“Yeah. Everything in the house looks breakable. I can’t believe they let people come over and get wasted around their stuff.”
“So,” Asher said, ignoring my comment and turning his chair toward me, “you’re officially a hanger-on, like a Shakespeare groupie? Just coming to all the parties?”
It sounded like an insult, but he was smiling, so I tried to relax.
“Hey, I help Bryan memorize lines every year. That earns me rights to the parties, especially this one.”
“Fair enough,” Asher said, finishing his drink and reaching for a champagne flute. Suddenly my goal for the night didn’t seem so easy. I was supposed to do what I did with Kyle—spend time with this person and decide whether he showed signs of attraction that he hadn’t before. But with the alcohol and all the distractions at the party, it would be difficult to tell what was causing his interest or lack thereof. With Kyle, at least, I knew how he usually behaved, which gave me some basis for comparison. Asher seemed like the kind of guy who got bored every few minutes no matter who he was with, so how would I be able to guess?
Asher tapped his foot on the patio like he was nervous. I noticed that his eyes kept finding all the exits—the back gate and then the garage door. He was planning his escape.
“I’m beginning to think you hate parties.”
“What gave me away?” he said, smiling before taking a gulp of his drink. “It’s too crowded. I hate crowds.”
He placed the plastic glass on the table and looked over at me.
“How bad would it be if we took a walk?”
“You want to leave? There’s free booze here. And probably, like, sixteen rooms full of French food,” I said.
“Just a break,” he said. “You can blow your nose on my clothes like last time. Any item of clothing you want.”
“Hey,” I said, grinning. “I didn’t blow my nose. I just wiped snot on your jacket, ever so gracefully. You make it sound so intentional. Also, I will get your jacket back to you. I just need to get to the dry cleaners.”
“No, I meant it: it’s yours now,” he said, and stood up from the table. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere.”
I floated out of my chair, the night now less hopeless. My altered pheromones were at work, and Asher had given us a reason to get close. I’d have to figure out a way for us to stay where it was well lit so I could watch his behavior, specifically his eyes, which, at the moment, weren’t dilated.
“Follow me,” I said, leading him around the croquet game and through the gate at the back of the yard. “We can head over to the pond.”
“Wait,” he whispered, and then ran into the kitchen before returning with an uncorked bottle of wine. “Best of both worlds. Let’s go.”
* * *
Jamaica Pond is like an oasis in the city, a gorgeous spot with a walking path and a pretty boathouse. It was a perfect place to get close, except for the fact that the streetlights stop about a quarter of the way around the water, making most of the walk too dark for me to notice much. Sometimes headlights from passing cars illuminated our faces, and I turned to Asher, trying to figure out whether he was reacting to me at all, but he just looked normal, like a human taking in new scenery.
We filled the time with shallow conversation and a few awkward silences. I tried to keep myself parallel to him so we were sharing the same air space.
I could see the silhouette of a fisherman by the water below us. Behind him was a small patch of sand. Asher stopped to watch him.
“Why would someone be fishing this late?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe that’s when the fish are out.”
“Right on,” Asher said.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just muttered, “Right on.”
“I think I dated a girl who lived in Jamaica Plain once,” he said. “Her mom used to drive her to my house in, like, middle school.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Nah. I don’t know where she is now. She might have emailed me a few times after one of my first videos came out, but I don’t think I ever responded.”
“I’m surprised people like her haven’t mobbed you after your performances this summer. Live theater makes you so accessible. You must be getting stalked by fans and old acquaintances after shows.”
Asher tilted his head, but his hair barely moved.
“I saw my old dentist on opening night. And there were these six girls waiting for me by the stage exit last week. I thought they were going to pounce, I swear. But really, fans just want a quick picture and then they’re gone. You have to figure, my most devoted fans are, like, fourteen. I don’t think they’re allowed to go to Boston Common with their friends after dark. If they come to one of the shows, they’re with their parents.”
We were about to start our second loop now, past the brown boathouse and the streetlights all over again. This time, though, I stopped when we got to a flight of stone stairs off the walking path. I knew it led to a secluded patch of grass above the pond. Bryan, my mom, and I had picnicked there once.
“Check this out,” I said, holding my dress to make sure I didn’t trip over it as I ascended.
“This is so cool,” Asher said once we got to the top. He surveyed the open space and the view of the pond from above.
“It looked like the stairs were going nowhere, and then it leads to this, like, secret beautiful patch of grass with, like, pretty flowers. It reminds me of that kids’ book.”
“The Secret Garden?”
“No,” Asher said, frustrated. “What’s the book where they go through the closet?”
I turned to face him. “The closet?”
“The kids—they go through the closet, and it’s, like, this super-beautiful world with talking animals.”
“Are you talking about Narnia? The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”
“Totally. Yeah, that’s it. Narnia. It’s like Narnia up here.”
I shrugged and led him to the grass.
“Be careful,” I said as I sat down. “People walk their dogs here, and not everyone cleans up after them. Sometimes there’s dog poop in Narnia.”
