The not too distant future…

“Boo!”

“Shit!” Charise yelped and jumped in her chair. She glanced back and snapped, “Stop doing that!”

“Only if you stop falling for it,” Dunlop chortled, leaning his chin over her shoulder. He smiled, further crinkling his wrinkled face.

“What do you want?” Charise clucked. She and the old inventor had been working together for a while so they were both accustomed to her being short with him. She refused to call him ‘Professor Dunlop’.

“Busy?” he asked.

Her autumn-orange brows pinched above her dark-rimmed glasses. Gesturing impatiently towards her computer, she said, “I’m entering the data you told me to enter.”

It annoyed her to have to tell him. Ninety percent of her time at the ‘lab’ was spent inputting the gibberish he scrawled in a mountain of notebooks, aka ‘data’. One percent was spent helping him with actual work, and she was kept busy fending off his geriatric flirtations for the remaining nine.

“Good,” he said, standing upright. He beckoned, curling a knobby finger at her. “I need you.”

She could tell he was attempting to sound provocative.

“I’m not letting you cop a feel of my boobs,” she grumbled.

He tilted his head like a puppy. “I wasn’t going to--”

“You will. I just wanted to get that out of the way for today.”

“Smart thinking,” he chuckled.

Charise peeled herself from her chair, her eyes rolling up towards the warehouse ceiling.

“Come on!” he declared and scurried off practically dancing upon his arthritic knees, a result of his ‘wilder’ days of sexual conquests, according to him. Right.

“This is what you get for answering a want ad for a ‘part-time lab assistant’,” she sighed to herself. Then she thought, ‘No, this is what you get when you answer the ad, accept the job, and hang around for almost six months just to get paid by some a lunatic who fancies himself a ‘mad genius’.’ She doubted he was an actual professor.

Fortunately, and to her own chagrin, it was exceptionally good pay especially for a college student basically doing nothing. The crackpot was somehow loaded.

She ambled towards the sound of Dunlop’s rambling chatter, somewhere amongst the clutter of the abandoned warehouse. She walked through a maze of tables and shelves full of dusty electronic devices and wires scavenged over years, apparently. Down another aisle was an assortment of ‘inventions’ he had started and dropped.

She steered clear of the makeshift office where she knew the dirty codger spent hours locked inside watching porn. It probably took him that long to get it up and squirt out a thimble’s worth of love juice, but kudos to him for still trying without breaking anything.

“Where are you?” she pleaded as she shuffled along.

“By the time machine!”

Charise paused. “Fuck.”

She rounded a corner and emerged in a space occupied by Dunlop’s ‘baby’, the invention he dubbed, “The Chrono-Jump Chamber.”

It was an old refrigerator.

Charise crossed her arms. “Trying this again today, are we?”

Dunlop busied himself adjusting knobs and flicking levers affixed to the sides of the refrigerator. On the top was an array of electrical circuits and tubes with coils of wires that led all the way up to the ceiling, connecting to a generator on the roof.

Dunlop grinned at her. He was trying very hard to look maniacal but appeared more as if he had just passed gas. “Today, we make history!”

“I’m spending the next ten minutes stuck inside the fridge again, aren’t I?” she remarked dryly.

“Eleven minutes and thirty-three seconds,” he corrected. “You saw my calculations.”

“You mean your hieroglyphics on the box of cereal?”

“Every minute in the machine takes you back in time five years.”

“Can’t we use a plant or something?” she asked.

“We’ve gone over this. You are the exact weight and shape required for the test subject,” he explained while scanning her body with a lecherous eye.

“Uh-huh. I know. That’s why you check my measurements weekly and do ‘imaging’ tests with me in my underwear,” she droned. She was sure he jacked off to those tests, too.

“Exactly!” He nodded, shaking his scraggly, silver hair. “You were specifically chosen for this.”

“I was the only one who answered the ad.”

Ignoring her scepticism, he waved her over to the machine.

“Put on the chrono-synchronizer band,” he said.

