Kiss and Tell 3 (5 page)

So where’s this interview?

The question popped up on my cell phone about 20 minutes after my parents and I got home from Ramaka. Our bellies were full and we’d talked about Anthony’s visit to our table exhaustively, so, as soon, as we got home, we all went our separate ways.

I was changing out of my clothes when Anthony’s message rolled in, and, as soon as I saw it, I felt a tingle in certain parts of my body.

Dessert Oasis
, I texted back.

Sweet
, Anthony replied instantly.

I wracked my brain for something cute to say in response. But, luckily, I didn’t have to think much longer.

Then, after your interview, you have another important meeting, right?
Anthony replied.
I’m sure both will go well. :)

Humor is one of those things that’s hard to sense via text message, but I could tell that Anthony was trying to be funny.
I hope so
, I replied.

Sorry about tonight
, Anthony texted a moment later. I’d wanted to address the issue myself, but didn’t know if I should, or could, type about it on my tiny phone.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you and had to see you again, just to look at you and see you better off than you were when I left you this afternoon.

Something inside my chest fluttered. If I was a romantic, I’d say it was my heart. But, the practical side of me would have said it was the raw fish swimming in my tummy.

I’m glad I could make plans to see you Wednesday
, Anthony added with another text.
Let’s lay low until then. But, when the time comes, so will you… I promise. :P

Anthony was still trying to convey humor via text, and, this time, he added flirtation to it. I smirked at his message and felt a ball of warmth swell in my belly, then I texted him back.

Until then
, I typed.
And, when the time comes, so will YOU, too.

I waited a minute or two before setting down my cell phone, just in case Anthony texted something else. When I was satisfied that he wouldn’t, I put the thing down and laid back in my bed. The moment my head hit my pillow, I realized that I’d just lived an incredibly intense day, from start to finish. More things—good and bad—had happened to me in this one day than had happened to me in months, maybe even years, before, and something about that fact was invigorating. It made me feel alive and surrounded by, even if not full of, energy.

I knew that I had a long road ahead of me as far as many things were concerned. I still had to deal with this situation with Anthony, both with Anthony himself and, possibly, with my parents, and I still had to deal with my situation with my parents. I was still living at home with them and was still unemployed, and they probably still thought I was dating.

There was a lot of chaos I had to clean up in my life. But, if I was able to tolerate what I tolerated today, I was pretty sure I’d be able to deal with it. The thing about going through hell is that, once you’ve done it, you’ve got a good idea of the layout.

With my Dessert Oasis interview and me “meeting” with Anthony only a couple days away, it looked like some of that chaos, quite possibly, could clear up. And, what didn’t clear up then, I’d clear up later. Everything would be okay… I knew it.

Maybe the warm Saki at Ramaka came with a slow burn. I felt a little giddy as I laid there in my bed. I wasn’t drunk, but I felt intoxicated. My head was light, and my cares were gone, and I was foolishly proud, and foolishly optimistic, about every aspect of my life.

My eyes started to feel heavy, and I knew that the drunkenness I felt was the drunkenness of tiredness. I was only inches away from sleep, and my body could no longer fight it. I drifted off to dreamland, though I slept so soundly I don’t think I dreamt.

The next morning, I awoke, rather abruptly, to the sound of screaming. I looked at the digital clock next to my bed. It was 9:23 a.m., which meant I’d slept about nine or ten hours.

The screaming came from outside my window. I ran to it and saw London and his dad arguing outside, in their driveway.

“You deal with it, London,” Mr. Gallagher said as he got into his car. “I’m already late for work, and I’m not gonna wait here for the guy any longer.”

“But, Dad,” London shouted. His father peeked his head out of the car window and shouted back before he could continue.

“It’s your fault anyway,” Mr. Gallagher said. “You let that guy into the house. You gave him the keys… and he robbed us! So
you
should be the one to deal with the police when they get here, not me.”

With that, Mr. Gallagher rolled up his window and drove away, leaving London standing, barefoot, in the driveway. As the car sped away, I saw London start to cock his head and look up, and, quickly, I darted back from the window, hiding myself behind the curtain.

I spied out from behind it and saw him looking up at my window, but I was confident he hadn’t seen me. But, wow, what I had seen… what I had seen sure was something.

I guess that Luke fellow—the pool guy—ended up robbing the Gallaghers?!?! How and when did
that
happen? Talk about things happening right under your nose! And, the whole thing actually made me feel kind of bad for London. First his blackmail plan fell through, then he hands the keys to his parents’ multi-million-dollar home over to someone who robs them. He sure didn’t have good luck!

I slunk away from the window and went off to the bathroom to take care of my morning business and freshen up before deciding what to do with my day. It was Tuesday morning, and I had nothing planned until late Wednesday afternoon, and what I had planned were big things, which made it seem like it’d be a million years before Tuesday morning gave way to Wednesday afternoon. I didn’t know what on earth I was going to do with myself in the meantime.