He let out a “Ha-ha” and settled across from me. My eyes had barely adjusted to the darkness, but I could swear his were closed. He appeared to be meditating, his legs crossed, his arms resting on his knees. He had been taking sips of the wine straight from the bottle throughout the walk; it didn’t seem like he’d had that much, but now I wondered.
“I think I might record a song tonight when I get home. This walk is inspiring.”
“I have to ask,” I said, working to keep my tone even, “I know you only cover songs by women. Is there a reason? I didn’t know if it was a coincidence . . . or whether the songs are in your range . . .”
“It’s because of feminism,” Asher said, his voice serious.
“Oh.” I searched for more words. “I see.”
We were quiet then. I didn’t know where to go after his last statement.
“I’m going to New York on Monday morning,” he said softly, saving us from the silence.
“You’re leaving? In the middle of the run?”
“Just for a day. We’re dark this Monday, and I’ll be back by the next performance. I have an audition—for an off-Broadway play.”
“That’s really cool,” I said, thinking of how great it would be when Bryan gave me this kind of news about himself in the future.
“I don’t know,” Asher said, looking down while fondling a twig near his feet. “I sort of thought I’d be on television or in movies by now. I really thought I’d be moving to L.A. . . .”
“You’re still really young, though,” I said.
“Yeah, but think about how many people my age are, like, really famous already.”
He scratched the top of his head and then his hair bounced back into place, as if each dirty-blond strand knew exactly where it was supposed to be.
“You get a million fans, and you have
this window, right? A window for using it to get to the next thing. And if an off-Broadway play is the next thing, I just feel like I blew it.”
I leaned in, forcing him to pay attention. “It’s a play in New York City,” I said. “It’s a big deal. I know from Bryan it’s a very, very big deal to do that kind of work.”
Asher shrugged. “It must be nice to know you’re good at something. Like for it to come naturally to you,” he said, watching me.
“What are you talking about?”
“You. You’re just naturally good at something. You’re going to MIT. That means you’re awesome at something. I feel like half the time I’m just faking it. I can sing, but the acting stuff isn’t easy for me. Memorizing lines was the worst. Really, if I try anything beyond making my videos, I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
His honesty surprised me, but I was more shocked that he remembered I was going to MIT.
“You don’t know that I’m naturally good at science.”
“Sure I do, because you can’t fake being good at science and math. It’s not like you’re a shitty singer who can be put through Auto-Tune. You can’t fake math.”
“You can’t fake acting, either; trust me. I’ve seen a lot of plays, thanks to Bryan. I don’t think there’s a way to fake that kind of thing. Some people are just forgettable onstage. But you’re really good. I saw it myself.”
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough for me to get some data, so I leaned into Asher and checked his eyes. They looked about the same as they had when I arrived at the party. Maybe slightly dilated? He was sweating—tiny circles of perspiration lined his scalp like raindrops. He surprised me by grabbing my hands and pulling me into his lap. I steadied myself, my hands on his gray V-neck T-shirt.
“You smell good,” he said.
I pulled back. “I do? Are you kidding me?”
Asher nodded, now close enough for me to see his lashes flutter.
“Asher,” I said, sitting up straight so I could look down at him, “this is a weird question, but what do I smell like? Can you describe it for me?”
“Um . . . I don’t know,” he said, placing his hands on my waist. “You smell like girl. You just smell nice.”
I reached back and tightened my ponytail. “Okay . . . thanks.”
I sat there frozen, not sure what to do next. My arms were on his shoulders, my head just above his.
“You’re a good listener,” he said, trying to turn and lower me so that our faces were closer. “Thank you for listening.”
“No problem,” I said, sinking into his lap, not sure what was supposed to happen next.
I took a deep breath and gave myself a second to enjoy the moment. I was out by Jamaica Pond with a YouTube star and he was holding me, possibly because he was under the influence of alcohol and altered pheromones, but also because we had shared a nice moment and I had made him feel better about his career for a second or two.
I was always good at that with Whit, giving him encouragement when he felt bad about his writing. He always said I was the best audience.
“You’re really talented,” I said, high on how it felt to make someone feel good again.
He pulled me close and hugged me, and I reciprocated with my arms around him. Then I felt a tickling wetness on my neck.
“Are you licking me?” I asked with a laugh.
“I kissed your neck. With my mouth open,” he said, his very white YouTube teeth almost glowing as a car passed by, yards away.
This couldn’t happen again. Not kissing, not with Asher.
When this whole project started, Ann implied that our best results would be enlarged pupils, mirroring, and lowered voices. A lot of studies suggested that when men feel attraction, their voices get deeper. I was hoping for that, at best, tonight.
But with two subjects now, it was like I had taken a fast-acting aphrodisiac. It had been nice kissing Kyle—I had to force myself to stop—and now I didn’t want to peel myself out of Asher’s lap. My heart raced, and I was covered in sweat.
He put one hand on my butt like it was no big deal.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, shifting away.
“What’s wrong?” Asher asked.
