would concuss him, that it would put him in a coma, erase everything, including the time they’d spent together, but it didn’t, it hurt in his abdomen, swelling hot in the wine occupying a large real estate in his stomach.

  Blake’s face creased up. “Whatever.” He looked around the room and grabbed Chris’ untouched wine. “I quit.” He threw the wine in Chris’ face and left.

  Ava chased after him, stopping at the door. She turned to face everyone, it was the face of making a choice, either she stayed and acted a united front, or she went to find Blake and continue with his melodrama.

  “He’s going through some shit,” Ava said before running after him.

  Blake had already gone, vanished, he’d taken his coat from the coat check and left.

  SEVENTEEN

  Human touch

  Blake realised soon after quitting a job, it wasn’t only about saying the words, I quit, there was notice to be worked, and luckily, he could work from home, sending in half-assed articles he’d written in the five minutes of every hour he felt compelled enough to be productive, the other fifty-five minutes he spent binge-watching Netflix and contemplating what life would be like unemployed.

  “I don’t have time to coddle you today,” Dannika said, opening the curtains in the living room. She was dressed for work, wearing a black and white spotted blouse, and black a pair of trousers. “How long do you have left?”

  Blake laid on the sofa in a hoodie and a blanket. He paused Dexter, streaming on the TV through Netflix. He shrugged. “I used the remaining annual leave for the last four days.”