Angela Nishimoto


Angela Nishimoto was raised on the windward side of O‘ahu, teaches on the leeward side, and lives in Honolulu with her husband. She earned her master-of-science degree in botanical science at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa.

From “Big Night Out”

We were on our third date—the magical one. I was finally going to get some. I’d
worked on all five feet two of her, laying the foundation at the sandwich shop we worked at downtown. I was from Waipahu, she was from California. She was blonde, tanned. Great body under the apron, in her halter top and black jeans. Though we were on our feet all day, she wore nice shoes—high heels or sandals—not athletic shoes or sneakers.

That night, a dinner date. After the run-of-the-mill coffee-shop date. After lunch together on a Saturday, under cerulean skies and sailing clouds. We had talked, the usual stuff. Blah-blah-blah, but good blah-blah-blah. She was struggling as a business major at HPU, in addition to working full-time. I had a second job at a big department store.

The grab-and-gulp pace of the sandwich shop was balanced by the slow pace in Women’s Shoes. Most customers take a turn around the displays, check out the sales racks, and then leave, a dissatisfied, disappointed look on their faces. I always felt like a vulture hovering, but I never knew when they were going to need assistance. On straight commission, and it was slow, so I needed to be poised to pounce—or no results.

Earlier in the day, a cute girl had lingered at one of the displays. I was on her fast. Walking around, she picked out eight different styles of leather pumps, basic but nice. I said, “Don’t tell me—size 6 medium.”

“Yes, sir. You got it.” She had dimples when she smiled. I wondered if she had dimples on her lower back. She tried on all eight pairs and strutted around. I helped her get into and out of them, cupping her smooth heel in my left hand as I slipped the shoe on with my right. She narrowed it down to two pairs, one black, the other bone.

“These pinch here,” she said, indicating the widest part of her foot in the black pair.

“I’ll stretch them out. That’s a service we offer. They look great. Really classy.”

“But won’t my foot slip? Except for here, they’re perfect.”

“I’ll put an insole inside.”

After another forty-five minutes, she ended up walking out with only the shoes she’d walked in with. But damn, she was cute. Long hair. Tight jeans. Nice…real nice.

I did sell four pairs of shoes that shift. A mother and daughter each bought a pair. They were hot! But the mother was too old, the daughter not legal yet. The other two pairs were purchased by a heavy woman with size 9 feet.


My husband and I used to live in a “gated community,” which had an unimproved private-access road.  After we had several flat tires on our older cars, I fantasized about elderly people stuck in a parallel situation. I wrote “Beneath A Country Sky,” which won an honorable mention in the now-defunct Honolulu Magazine Fiction Contest. The story was subsequently published in Hawai‘i Pacific Review. With my other story, I was wondering about girl-crazy single young men and the sexy-meaning-filled third date. “Big Night Out” was the result.

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