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Looking at the chipped and faded paint, marred here and there by rust spots, Steve, who fancied himself a poetic soul at times, likened it to a pathetic attempt at a song of seduction sung by a wrinkled whore, long past her prime. *A whore,* he thought dejectedly. *That's what I'll have to find.* He had tried all of his own lines on the girls here, and then the ones his friends swore always worked. He'd even tried Joey's "How YOU doin'?" that always worked on Friends. Nothing. Zero, zip, nada. He had thought that maybe the carnival atmosphere might make the girls more receptive to his charms, but that had not been the case. Like every other Saturday night since puberty, Steve found himself womanless. Women found his charms, his lines, his deodorant and aftershave, in fact every thing about him, eminently resistible. Even Fat Ginny, who, rumor had it, slept with ANYONE, had turned him down with the old "Let's just be friends." line. Steve looked at the brass covered ashtray in his. ”April 22, 1986, Chicago, Illinois“Happy Birthday, Penny!” I said as I walked into her house.“Happy Birthday, Steve!” she said excitedly, throwing herself into my arms.I hugged her tightly then let her go. She frowned, but then her smile quickly returned. Most of her friends were there, and when the last of them arrived two minutes later we went to the dining room for Penny’s traditional home-made pizza dinner. For dessert we had Angel Food cake, and then Penny opened her presents. She and I had agreed on small gifts. She’d given me a dress shirt and I gave her a sweater.The one major difference between this year’s party and the previous one was that there were a few guys at the party, including Jonathan. It didn’t surprise me that he was athletic and good looking, and seemed overall to be a nice kid. If Penny ever let this kid sample her delights, he’d never know what hit him. I felt a minor pang of jealousy, knowing what those delights were, but also knowing that most likely I would.
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