Some Kind of Magic Page 7

  “That’s just it, though. You shouldn’t need to refuse her. You shouldn’t be here. Why haven’t you applied to grad school, Eden? You were supposed to go back this year.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Oh, so Mom’s not supposed to interfere with my life, but you can?”

  He sighed. “Eden. You’ve got so much potential. Unlike Mom, I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get your ass out of that groove and take some chances. You’re too young to let your life become Saturday night out with some mustache and Sunday afternoon at Mom’s.”

  “Mom was right, though. You’re the adventurous one. What happens if I try something new and fail?”

  He shrugged. “So what if you fail? You’d learn something and maybe have a good time in the process.” He wrapped my hand in his. “And I’ll tell you a secret. We’re all afraid of failing. We’re all scared of adventure.”

  “You?” A laugh burst out of me.

  “Yeah. What if I don’t go out with Adam on his tour? What if I go with him and we suck? What if that’s the only shot we ever get? What if I spend the rest of my life chasing a dream?”

  “So how do you do it?”

  “It’s not always easy, but I love what I do. You need to figure out what you love, Eden. Everything will fall into place when you do. But please tell me you haven’t found it here.”

  I reached over and gave him a hug. His arms came around me and pulled me in tight. “Thanks, Micah. I’ll think about it. I’m glad you came out here today.”

  * * *

  There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make Monday morning bearable. I had to go through the pep talk to remind myself why I got up at seven thirty to go to a job that didn’t fulfill me in any way other than to replenish my coffers so I could one day get a better job doing more of the same. My pep talks sucked.

  Thanh grabbed me the second I got into the lab. “I figured something out over the weekend. Come with me.”

  “Good morning, Thanh.”

  He took me back down to the holding cells, where the cute blond twiddled his thumbs to the backdrop of bow-chicka-wow-wow music.

  “Do you have that vial I gave you?”

  I reached into my bag, but then remembered that I’d tossed it into a drawer in my bathroom. “I’ll try to bring it in tomorrow.”

  “Please, do.” He seemed agitated. He produced another vial. “Can you put this back on?”

  “Thanh, what does it do? You never told me last week.”

  His shoulders slumped, and he sighed dramatically. “I told you to read the e-mails.” He handed the vial out to me.

  I gave him the stink eye, but I put the perfume on. “Still nothing. What’s it do?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute, but I want you to go into the test room and chat with the guy in there for a little while, okay?”

  “All right.”

  Thanh turned off the soft porn and opened the door. I slid a chair over so I faced the guy. Our knees nearly touched.

  “Hi. I’m Eden.”

  He seemed as unimpressed with me as he had the week before. Whatever Thanh was up to, this was a bust. “I’m Glenn.”

  “Nice to meet you. What do you do for a living, Glenn?” I wagered ten bucks against myself that he was a software developer.

  “I work at Sam Ash.”

  Even though I lost my bet, my smile was genuine. “The one in Edison? I go in there all the time.”

  His eyes grew wide, and he looked at me for the first time like I was a person, not just a lab tech. “Yeah? I’ve never seen you in there.”

  “I normally just buy my guitar strings there.” I never would’ve pegged him for a music store employee. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’re dressed really nice for Sam Ash.”

  He looked down at himself and ran his hand along the buttons on his shirt. “I recently moved up to manager. I’m trying to get the respect of my coworkers. They still treat me like a cashier sometimes. Do I look managerial?”

  I nodded, but now I was curious about the rest of my assumptions. “I noticed you’ve got a bit of a tan. Have you spent any time at the beach recently?”

  “Oh, yeah. I went to Hilton Head a couple of weeks ago. My parents have a time-share down there.”

  “Did you vacation with your parents?” I tried to keep the judgment out of my voice. I couldn’t begin to imagine traveling with my parents. Not since I was a kid.

  He scratched his head. “Well, they paid for it.”

  Wow.

  There was a tap on the window, and I said good-bye to Glenn and returned to the observation room.

  Thanh was beaming. “I knew it.”