She scoffed as she watched him slip a modded fitness band onto her wrist. As he often did, he had stolen the idea from a movie, this ‘time-bracelet’ having been taken from Avengers: Endgame.

“Here.” He handed her a small pouch. “Inside are some tokens for the bus and the address I want you to go to after you arrive.”

Charise didn’t bother asking for further instructions since they were always the same as when they first attempted the time jump: Go to the address; ask for ‘Barry’. Everything else will sort itself out. The synchronizer was time-stamped to her individual ‘chrono-identity’ and would return her automatically to the present in three hours ‘jump-time’. For Dunlop, seconds would’ve passed.

All of this B.S. didn’t matter because she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Dunlop opened the fridge door. He paused, regarding Charise while tapping his lips with his finger. “Almost forgot. Remove your clothes.”

“What?” she replied, her tone flat-lining.

“I’ve surmised that only organic materials can go through the jump,” he explained. “It’s likely the root of our previous failures that you didn’t go through the process while naked.”

Charise could tell he was trying to sound clinical, but the subtle lick of the tip of his withered tongue across his crinkled lips told a different story.

“You got that from The Terminator,” she remarked.

“Possibly,” he said.

Squinting, she dangled the pouch. “Then, how am I supposed to bring this and the chrono-synchronizer? Stick them in my ass?”

He froze, obviously entertaining the idea, and then grinned sheepishly. “Nevermind.”

When he walked away to the control console, she shook her head. Still, a slender grin cracked upon her lips. The man was incorrigible, but harmless, just a frisky coot. Physically ravaged by time, she could probably blow him a kiss and he would fall over, albeit with a smile. Also, she heard more overt and vulgar sexual come-ons at Pub Nights. Besides, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t amused by his feeble attempts to reclaim his youthful vitality. Some men just wouldn’t let go of their libido.

Anyway, to her own frustration, those vulgar come-ons at Pub Nights often worked on her.

While failing to indulge his whims to see her naked, she did eventually climb into the fridge/time-machine… wearing her cut off jean shorts and t-shirt.

Aside from the minimal instructions he gave her, he never bothered running through the obligatory time-travel rules to avoid messing with the “space/time continuum”.

“Like what?” he had asked in reply to her questioning if there were any.

“I don’t know. Don’t kill anyone or step on a bug?”

He eyed. “Do you intend to kill anyone?”

“No.”

“So, then…”

She sighed and mumbled to herself, “Don’t fuck with the timeline.”

Once settled in, she gave the thumbs up. The door closed and the machine whirred to life. A blue light lit up the interior. Thank goodness she wasn’t claustrophobic, but Charise called on her yoga-breathing exercises to stay relaxed for the next eleven minutes and thirty-three seconds before she inevitably exited on the same day and year she got in.

She eventually lost track of the minutes but figured she was past the halfway point. Suddenly, the blue light intensified and the whirring noise picked up in tempo and pitch. That was different.

A tickle of concern twitched her nose. “Dunlop?” she called out. “Everything okay?”

Oh, shit. The thing wasn’t going to explode, was it?

“Hey! Maybe we should stop?” she hollered again, pushing at the door. The contraption began to shake while a tingle of crisp electricity scurried under her skin. Now panicking, she whacked her palms on the door shouting, “Fuck! Dunlop! Dun-…”

FFZ-ZZT!

“-lop!”

Charise stumbled forward a step, hands still up, suddenly outside of the fridge. She froze, her eyes wide and skittering around.

“Out of the way!” someone shouted.

She turned and yelled “Oh, shit!” as a forklift stacked with crates rumbled towards her.

It required the grip of a rough hand on her arm to yank her from the path of the oncoming vehicle.

A gruff looking man-bull in overalls shook her, sneering. “Who are you? What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

“I-I-I…” Charise stammered as he dragged her to the exit.

Once outside, he hauled her towards the security gates. She quickly scanned the environs. The abandoned warehouse she knew was bustling with activity with workers and vehicles moving all over the place.