Once upon a time, I had more than four dozen T-shirts in my closet, 26 pairs of jeans, and 18 hooded sweatshirts. I also had about twenty dresses, twenty blouses, and a score of skirts, shorts, and trousers. But, by Tuesday night, I had about half of that.

Yep, that’s what I decided to do all day to distract myself. I cleaned out my closet—and my dresser—to rid myself of my excessive and outdated clothing. I hadn’t gone through it in years, and hadn’t gotten rid of anything since I was a teenager, so it was an arduous task, and I knew it would take the greater part of a day, which is exactly the amount of time I needed taken away from me. The time between “now” and “then” would have killed me if I didn’t have something to do with it.

I’d bagged up several garbage bags full of designer clothing and accessories and was planning on delivering them to the thrift store the next day, before my other appointments. That was part of the itinerary I’d come up with for myself while sorting through my closet.

I figured I’d start getting ready around 10 a.m. tomorrow morning and leave home by noon. I’d drop my donations off at the thrift store as soon as I got to town, and I’d stop in and have a leisurely lunch at a causal eatery close to Dessert Oasis, and wrap my meal up just in time to show up a wee bit early for my interview. Then, after that, I’d be off to Anthony’s office.

My plan was a great one. But, the one thing I hadn’t planned on was the time that would pass between making the plan and executing it. Before tomorrow came, I still had to get through the rest of today. Cleaning my closest helped me get through a lot of it; but, it was now nearly 11 p.m. I was exhausted, and my body ached a little. But, I knew there was no way I’d be getting any sleep. I felt like a child on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow and what it could hold for me. I had the possibility of a job and a relationship—of some sort—on the horizon.

Try as I might, I couldn’t fall asleep. Sure, I drifted off a few times, but I’d wake up just as quickly, and I couldn’t maintain anything solid or steady. After tossing and turning in bed for a couple hours, I decided to do something more useful with my time, and started sorting through other things in my room.

I ended up collecting another bag of things for donation. This one was filled with stuffed animals, knickknacks, and home décor items. I set it with the others, near my bedroom door, around 7 a.m., which is when I finally felt like I’d be able to catch a few Z’s.

I laid down, and, like a lightbulb hit with a baseball bat, in an instant, I was out. It felt like I’d only been sleeping a matter of moments when the alarm on my phone rang, alerting me that it was 9:45 in the morning… It was 9:45 on
Wednesday
morning!

As exhausted as I still was, I jumped out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom. I wasn’t going to shower yet, since I didn’t want to start my day too much ahead of time, but I had to pee—and, then I was going to refill my bladder with a tall glass of orange juice.

I took my time in the kitchen and sipped my orange juice, rather than chugging it. The schedule I’d laid out for myself already gave me some wiggle room, and I didn’t want to add to it by rushing myself. If anything, I wanted to take away from it—and, I guess that’s what I tried to do when I forced myself to try and eat one of Mom’s multi-grain protein bars for breakfast. (I gave up on it a few bites in, by the way.)

When I got back up to the bathroom, it was probably around 10:15 or so, and I let the bathroom collect plenty of steam before I stepped into the shower. I took a nice, slow shower after that—the kind where I washed and rubbed every part of my body, including, and especially, those parts of our bodies we too frequently ignore.

I also took the time to make sure that select portions of my body were clean and hairless. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you which ones, but I will anyway—my armpits, legs, and pussy. Though, I didn’t remove
all
the hair from that last part. I left a little tuft near the top, a tiny little marker. I was pleased with how it looked and felt from my perspective, and I hoped that Anthony would appreciate and enjoy it as much as I did.

I went about the rest of my song and dance and got ready for the day ahead of me. It was 12:11 when I started lugging the donation bags out to my car, and I was happy that I was running behind my loose schedule.

I ended up loading seven bags into my car, then ended up unloading them about 35 minutes later. That’s how long it took me to get from my house to the thrift store, which was in the same district as my other destinations.

The staff at the thrift store seemed glad to receive my donations, though they could have been a little more helpful. I don’t know why, but I thought that if I was donating stuff, the people at the store were supposed to take care of my donation—and, by “take care of,” I mean carry.

But, as it turns out, I was expected to take care of my donation. I told the worker at the dock door that I had several bags, and he gestured toward a donation bin at the other end of the garage.

“Drop them in there,” he instructed as he turned away. He went over and sat on a plastic chair and took a clipboard into his hands, and I went back to my car and went on to carry the seven bags to the receptacle.

After that unexpected delay, I found myself staring at a clock that read 1:38, with a growling stomach that demanded food. The first place I saw that seemed like it would have a decent menu was a little Mediterranean establishment that smelled as good as it looked charming. It was set up like a deli and offered a variety of counter items, as well as several dishes that could be prepared in the attached kitchen.

I hungrily examined the many things inside the glass cases, but was ultimately drawn toward what was coming from the kitchen. I could smell lamb in the air—and could sense a skewer of it just waiting to be shaved. My mind was made up. I had to have a gyro.

I placed my order, and, not even ten minutes later, I was presented with a pita filled with pure perfection. The gyro was the bomb and it satisfied my hunger and my cravings for real food on top of last night fish food.

