Imperfect Chemistry Page 7

I suppose I’m lucky that it’s the end of October and there are more than a few parties available for me to choose from. It takes only a few minutes to find a listing of the fraternity organizations online that are hosting Halloween celebrations, and since it doesn’t really matter, I pick the one at the top of the list.

  I’ve never been to a party before. Not like this. The largest social gathering I’ve attended was an applied physics conference that the university hosted last year, and this is nothing like that. For one, at the conference, people were fully clothed in items that covered every part of their body.

  I’ve never felt so overdressed in my life. I generally don’t care what I’m wearing as long as it’s comfortable and functional. With that in mind, I dressed up—because the website specified this is a costume party—as a doctor. I borrowed a pair of scrubs and an old stethoscope from Dr. Freeland in the neurology department, but now I realize I would blend in more if I had arrived in my bra and underwear.

  The fraternity house itself is a beautiful piece of mid-twentieth century architecture, a large brick building with Corinthian columns and dormer windows. The inside might be just as nice as the outside, but it’s hard to tell. After I pay five dollars at the door for a red solo cup—even though I insist I won’t be drinking anything more than water, or perhaps tea if it’s available, which I am assured by the man in a toga at the door that it is not—I enter the building and am immediately surrounded in darkness, punctuated by flashing colored lighting.

  I can hardly see anything in the front hallway except snippets of scantily clad bodies in the irregular blinking lights, and there’s a lot of noise. The music is so loud and the lights are so distracting, I immediately head through the throbbing dancers towards the only thing that seems stable: the backyard.

  It’s cold outside; late October nights are generally ten to fifteen degrees above freezing. I’m glad I wore a long sleeve thermal underneath the scrubs.

  For a second I just stand there and watch. People are milling about, talking and laughing, smoking and drinking.

  What disturbs me the most after a minute of lurking in the doorway, is that everyone seems to be having a fantastic time, and I have no clue what to do with myself. Is something wrong with me?

  I shake the thoughts away. Perhaps I need to be closer to the action.

  I weave through the open crowd and stop when my eyes alight upon a familiar face.

  Freya. The name comes back to me, the image of her file blinking into my mind. Freya Morgan, the girl I counseled for my very last session. She’s dressed as a pirate, which makes her stand out a bit since she is wearing a jacket and tight pants with boots, and her body is mostly covered. There’s an eye patch over one eye and a fake green parrot on her shoulder.

  It’s odd to see a familiar face amongst all this madness, and without quite realizing it, my feet take me in her direction.

  She sees me coming, and recognition ripples over her face like a wave. She grimaces slightly before smiling.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Hey,” she says. She’s standing with another girl in a pirate costume with a wooden leg, and a guy dressed as a pink flamingo, his arms and legs covered in pink feathers.

  “Well, this is awkward,” she laughs. Her friends glance over at us briefly, but they seem to be having some kind of argument about food and they are very focused on their discussion.

  “Is it?” I ask. I don’t like being around all these people and having to engage in conversation, but that’s not awkward. Right?

  She takes a drink from her cup. “The last time I saw you, we talked about herpes.”

  Her friends stop arguing and stare at me.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I offer because it seems like the appropriate response, although I’m not really sorry. It was sound advice, after all.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “You know, after I thought about it a little, I think you’re right.”

  “Really?” I ask. Of course I am.

  “Yeah. I mean, your bedside manner sucks, but the information was good.”

  “Herpes?” the pink flamingo asks.

  “Don’t ask,” Freya tells him, waving her hand that’s not clutching a red cup. “Guys, this is…what was your name again?”

  “Lucy.”

  She introduces me to the flamingo whose name is Ted, and the other pirate whose name is Bethany.

  “Why do you have a stuffed goat?” I ask Bethany. She’s pretty under her pirate hat and fake beard. She has wild, curly blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “That’s Nigel,” Ted says. “She brings him to every costume party. It’s like a thing.”

  “Okay,” I answer, not entirely sure how to respond.

  “I need a refill!” Bethany declares before grabbing Ted’s hand and yanking him off towards the keg.

  “So what are you doing here?” Freya asks, after her friends are gone. “This doesn’t really seem like your kind of function.”

  “It’s not.” I focus down at my sensible sneakers for a second and then back up at Freya. “I’m here because I’ve been dismissed from the clinic,” I start to explain.

  “Oh, no,” she groans. She puts a hand on my arm. “Is this some, like, revenge thing? You’re going to start following me around, infiltrating my life, and single-white-femaling me until I crack? Look, I’m sorry I complained about you, but I’ve been so upset about Cameron, I really wasn’t myself.”

  “Revenge? No.” I shake my head slowly, not quite following her train of thought. “And I’m not sure what single-white-femaling is. I’m here to learn more about behavior and emotions so I can continue work on the grant I was awarded last semester. It’s not your fault. There were other factors leading to my removal.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” She takes another drink. “What kind of emotions are you studying?”

  I pause a moment to gather my thoughts before responding. “Primarily lust, attraction, sex and sexual encounters. My goal is to study my peers in an effort to discover the motivation behind these behaviors and be able to relate to them on a more personal level.”

  “Okay, okay, I gotcha.” She points her finger at me. “Number one, stop referring to people as ‘peers’. Number two, there’s only one way to understand attraction, you have to feel it. You need to find someone physically appealing. Then, talk to them. If they’re cool, the attraction increases. If they’re jerks…well.” She shrugs. “Sometimes the attraction still increases, but hopefully not.”