Her aggressor shouted ahead to the security guard, “Call the cops. We got a trespasser!”

“Cops?” Charise exclaimed. That sparked her. With a swift pivot, she turned and drove her knee into his groin.

The guy released her and tumbled over in agony. Immediately, Charise broke into a sprint towards the gates, avoiding the security guard easily as she ran past. She dashed to the nearest bus stop and hopped on the next bus just as it arrived.

--0--

“Ahh-choo!”

Charise rubbed her nose, raw from all the blowing she had subjected it to. She never realized how allergic she was to cheap hairspray. Possibly it was because practically everyone on the bus was wearing it.

It took a few minutes while travelling for her to realize what had happened. She swayed in her seat in a daze, bumping her arm against a gigantic portable stereo that she had to ask a teen with a jheri-curled mullet to move so she could sit. She stared at the ads posted in the bus: neon-font lettering, geometric shapes in pastel colours, and big hair and bigger shoulder pads took up a third of the images. They advertised everything from designer jeans to cigarettes to New Coke.

People wore leg warmers, sweatbands, ripped jeans, and neon coloured clothes detailed with tassels and frills. And spandex. So. Much. Spandex. The thought of the material clinging to and suffocating her skin made her itchy.

Checking her cellphone, she frowned at the screen. Nothing but a row of zeroes where the date should have been.

“Bitchin’ calculator,” the young woman seated next to her said, peering at her device. Her spiked hair nearly poked out Charise’s eye.

“Oh, thanks,” Charise said, pocketing the phone. “Uh, can you tell me what today’s date is?”

“June 17.”

“And the year?”

The woman looked at her and blinked, flashing her chrome-blue eye shadow. “It’s, like, 1985?”

She paused as if she was wondering if she had won a prize.

“1985?” Charise was stunned. “1985? You’re sure?”

“Ye-ahh? Fer sure,” the woman replied suspiciously.

Charise turned and gazed ahead, agog.

“A stoner, totally,” she heard the woman whisper to her friend. The two of them quietly shifted aside.

“That crazy son-of-a-bitch,” Charise muttered.

--0--

With her phone unable to help Charise find her way, she relied on the bus drivers to guide her to the address Dunlop had provided on a piece of tissue. It turned out to be some sort of electronics store an hour away from the warehouse. She looked at the sign: ‘The Video Lab – TV and VCR repairs’.

What the hell was a VCR?

Another sign on the front read: ‘Closed for Lunch. Back at 1:00’.

It was 3:00.

She peered through the window. There was no one to be seen inside. Deciding to try the door anyway, it was a small blessing when it actually opened.

“Hello? Anyone here?” she said as she entered. She stepped gingerly through the unexpectedly large interior of the store. It was filled with assorted electronic equipment, not just boxy televisions. Most of the junk Charise didn’t recognize outright but there were several stacks of chunky units which she presumed were the mysterious ‘VCRs’ as well as old recording equipment, more huge stereo boxes and even a few video game cabinets.

The cluttered surroundings seemed very familiar. Once more she called, “Hello?”

God, don’t tell her she came all the way for nothing.

“We’re closed!” a man shouted, just as a door behind the service counter opened.

Charise jumped.

A guy emerged, rubbing his glasses on his vest. He sported a salad bowl-shaped head of hair and a thick brush of a moustache swept above his lip. He squinted at her.

“I, uh… the door was open,” she stammered.

“Oh,” he said, putting on his glasses and finally getting a clear look at her, “you answering the ad?”

“The ad?”

“You’re early. The ad said 4:00.”

“What ad?” she insisted.

Clearly absorbed in other thoughts, he continued to scan her like a specimen, whistling in appreciation. “Didn’t think we’d get a chick of your calibre for the money we’re offering,” he said shaking his head and cocking his caterpillar brow, “but good on Barry for suggesting we put the ad out anyway.”

“Barry’s here?” Charise asked, hopeful.

Eyes still glued to her milky legs, he pensively stroked his moustache. “He’s prepping in the studio.”