  “What did you know?”

  “It came to me over the weekend. The chemicals might work fine for mice, but people are social. You need a connection before the rest of the synapses fire. Check it out.”

  I looked over the metrics Thanh had gathered. Our boy Glenn had a hard-on for me. Literally.

  “What is this stuff, Thanh?”

  “It’s a pheromone-reception enhancer.”

  A laugh escaped. “What? Like whale sperm or ox musk or the urine of a cat in heat?”

  “Nothing like that. Tell me, how do you feel? Honestly? Did you feel any attraction, too?”

  “None.”

  Thanh’s face dropped, and I covered quickly to soften his disappointment. “But Glenn’s not my type.”

  Neither was Adam, but my synapses fired like crazy for him. Was it due to this sex ba-bomb? That was ridiculous—those pheromone perfumes were nothing but snake oil.

  But why would an international rock star be attracted to me?

  “Thanh, could you show me your research?”

  When we got to Thanh’s lab, we ran into our manager, Keith, and his John Stossel mustache. It was as if he wanted to say, This is the most mustache a lip can support. He reached out his hand. “Congratulations on the FDA approval, Thanh. Are you all ready to start the trials?”

  While they discussed the schedule for human testing of, I assumed, the perfume I was now wearing, I walked around the lab. When I’d gotten hired, I started in this same lab. I’d been brought in as a lab assistant, based on my undergraduate minor and future desire to work in genetic testing. The field had so much promise to crack wide open mysteries of the human condition, from curing diseases to understanding how the mind works. I’d been excited to do some real-world experiments, but there was one major problem. It turned out I was terrified of mice. I claimed that I had a moral aversion to testing on animals, and they shunted me down to run analysis on the blood work collected in other parts of the company. And there I’d languished for the past several years.

  As I took my trip down regret lane, I ran across a thick binder on the counter. I flipped open the jacket to glance at the research. Thanh’s name was typed across the front page along with the title: Genetic Biosynthesis of G Protein–Coupled Pheromone Receptors in Mice.

  I shot up. “Excuse me.” Thanh and Keith continued to confer. I raised my voice. “Excuse me.”

  Thanh stopped talking. Keith turned around and asked, “Can we help you?”

  I held up the research paper, hands shaking. “Is this—?” I stopped to control my breathing. “Are you altering my genetic makeup?”

  Thanh crossed the room in two steps and snatched the paper away. “Eden, you shouldn’t be reading this.”

  “Answer my question. I never signed up for genetic testing.”

  He pulled up a stool and sat beside me, unfazed by my anger. “Eden. Stop and think. We can’t alter your DNA. The chemical we’re developing targets specific proteins that control the on/off switch for certain signals in your cells. When those cells eventually die, your body will produce new cells that will continue to behave as before.”

  I laughed in relief. Then it hit me. “So this shit’s real?”

  Thanh stood and snapped. “Of course it is. Ten years of my life went into this research.”

  I had one last question. “Thanh,
how long does the effect last?”

  He shrugged. “How long does it take a cell to regenerate?”

  The answer to that question was: It depends. Granulocytes take hours to days. Bone cells could take thirty years. “What’s your best guess?”

  “A day or two?”

  “Show me.”

  He scooted over so I could see a set of cages. “Meet Rob Roy and Cosmo.” Thanh had apparently named all of the mice after cocktails. “All the mice in the lab were sent through a cycle of tests without our serum before they were brought together in the presence of the chemical. When any of the tests show positive for an attraction, the pair is isolated for further evaluation. I like to call this the ‘sexperiment.’” His goofy grin seemed disproportionate to the quality of his joke.

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he said as I was lost in a fog of confusion, thinking back to Friday night when Adam had breathed in the perfume on my wrist. Was it possible the drug Thanh was peddling could magnify an attraction so much that the moon could attract the sun?

  When I wasn’t wearing the perfume, I couldn’t even attract a dentist from Middlesex County.

