The Kissing Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

fact his audience is about
two blinks away from unconsciousness.  
    Robert yawns.
    Someone sneezes.
    Far off, I hear someone cough. The sound echoes like a distant
avalanche.
    Perhaps from sitting in the same position for so long, my arms
feel like wax. I cross my legs and scoot in my seat. Then I look up. The
ceiling overhead is suddenly a furling mass that exhales thinly in the yellow
light. The chandeliers are now crystal trees kicking yellow through their flickering
leaves. The room has lost its balance. It feels shapeless.
    “You okay, Caroline?” one of the interns asks me. I don’t know
which one. Robert turns his head toward me. Through a thin veil of glassy haze,
I observe Robert leaning forward to grab my arm. Why is he grabbing my arm?—is
all I can think. In the process of reacting so quickly, however, Robert knocks
his empty plate into his piña colada glass. It clanks loudly. Several heads
turn.
    But why are Robert’s reflexes are so good when he should be a swell
of frayed consciousness right now? I feel Robert pulling me into an upright
position. I hadn’t realized I was off-kilter. The good news is that Robert has
apparently found me less revolting than a clay pot. The plan just might be
working.
    A woman wearing tall red heels walks by, escaping no doubt. I
briefly envy her as the Chairman drones through a steady stream of pointless
steam out of the orifice in his face. When he’s done, it feels as though I’ve
aged ten years. He lays down his pen, which he never used the whole time he was
talking as far as I can tell. Then he waits for the fireworks of applause.
Several interns stand clapping, ready to throw hats in the air if they had
some. The rest of us clap like the dead.
    “He’s a pollywog, isn’t he?” I say. I don’t know why. I don’t even
know what a pollywog is. A frog? A pond? Not sure. Robert tilts his head at me.
The two interns have entirely given up their attention to this table. Instead,
their bodies are positioned toward the exit sign, ready to spring. All they
need is an excuse. A fire. An earthquake. Gunshots perhaps.
    The Chairman bends his head to shake some intern’s hand. Yes, I
think, he’s a promising politician just one baby-kiss away from the
presidency.  Henry and Todd look a hundred miles away. I don’t even
think they could see me if I waved right now.
    “Caroline.” I turn to look at Robert. He dusts off his pants, as
if they’re dirty, but they’re not. They’re never dirty. He looks as if he’s
ready to lunge himself. “Caroline?” he leans into me and whispers this time.
“Are you alright? Do you feel ill?” Why does his voice sound like it’s
traveling through a water-filled cylinder?  
    For some reason, the room has changed. The tables are thirty miles
apart. Sparks from the chandeliers spin through the air. I’m a solitary
encampment that has shrunk into my chair. And now, the table in front of me is
a round tile ascending like a balloon. I feel Robert’s hand grab my shoulder.
Then his other hand comes around me, his fingers hooking into my armpit.
    “Brandon, William, help me,  quietly ,” he yell whispers
to the interns sitting across from us. Why is he so urgent? There’s a flurry of
suits around me swiftly. Ah yes, I think. Those are the interns’ names. Brandon
and William. I had totally forgotten.
    “Don’t make a scene,” Robert growls at them. Such a familiar growl
too; it’s almost comforting. “Just help me get her out the exit doors over
there.” Robert tosses his head, gesturing to the right of us, where just a few
feet away is an exit door. I feel Robert’s breath on my cheek, his arm like a
wall of rope-muscle holding me up.
    I realize I’m standing and walking, but my feet feel like boots
and the air grows long and skinny around me. A couple faces at a nearby banquet
table watch us as we exit, as if we’re the most exciting event of the evening.
I’m sure we are. A food-server person wearing black and