CHAPTER THREE
The Charleston Video Gaming Center never failed to disappoint casual visitors. It was located in a small store in the Charleston Mall, with a storefront barely large enough to display its somewhat grandiose name. Shoppers who found their way down that particular corridor might peer in for a second and then leave, convinced that the place would be out of business by the time they reached their cars. Gamers who had made the pilgrimage at the recommendation of friends usually spent the first two minutes looking for the hidden camera, afraid they had been punk'd.
The store's owner, Andy Stowe, couldn't have cared less. He was an aging hippie whose drug of choice had always been games. He kept the shelves stocked with a selection of games that could have been found in any store in the country. It wasn't until the newcomer approached, unwilling to admit that he had been tricked into driving all the way to Charleston, that Andy would reveal the store's secrets. Once he learned that his customer was a serious gamer he would look around as if videogames were the stuff of espionage, and then crook his finger and beckon the newcomer into the back room where he kept his "stash."
Those of us who were regulars had received nicknames, delivered by Andy like the ring announcer at a professional wrestling match.
"The Hammer of Death!" he intoned as I entered the store on Saturday morning.
"The Wizard of War!" I tried to match him as best I could.
"What's happenin,' bud?" he asked me as he leaned across the counter to exchange a high five.
"Not much, Andy," I said. "Anything new?"
"Just got a new VR in, but . . ."
"I haven't got the legs for it, huh?"
"Sorry, dude."
"No problem, Andy. Say, have you ever read
The Princess Bride
?"
"Awesome book, man."
"Yeah. I thought I had a copy, but I couldn't find it last night."
And as a result, my dream last night had once again ended with my quick death. This time I had managed to scream out, "What makes you think I killed your father?"
In lieu of answering, Inigo had simply run me through.
"Do you remember the guy who killed Inigo Montoya's father?" I asked.
"The six-fingered man? Count Rugen?"
"Six fingers?" That didn't make sense; I only had five.
"Yeah. Domingo Montoya was a swordsmith. He made a sword for this Count Rugen and ended up dead. 'My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'"
I flinched.
"You okay, Rick?" Andy asked.
"I'm fine," I answered quickly. "You got any games about sword fighting?"
"Oh, yeah. You never played Duellum?"
"I don't think I've even heard of it," I answered.
"Nobody heard of it," Andy said with a laugh. "Came out the same day as Grand Theft Auto II. Sank like a stone."
"It's not exactly a catchy title," I said.
"No," Andy agreed. "Although I think it's great. From the Latin. Duo for two, bellum for war. Literally a war for two people. Awesome, isn't it?"
"Fascinating," I agreed.
"Come on back."
Andy swept aside the beads that led to the back room and gestured for me to precede him.
I spent the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon in the back room on one of Rick's consoles. After that, it was time to go home and get ready for my "date." In a rush of enthusiasm that I still had trouble accounting for, I had offered to cook dinner for Alison, Eric, and Alison's friend, Parker. That meant stopping off at the grocery store for the ingredients for my special Pasta Handley and then cleaning my apartment. By six-thirty, however, when my guests were expected, the sauce was simmering gently on the cooktop that acted as a substitute for a stove. Another pot of water awaited the pasta. The vegetables were in the steamer, and the wine was breathing on the counter.
By six-fifty, I had turned the sauce off. By seven I had poured myself a glass of the wine. By seven-thirty, when I heard the knock on my door, I was in an ugly mood.
It was not a side of me that I would have willingly showed Alison, although her boyfriend was another matter altogether. The mood dissolved, however, as soon as I caught sight of Alison's friend. She was a tall brunette who had probably never read a diet book. Long, slender legs that emerged from a leopard-print mini-dress perched atop three --inch heels. Beautiful long eyelashes framed equally beautiful brown eyes. But it was the way that they lit up when she saw me that I found particularly attractive. I couldn't remember a girl looking at me like that before.
"I am so sorry," Alison said. "We stopped off at McMurphy's for a drink."
"Or two," her friend added with a giggle.
"Or two," Alison agreed with a roll of her eyes. "You remember Eric, of course."
"Hey, Hando." Eric had discovered my nickname a few months back, and thought it extremely clever.
"Eric."
"And this is Parker Kline. Parker, I'd like you to meet Rick Handley."
"Hi," she said with a hiccup.
"Nice to meet you. Can I get anyone a glass of wine before dinner?"
"Sure," Eric said.
"Maybe just one," Alison said with a look intended to suggest to Eric that he might be better off limiting himself to one as well.
"I'd love some," Parker said.
She loved even more wine during dinner, and Eric matched her glass for glass. We discussed the newspaper business, her career as a mortgage broker, and Eric's intention to attend business school next year. I did my best to be charming, although it was completely unnecessary. She would have been no less attracted to me if I had been my usual tongue-tied self.
"Do you know what my nickname was in college?" During a lull in the conversation she leaned toward me, nearly tottering off her seat.
"Parker," Alison said in dismay.
"No, silly," Parker said. "That was my real name. Now you guess."
Her eyes flashed as she returned her gaze to me.
"Park?" I asked.
"No." She drew out the vowel to suggest that I guess again.
"Parky?" Eric suggested.
"You're getting closer."
"Well, I give up," I said.