  I spent the rest of the day going over the past weekend. My mind ricocheted between hope, doubt, regret, and gratitude. Hope that the perfume had nothing to do with the connection Adam had clearly felt for me. Doubt that I could have attracted someone like Adam on my own without even trying. Regret that I’d experienced something that amazing only to lose it immediately. Gratitude that I’d experienced something that amazing.

  After considering every angle, I came to the conclusion Adam had been momentarily tempted by the power of lab-engineered sexual chemistry, but once the air had cleared, he had come to his senses or forgotten about me. Either way, he had never called. I figured I should just chalk the whole experience up to a lesson learned: Never trust Thanh.

  So when my phone rang at three p.m. with an unknown number from the Brooklyn area code, I was already halfway down the hall before I hit the answer button on the third ring.

  “Hello?” I shouldered through the glass doors, looking around for the most likely place to have a quiet, private conversation.

  “Eden?”

  “Yup.” The bench in the smoking area was empty. I cut across the grass. My heart raced either from exertion or excitement.

  “Hey. It’s Adam. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

  “It’s no problem. How are you?” I slowed to get my breathing under control.

  “I’m good. Listen.”

  My heart flipped. Here we go.

  It was too good to be true. Now he’d tell me about the engagement and the mistake he made and how sorry he was, what a great girl I was. I sucked in a lungful of air and prepared for the worst.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m coming out to New Jersey tonight.”

  “You are?” Whatever for?

  “I am. I wanted to know if you’re free. I know you don’t do weeknights or date guys named Adam but hoped you might make an exception. On both counts.”

  I also didn’t date guys who were involved with other women. I silently apologized to my sisters the world over, rationalizing it would be easier to ask him about it in person. “What time?”

  He laughed. “Good. Let’s make it a real date. I’ll pick you up at whatever time people who date go out.”

  “And . . . What time would that be?”

  “You’re funny. I’ll come by around seven thirty? But I need to know where you live.”

  I gave him the address, and then he said, “I’ll see you tonight.”

  As soon as I hung up, I wished I’d thought to ask him what to wear. I flipped the phone open and stared at the call log. I stored his name and number in my contacts, and for a moment I was tempted to call his number to see if he’d even answer. Maybe I could compare with Micah later. Or not. I wouldn’t want to give out a private number to just anyone.

  Floating on air, I went back to work and stared at the meaningless numbers while I fantasized about going on a date with a rock star.

  I imagined he’d pick me up in a limo with champagne chilling in the back. He’d whisk me into Midtown Manhattan to one of those restaurants I saw him at on Page 6. Paparazzi would shoot pictures of us as he tucked my arm around his elbow. We’d wave and laugh at a private joke. Then later, he’d take me home, and we’d have monkey sex. I wanted to have monkey sex with a rock star, but, like, aware of it this time. Was that wrong of me? Maybe we’d have monkey sex in the limo.

  Then my fantasy turned bleak. Neurotically, I thought of everything that could go wrong, starting with him never showing up.

  Or he’d show up, but he’d change his mind and decide he didn’t even want to go out with me at all when he saw me again.

  Or we’d go out, but he’d figure out how ordinary I was. I wouldn’t live up to his memory of me, such as it was. And we’d have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about. What did I have to say to someone living his lifestyle?

  And he was going to get angry at me for asking about his engagement because there was no way I wasn’t going to ask.

  But even if the date went well, what if . . . oh, God, what if he didn’t want to have monkey sex with me again? Friday night could’ve been a total fluke. And what if the entire thing was based on a hyper-enhanced sex appeal? I sniffed my wrist. The residual odor from Thanh Phanh’s pharmaceutical pheromones lingered.

  How bad of a breach of ethics would it be to knowingly seduce a man with a biochemical agent? Was it any different from Stacy in her miniskirts or Kelly with her stiletto heels and pushup bras? And why did women wear perfume in the first place if not to appear more attractive to men?

  The angel on my shoulder whispered, “Eden, you know the difference. He has no chance against chemical warfare.”