“Studio?” she continued to parrot, perplexed yet definitely piqued.

“Yeah… you know what?” he said as he came around the counter, walked past her and locked the front door, “We don’t need to audition any other candidates. You’ve got the job.”

“Ohh-kay,” she replied hesitantly. “What’s the job?”

A devious snicker slipped from his throat as he took her by the elbow and led her towards the door behind the counter. “Come on. We can get started a little earlier.”

“So I’ll finally meet this Barry dude?” she asked as she followed along.

“Yeah… you’ll ‘meet’ him,” he remarked, again with the snicker. “Just don’t call him Barry while on the job.”

Charise’s ginger brows knitted. “What do I call him?”

--0--

“Apollo Cream.”

“Holy shit,” Charise muttered the moment she was introduced to the man who was also known as “Barry”.

“Holy shit,” she said again, as she looked around the ‘studio’ which was apparently fronted by the repair shop. It was decked out as a bedroom set barfed out of a retro Barbie Dream Home commercial: cheap brass and pressed-wood veneer furniture, plastic plants, marshmallow pillows, shag carpet, mirrors. The swanky set was awash in pastel pinks.

“Holy… shit,” she exclaimed for a third time while she gawked at the camera and sound equipment set up pointed squarely at the satin-covered mattress. It finally dawned on her that she likely stumbled onto some low-rent porno production.

Boy, did she ever have a penchant for getting thrown into oddball situations answering tiny want ads.

Returning to “Barry”, her eyes widened as she gave him the full once over. She believed the vernacular for the time was “Beefcake”. His face was all sharp cheekbones and perfect dimples, radiant blue eyes and glossy red lips. His silvery-blonde hair was meticulously spiked seemingly strand-by-strand. A lean but reptilian-muscular body peeked through from between his leather vest, all tan and oiled up. All of this funnelled down towards his designer jeans, shrink-wrapped onto his hips and legs. They did nothing to hide the billy club the guy was apparently carrying at his crotch.

The dude oozed sex, and Charise’s mouth --among other body parts-- watered the moment he smiled at her. Never mind that he was likely a shrivelled piece of liver maybe four times her age back in her present time. Right now in 1985, he was a sizzling hunk of prime steak. ‘Beefcake’, indeed.

“Apollo… Creed?” she squeaked, half dazed.

“Cream. Apollo Cream,” he said, with a sly wink.

“Like from the Rocky movies?” she asked. “Wasn’t he black?”

He shrugged. “It’s an homage. Better than ‘Barry Cream’. And your name is...?”

“Charise.”

He pouted his lower lip and nodded thoughtfully. “Awesome. Like ‘Cherries’, right? We’ll figure out a good name for you later.”

“Later? What…?” she started to ask, but he had already walked past her to the guy she had met first.

“Hey, Parker,” Apollo said. He glanced back at Charise with a glint in his eyes. “Told you that ad was a good idea.”

“You lucky S.O.B.,” Parker replied while fiddling with the video camera. “She’s a totally choice chick.”

Charise tilted her head and blinked. As she was about to speak, a tap on her shoulder interrupted her. She turned to face a meatball-shaped young man, also sporting a moustache and a vest.

“I’m Judd,” he introduced himself, taking her hand and shaking it. “I’m the Best Boy.”

Charise looked around the set. Just being the four of them, Judd was actually the ‘Only Boy’. She noted how clammy his palm was as they shook hands. “And what’s a ‘Best Boy’?”

“Oh, I help with the set, the equipment. Just, you know… help,” he said earnestly, then added, “I can fluff you.”

“You can what me?”

“Fluff you. We have ice or feathers. Your choice.”

Charise withdrew her hand. “Uhh…”

“Don’t bother,” Parker noted with a wink at her chest. “She seems ‘perky’ enough.”

“Douche?” Judd offered. “How about hairspray? Your hair is kinda flat.”

“Douche? Hairspray?” It was like a pinball was smacking around the inside of her brain.

“Never mind,” Apollo said, “she looks great. She’s got that au naturel country girl look.”