“I don’t know if I need to be doing this,” I responded, more to myself. I had enough data, it seemed.
“I think you should let me kiss you again,” he whispered.
“We’re outside,” I said, pointing to the dim row of car headlights on the road that circled the pond. “And you can go back to that party and hook up with anyone you want.”
“I like you,” he murmured into my neck.
I just kept letting him do whatever he was doing, which was some sort of neck gnawing that was making me lightheaded.
He stopped for a moment and looked at me. “I haven’t talked to anyone like this in a long time. You’re really great to talk to.”
“Wait,” I said, realizing that I was less certain than I needed to be about my results. Maybe he had been seduced by my compliments. “You want to kiss me because of the talking?” I asked, leaning back. “If we had not talked, would you want to kiss me?”
Asher looked baffled. “Yes? I mean, I like talking to you. And kissing you. Wait—what’s the right answer here?”
“Just be honest,” I said, desperate for clarity. I held the sides of his face with my hands. “Just relax for a second and think. Do you want to make out with me because I told you you’re a good actor or because you’re randomly attracted to me tonight?”
Asher threw his hands up, shaking me in his lap. “Either one? Both? Why are you being weird?”
I could see panic in his dilated eyes.
“It’s okay” I said, trying to keep my tone breezy. “I’m just curious. Did you have any interest in kissing me before tonight?”
Asher dropped his hands to his sides and looked thoughtful. “I thought you were nice when we met. And I felt bad for you when I saw you at the karaoke place looking so miserable.”
“But you didn’t want to sleep with me then, right?” I said, cutting him off.
“I didn’t not want to sleep with you. I wasn’t thinking about whether I was attracted to you, I guess. I slept with Kimberly Katz that night, after karaoke. That was a big mistake. You have no idea.”
“You had sex with Kimberly Katz?” I pushed at his shoulders.
I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was; people had sex so easily.
“Forget I said that,” he said, his hands tightening on my hips.
“Fine. But just to be clear, tonight is the first night you’ve had the desire to kiss me.”
“Yes,” he said, after a beat. “That’s right. Jeez, why all the questions? Am I out of line here? I thought you might be into it. You seemed like a fan, and we’ve been talking . . .”
“You’re not out of line,” I said, pulling him in for a hug because I felt so bad. This had to be the most confusing sexual experience he’d ever had.
Asher spoke softly in my ear. He sounded exhausted. “This is confusing. Did you not want me to hit on you?”
“I did,” I said, being honest. “It’s just complicated.”
He pulled back so that we were face-to-face, and then he leaned in. We were kissing then, or at least he was kissing me. I couldn’t do much besides keep my mouth open as his tongue began wagging from side to side inside it. Whereas kissing Kyle felt like a shared experience, this kissing was happening to me—or on me.
After another minute, Asher’s head fell to my neck and he started licking it again. He maneuvered his hand up the bottom of my dress and kept it on the back of my underwear. I tried not to think about how sweaty I might be after sitting on the grass in the humidity.
I felt his teeth at my collarbone. Not a lick or a kiss or even a bite, but again, a strange gnawing, like he was trying to work his way down an ear of corn.
I was ready to push him away, but he beat me to it and un-suctioned himself. Then he
leaned forward so that I was on my back and he was hovering on top of me.
I exhaled, relieved that the neck business had stopped, and perhaps a bit curious to find out what he would try next, but it turned out to be more of the same. He gave me a quick closed-mouth peck and then dropped his mouth to my neck. The gnawing began all over again.
All I could think about was how with Kyle, there was no awkwardness, and how nice his hands had felt when they’d traveled down my arms, and how it felt like whatever we were doing, we were doing together.
Asher, meanwhile, seemed to be having his own experience, with me as a random accessory. The minute he started pulling up my dress, I placed my hands on top of his to stop him.
“I think we should get back to the party,” I said. “You know, I’m just dealing with this breakup, and it’s probably not a good idea. I’m not making great decisions right now.”
“Sometimes the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Asher said with pride, as if he had come up with that expression. “No, really,” he added. “I didn’t get over my last breakup until I had sex with someone else.”
“That would work, maybe, if I’d ever had sex,” I muttered, before thinking about the reveal.
“You’re a virgin?” he asked, popping up to his knees, away from me, like I was carrying a contagion.
“I guess, technically,” I said. “Although that’s a pretty heteronormative concept, right?”
He looked confused and just stared at me. After a defeated sigh, he took my hand to help me up. It was over.
We were mostly silent on the way back to the party, and when we did talk, his guard was back up. No more discussion about the New York audition or his fears about his career. Instead, he told me a story about how he deals with his fan mail, and about the time his parents caught two thirteen-year-old girls trying to break into their house.
“They lived down the street, and they were probably harmless. Just trying to steal my underwear or something,” he said with a smug smile.
“Probably,” I agreed, not knowing what else to say.
When we arrived back at the Epsteins’ gate, he leaned in for a hug and said he was going straight home. Just before he turned to leave, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
Chemistry Lessons Page 14