  The devil showed up on the other shoulder in a cloud of dust and boomed, “But you have no chance without it.”

  The devil was right. I had no chance with Adam without the added kick of the perfume. That should’ve been a good reason to scrub my arms in bleach. Have a nice date out with a nice guy and then let him go on with his life.

  Stacy caught me staring off into space. “He called?”

  I bit my lip and nodded. “We’re going out to dinner tonight.”

  Telling her turned out to be a dumb idea. She “dropped by” at seven fifteen to make sure I looked presentable for my date.

  “You can’t be going out like that.”

  I looked down at my going-out clothes. “Why? What’s wrong with this?” I didn’t normally wear skirts outside of work, but the one I had on looked as good as any other. Granted, it covered my thighs.

  “Have you seen your hair?”

  “Oh, shit!”

  I’d taken a shower, using an industrial abrasive to scrub the perfume off my wrists. Then I’d stood in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes, debating the merits of wearing the perfume—on purpose.

  Did scrubbing it off make any difference at this point? What if the effects from Friday night hadn’t worn off yet?

  What if they had?

  In the end, I decided to compromise and dabbed the smallest amount on the back of my neck, right where he’d have to be kissing me to even smell it. Then I tossed the vial back into the drawer. In a daydream, I’d eventually wandered out to find clothes. My hair had air-dried in whatever messy form it’d taken after I toweled it.

  “Let me fix that.” Stacy grabbed a brush and combed so quickly and so hard, black strands fell to the floor.

  “Ow. Stop it! Let me do that.” I wrestled the brush from her and worked it from the ends up. Once my hair was detangled, Stacy ran her fingers through it and caught it up in a barrette in the back. The hair that hung loose had a pronounced wave and curled under where it touched my shoulders.

  “Thank you. Can you imagine?”

  “Oh, we’re not done yet. You haven’t put on any makeup. Do you even know how to win a guy?”

  I burst out laughing, and she smiled
. Then she worked magic with whatever makeup she could find in my bathroom. My mascara had turned to dried cake since whenever I’d last tried to use it, so she gave up at my lashes, but the eyeliner, blush, and lipstick were perfection.

  She pointed at the clock on the DVR. “He’s late.”

  “Five minutes. He could’ve hit traffic. And who shows up right on the minute anyway? Wouldn’t that be weird? Also, why are you still here?”

  “Moral support.” She dropped onto the sofa and picked up the magazine I’d been reading, pretending to be engrossed in it.

  There was a tap on the door, and she sat bolt upright, giddy with excitement.

  He actually showed up. My number one fear allayed, I prayed Stacy wouldn’t embarrass me too badly. I shot her a look and mouthed, “Be cool!”

  I swallowed down my nerves and calmed my breathing. Showtime.

  Chapter 7

  I opened the door, and my heart melted. He wasn’t a rock star. He was just Adam, wearing a pair of nice black jeans and a button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He’d shaved and combed his hair in some approximation of control. And he was wearing cologne. He ducked his head and brought his eyes up to mine. “Hi.”

  At his apparent shyness, my anxiety dissipated. “Come in. Someone wants to meet you.”

  I turned around and ran smack into Stacy, who was hovering at my shoulder. Did she think he would disappear if she didn’t trap him?

  He looked from Stacy’s hyperbeaming expression back to mine. I feigned nonchalance, one eyebrow raised, mouth turned up at one corner, smirking at Stacy and her crazy behavior.

  “Um. Adam, this is my friend Stacy.”

  Adam leaned forward and whispered, “You found out.”

  I snickered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Stacy finally burst. “I know this is incredibly bad form.” She bounced on her toes. “But Eden, would you get a picture of me with Adam? Please?”

  The expression I’d been feigning became genuine. My raised eyebrow now pointed at her in disapproval. Adam must’ve had a Pavlovian response to fans because before I could react, he already stood beside her, sidling for a tight one-armed hug. Stacy handed me her phone, and I counted to three and snapped the picture. Jesus, he was perfectly photogenic. Stacy looked a mess.