“'Country girl’?” Now she was really taken aback.

“Here’s your script,” Judd said, handing her a single sheet of paper.

“My script?” She couldn’t stop speaking in questions. After reading ‘the script’ for ‘A Taste of Her Pie #1’ within a minute, she exclaimed, “Oh… my… God.”

Definitely horrible writing. Definitely a porno. She couldn’t decide which agitated her more. There were only two players: Apollo Cream and ‘Hot Chick #1’. There was no ‘Hot Chick #2’.

“Why do I need…?” she started, her voice trailing off. She gawked at them. “Wait. I’m ‘Hot Chick #1’?”

“Yeah, well. It’s either you or Judd,” Parker sniggered.

“I can’t do this!” she exclaimed, shaking the paper.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to stick to it word-for-word. Just go with the flow.”

“What ‘flow’? It’s basically: ‘Here’s your pizza. Thanks for the pizza. Your pizza is so hot. Eat a slice of my pizza. The end.”

“Well, actually… that’s more like the beginning,” Judd chuckled, hopefully.

“The script’s not the issue,” she insisted.

“Go with the flow,” Judd said, mimicking Parker.

“Fuck the flow!”

“Now you’re getting into it,” Parker said, jovially misunderstanding her.

“I mean…” Struggling to think and exasperated, her eyes trailed off to the side to Apollo who was standing in front of a mirror. While practising his smoulder with his eyes, he was also ‘fluffing’ himself, having whipped out his cock. He stroked it while he swivelled and pumped his hips like a stripper. Now she understood the ‘extra sausage’ line in the script.

Charise was mesmerized by his ‘salami’, definitely, but when he stuck out his tongue for some exercise, her eyes nearly popped through her glasses. As if it was detached from the bottom of his mouth, he whirled the long, slick, pink serpentine muscle around like it was a boat propeller. Then he flicked it with the crisp snap of a wet towel.

“Oh… wow,” she breathed. Witnessing his impressive tongue manipulation got her pussy tingling real good. Dumbfounded and heart palpitating, she droned, “I’m… getting paid, right?”

“Okay! We are ready to roll!” Parker announced.

Startled, Charise stammered awkwardly as Judd positioned her in front of a prop door. "I can’t do this,” she muttered.

Apollo came over and grabbed hold of her arms as he turned her to face him. “Hey, you’re a total babe, Charise. We’re so lucky to have you on our first film,” he said, removing her glasses and sweeping her hair back gently. He appeared as genuinely impressed by her looks as she was of his. “This is gonna be awesome. I’ll take care of you. Promise.”

“Come with me if you want to live,” she breathed as she stared into his magnetic eyes.

“What?”

“It’s from The Terminator.”

“I know.” He smiled, chuckling. “Awesome time-travel flick.”

Charise nodded. God, she never wanted to screw someone so soon after meeting them.

“Places!” Parker instructed. Judd scurried behind the camera.

Apollo kissed her on the forehead and walked around the fake wall to the other side of the fake door.

Charise’s heart hopped up her throat before a determined gulp settled it back in place. She twisted her fingers together nervously. Yoga-breathing wasn’t going to help this time.

Was she really going to do this?

Judd cued the music: keyboards, electronic drums and a seductive tenor sax played.

“Action!” Parker barked.

Suddenly, she raised her eyes and pursed her lips. A look of determination straightened her ginger brows.

‘Don’t fuck with the timeline,’ she had told herself.

Didn’t mean not to literally fuck, did it? And in fifty-five years, who'll care?

There was a knock at the door.

“Pizza delivery!” Apollo called.

Charise took a deep breath and opened the door.

Apollo entered the set carrying a pizza box. He flashed his dazzling, tempting smile, blowing away her remaining doubts.

With that, they rambled through the flaccid ‘script’, and soon Charise was experiencing his nimble tongue first hand as they moshed their mouths together in a slathering, deep kiss.