I enjoyed every single bite of my gyro, as well as of the side salad I’d ordered with it. The salad was dressed in lemon juice, mint, and olive oil, with just a touch of oregano, and it paired well with the heavier sandwich I was eating.

My meal was so good that I considered ordering dessert. But, then I remembered where I was going next. Why have a piece of baklava at a Mediterranean joint when I could have a slice of pie at Dessert Oasis?

Some might call it goesh to patronize a place to which you are applying right before your interview—or, heck, some might even call it patronizing. But despite whatever some would call it, I decided to go to Dessert Oasis even earlier than scheduled, to order something and eat it before my interview. Their desserts were stellar after all. Why shouldn’t I order one?

When I arrived at Dessert Oasis, it was around 2:30, and the place was kind of beat. There were a few people sitting back with drinks and desserts, but it was obvious that this wasn’t one of their busier times, which made sense. I guess most folks aren’t looking for a sugar buzz at this hour.

I looked at the different treats in front of me and made my way to the counter with my selection. I order a ramekin of flan, which caused the woman behind the counter to smile and wiggle her eyebrows.

“Not many people your age order that,” she said. She didn’t look much older than me, though she probably had a good 15 years on me. I glanced at the nametag on her apron. It said “Jessica.”

“Well, I happen to
love
flan, Jessica,” I said. Jessica glanced down at her own nametag, then smiled back at me. “And, I happen to love the way you guys brown sugar here. I had the dulce de leche cheesecake the other week, and it was off the chain. So, if your flan has any flavor like that, my mouth is in for a real fiesta!”

Jessica laughed at me and proceeded to fill my order. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” she said, pulling a small bowl of flan from the refrigerated food case. “And, indeed, you’ve made a good selection. If you like our dulce de leche cheesecake, then, yes, you’re gonna
love
this.”

Jessica set my dessert on the counter. I paid for it and tipped her generously, then went and sat down at a table to eat it.

Words can’t express how totally terrific my dessert was. It was sweet; soft, yet firm; and smooth. It had the perfect balance of flavor, and the sweetness of the browned, burnt sugar was to die for. It was bliss. It made me almost forget about what bliss I might have in store for me later, with Anthony… almost.

A few years ago—maybe even a few months ago, or even a few days—I would have dipped my spoon into that flan ramekin once or twice and devoured the whole thing in no time. But, now, for some reason, I couldn’t do that. I wanted to hold onto it and make it last longer—not just so that time would pass by, but also so that the moment wouldn’t pass me by. I wanted to savor it, and I finally knew what “savor” meant.

I gazed out the window as I enjoyed each spoonful of my flan, and began to prepare myself for what was coming. In just a short while, I would be under the microscope for an interview, and I wanted to bask in what was left of my freedom.

I took several deep breaths as the aftertaste of caramel and custard faded from my tongue and told myself that everything would be okay. I stood up, picked up my plate, and took it up to the counter. When I set it down, Jessica said, “Thanks, honey. I would have gotten that.”

“No problem,” I said. “I just wanted to clean up a little… I’m actually here for an interview.”

“Really?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m here to see Michelle Robins. But I figured I’d treat myself to something yummy before getting down to business.”

“Good idea,” Jessica said. “Plus, it never hurts to know your product.”

“Exactly,” I laughed back. “So… is Michelle here?”

“Yes, she is,” Jessica said.

“Well, can you please get her for me?” I asked. “Tell her Kirby Miller’s here.”

“Alright,” Jessica said, glancing down at her nametag again. When she looked back up at me, she chuckled.

“I
am
Michelle,” she said. “I’m just filling in, and I’m wearing Jessica’s apron. Jessica’s the girl who quit on us—the one who left the position we’re looking to fill.”

“Oh,” I said, otherwise at a loss for words. I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed, but I wasn’t exactly comfortable either. I hadn’t done anything to give Michelle a bad impression of me, but, then again, I hadn’t done anything to give her a good one. It just felt like we’d started things out on the wrong foot.

“Don’t worry, Kirby,” Michelle said, wiping her hands on her apron. “So far, this is the most promising interview I’ve had for the position. You showed up early for your interview. You expressed an interest in our product, and a vast knowledge of it. You were considerate and sociable with me, regardless of my position or station, and you even cleaned up your table.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you here. Jessica quit four days ago, and we need her position filled as soon as possible, but we haven’t been able to find anyone suitable to fill it. All of the experienced wait staff we have on file are already working other places, and, apparently, they have better work ethics than Jessica did.

“We need somebody in here sooner than later, and, with that in mind, we’re willing to make certain concessions. I know that you have no experience—but, that’s okay, so long as you’re willing to gain it. You seem to have a lot of gumption, and, according to your application, you’re a smart cookie, so, I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. I’ll get straight to it and ask you: Do you really want to work for Dessert Oasis?”

“Yes,” I said. I felt like Mom, ‘cause I answered both immediately and vivaciously.

“Then let’s sit down and talk, shall we?” Michelle asked, coming out from behind the counter.