“Good. Good,” Parker coached as Judd zoomed the camera in on their locked lips then slowly downward. “Right. Massage her tits. Yes. Great. Grope her ass. Big squeeze. Spank it. Awesome.”

While she suckled on his probing tongue, Charise drew her hand around to his front, feeling the rigid shaft behind his tight jeans. Meanwhile, he quickly pushed her t-shirt up and over her head, leaving her breasts open to his lusty massage.

“That’s great. Amazing tits, Charise! Get right into it. Okay, open up his pants. Yup, down, down you go, sweetie.”

Charise panted hard as she settled onto her knees. She gulped and swept her red hair back then raised his cock. Rubbing the tip along her lips, cheeks and chin, she moaned, “Fuck, your cock is big and gorgeous.”

“Thanks, baby,” he said, stroking her hair. “You did order extra spicy sausage, after all?”

“Great improv, guys!” Parker said.

Judd shuddered audibly when she inhaled Apollo’s cock and applied herself upon it with gratuitous sucks. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Charise was oblivious to any other noises as well as the camera that was pointed directly at her glossy, dripping lips as she sucked his rock hard cock like a giant peppermint stick.

After a few minutes, Parker asked, “Want to reverse positions?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Immediately, she got onto the bed and laid back. The satin sheets were so cool and slippery, she almost slid off. Apollo held her firmly, though, as he tugged off her shorts before discarding the rest of his clothing.

Again, he offered her an appreciative grin. “You’re totally hot, baby.”

As he knelt down at the edge of the bed and pulled her forward by the ankles, she grasped the sheets. This was what she was waiting for.

“Nice. Yes, lick her thighs. Uh-huh. Down to her pussy. Spread those juicy lips. Yep. Work that magic tongue of yours, Apollo.”

Charise wrenched at the sheets at Apollo’s initial tongue-acrobatics. She imagined he did push-ups with it and could probably paint the side of a house with it in a matter of minutes. The sound of rapid, wet licks against her plush pussy overrode the new wave music playing in the background.

“Ohh, yes,” she cooed.

“Awesome. Awesome,” Parker continued. “Fingers, now. One. Two. Deeper. De-eeper. Suck her clit.”

“Oh. Ohh... God!” Charise gasped, her belly shuddering.

“Shit, baby,” Apollo breathed, “your buds even taste like cherry.”

“Faster. Faster. Yeah, buck those hips… Fuck, this is hella hot, guys!”

“Oh! Ohh… fuck!” She shoved the back of her head into the mattress, arching her back. Squeezing her eyes shut, she came hard while Apollo continued to motor his tongue against her pulsing snatch. “God!”

‘A Taste of Her Pie’, fer sure.

“Uh-h, Parker,” Judd squeaked anxiously, his face glowing with perspiration, “can I be excused?”

While he grabbed a box of tissue and ran off to the washroom, Parker took over behind the camera and said, “You two need a break or…?”

Ignoring him, Charise pulled Apollo onto her, spreading her knees apart as he massaged his crotch against her while they locked tongues together once more.

“Okay,” Parker remarked, removing the camera from the tripod, “we keep rolling.”

“You want protection?” Apollo gasped, sweat dripping down his face.

“Just fuck me already," she urged, "I don’t have much time."

Parker propped a knee on the bed as he got in tight with the camera.

Gripping Apollo's arm, Charise grit her teeth as she felt his solid cock ease into her. “Oh! Uhh!”

“Yee-ah!” Parker applauded with a lascivious laugh, focusing the lens. “All the way in. It’s a beautiful thing.”

For the next half hour, Charise easily ignored Parker’s incessant chatter and just enjoyed the fruits of all of Apollo’s pre-shoot warm ups. From position-to-position, his cock remained hard, its delicious throb pulsating deep within her. As he picked up the tempo, she gasped and desperately blew aside the strands of her crimson hair that fell across her face.

“Loving the doggy-style!” Parker chimed. “That wet smack on her ass is friggin’ hot!”

The bed’s headboard was nearly coming apart as Charise gripped and shook it. From behind, she heard Apollo breathing desperately, wheezing, gasping, as he pumped his cock into her snatch furiously.

She tossed her head back, pushing her smooth belly down and shoving her tanned ass back against his oncoming crotch with a resounding smack. She came again, hollering, “Fuck!”

“Fucking good, baby!” Apollo huffed and gasped as he continued on fervently. Finally, he stiffened, digging his fingers into her waist, and moaned, “Uhh!”

“Pull out. Slowly,” Parker instructed. “Shoot on her ass. Smear it all over. Yee-ah. Awesome load, baby.”

While he talked them down, they rolled onto the bed together, kissing and fondling, both covered in sweat. Feeling the glow and buzz within her, Charise continued to stroke Apollo’s slick cock. She then raised her spunk-covered fingers to her lips and sucked on them, one-by-one. Neither Apollo nor Parker were expecting her to do that, and the latter managed to position the camera just in time to catch her lick her thumb clean.

“And... cut,” Parker exclaimed. Stumbling backwards exhausted, he gasped, “Fuckin' A.”

Judd was still in the washroom.

While they continued admiring each other, Apollo stroked her hair again. She really liked that.

“We should offer you a contract,” he said.

“Sorry. One-time deal,” she said, caressing his face. She giggled, “But this was bitchin’.”

Parker clapped his hands. “Who’s hungry?”

“Wicked Wok?” Apollo suggested.

“Chinese?” Charise asked.

“Yeah, it’s this absolutely legit place I found,” he explained. “Awesome chicken balls.”

Unfortunately for Charise, by the time they got dressed, travelled back to the city and found the back alley take-out restaurant, her time was up. Just as Apollo handed her the chicken balls and turned around, her chrono-synchronizer beeped and she disappeared.

FFZ-ZZT!

--0--

Charise stepped out of the refrigerator, back into the decrepit warehouse, feeling a bit gangly in the knees.

“Did it work?” Dunlop asked eagerly while she stretched.

“’Did it work’?” she exclaimed, “I was gone for three hours.”

Elated, his beady, blue eyes widened.

She reached back into the fridge and retrieved the chicken balls. “Here’s proof.”

His jaw dropped as he took the container from her and held it with surprising reverence. “You did it!”

“Did what?”

“You got Wicked Wok chicken balls!”

Charise shook her head, irritated. “Did you send me back in time fifty-five years just so you can get Chinese take-out? And why didn’t you just give me the restaurant address?”

Stroking the container like it was the Holy Grail, he nodded. “I forgot where it was.”

“So you had me meet ‘Barry’ to show me? Why the hell didn’t you just tell me that was the mission?”

“Would you have gone if I did?”

He had a point.

“I was so upset when the place burned down in ’86,” Dunlop sighed.

“Why'd you send me back to 1985 specifically?”

“1985?” he said, puzzled. “My calculations must have been off. I intended to send you to 1984 to give me some wiggle room. What day did you arrive?”

“June 17.”

Some colour drained from his already blotchy face. “You were at the Video Lab on June 17?”

Charise pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses feeling exhausted by the tedious questions. “Look,” she grumbled, “it’s been a long day for me. Can I just go home? My body aches like crazy.”

Not only from having spent time inside a cramped fridge.

“Sure,” he replied, distracted.

Charise headed towards the exit, declaring, “You’re paying me for the three hours.”

Dunlop called to her, “Can we try again next week?”

“Ha! Never again!” she laughed and left.

--0--

Dunlop entered his office, set down the chicken balls, and strolled over to a shelving unit. Scanning a row of porno VHS tapes, he pulled out the first one: “A Taste of Cherry’s Pie #1 starring Apollo Cream and Cherry Buds.”

He regarded the row of tapes again --a dozen in the ‘A Taste of Cherry’ series-- and smiled.

Popping the video into an old VCR, he then settled back into his recliner. As the new wave music began, he licked his lips; his serpentine tongue slipped nimbly around with a vigour it hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

He could still taste the cherry.

Dunlop savoured his chicken balls and his memories.