  I shake my head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yeah, well love’s a bitch.” She takes a long drink from her cup.

  Ted and Bethany return and now they each have two red solo cups.

  “I’m telling you,” Ted says to Bethany, arguing with his hands and causing beer to slosh out of both cups in a small wave onto the concrete patio, “reheating food you haven’t eaten any part of is not leftovers.”

  “It is too!”

  “Is not!”

  “Oh, God,” Freya says to me. “I apologize for their behavior in advance.”

  “What do you think?” Ted asks me.

  I look from Ted to Bethany to Freya and then back at Ted.

  “About what, exactly?”

  “If you buy a meal, and don’t eat any of it,” Ted says, emphasizing the last three words. “And then eat the whole thing the next day…is it leftovers?”

  I consider the question. “Well, the term ‘leftover’ implies something that was once a part of a larger amount, the remainder, if you will. So I wouldn’t consider the situation you describe as leftovers.”

  “See! The nerd agrees with me.”

  “However,” I add, “it would be day-old, twice-heated food.”

  “Yes!” Bethany hands one of her beers to Freya and hits Ted in the head with Nigel the stuffed goat. “Gross ass.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Very diplomatic answer.” Freya lifts one of her cups towards me in recognition.

/>   “Thank you?” I say uncertainly.

  “I like you,” Ted says to me.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Hey, guys, Lucy needs some help with something,” Freya says.

  “Oh yeah?” Bethany asks.

  “She’s doing this, like, research thing, and she has to learn about sex and stuff.”

  “That’s a much abbreviated version,” I say.

  “Do you need to lose your virginity?” Ted asks, his flamingo head bouncing forward and backward with each word. “Because you really don’t want to do that here.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I explain. “I’m studying relationships. I’m not really sure what I need to do, but I suppose it would be helpful to feel an attraction to someone, someone who hopefully returns the sentiment.”

  “Honey, what you need is a man,” Ted says, placing a pink feathered hand on my arm. “A straight man,” he clarifies, removing his hand gingerly.

  “That’s more or less accurate,” I say.

  “Well, do you have anyone in mind?” Bethany asks.

  “Not really.”

  “Do you know any guys?” Freya asks.

  “That depends on if you are using the word ‘know’ as meaning to be aware of through observation, or if you are using it to mean having a relationship with someone through spending adequate amounts of time with them.”

  “The second thing,” Freya says.

  “In that case, no.”

  “You are so screwed,” Bethany says.

  “No she’s not!” Ted smacks Bethany on the rear end. “And that’s sort of the problem.” He chuckles at himself and Bethany mimics a drum roll.

  They laugh and then Bethany turns to me, “What about the first definition? Is there anyone you are ‘aware of through observation,’” she uses her fingers to make air quotes, “that might fit the bill?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Who?” Freya asks.

  “Do tell!” Ted encourages.

  I pause for a second, watching their expectant faces before answering. “Jensen. I don’t know his last name. It’s possible he is a homosexual.”

  Ted squeals. “No fucking way! It’s gotta be Jensen Walker, I don’t know any other Jensens that go here and honey, I wish he was curvy, but that man’s straighter than Bill Clinton, if you know what I mean.” He nudges me in the side with his elbow.

  I’m not entirely sure what he means. They talk so quickly and ask so many questions, I don’t have time to process.

  “How do you know him?” Freya asks.

  “He’s my neighbor.”

  There’s a collective gasp. “You’re kidding!” Bethany exclaims.

  “Would it be considered humorous if I were?”

  Ted erupts into giggles.

  Bethany shushes him. “Why would you think he’s gay?” she asks me.

  I explain the occurrence I observed the other day when I came home, and how the man was yelling at his door. I don’t relate what I overheard at the clinic because I don’t feel it’s ethical to discuss something that should have been private to begin with.

  “Dude, that was totally Liam.” Freya nudges Ted with her arm, causing him to spill more beer on the concrete patio. “Did he really say he loves her?” she asks me.

  I look at all of their enraptured faces, an expression that took over the minute I started my story. “Do you know who and what he was talking about?” I ask. How is this possible?

  Ted chugs the remaining contents of one of his cups, and then throws it over his shoulder. In the distance, a girl’s voice yells, “Hey!” over the hum of the crowd, but it doesn’t deter him. “So, the story is that Jensen and Chloe have dated since they were, like, toddlers, and over the summer she cheated on him with his best friend! They had sex in a hot tub at SAE.” He smiles and nods knowingly.

  “Then,” Freya continues, “Jensen and Liam got into a huge brawl outside the Lombardi Building. I totally saw it.”

  “How do you guys know so much about this?”

  “It’s all over campus.” Freya shrugs. “And Jensen is on a pre-law track, like me, so I hear stuff.”

  “Rumors are typically 80% false,” I point out.

  “Whatever brainiac.” Freya rolls her eyes. “The point is Jensen Walker is single, and word on the street is there’s been a line of ladies from here to the quad keeping his bed warm since Chloe vacated the premises. They’ve started calling him Law School Lothario. I have no doubt you have a shot at getting his help, if ya know what I mean.” She winks and nudges Bethany with her elbow.

  I frown. Hearing about him sleeping around decreases my interest. “I’m not sure,” I say. “If he’s sexually active, this might be a bad decision.”

  Freya wrinkles her nose at me. “Is this about the herpes thing?”

  “Perhaps,” I concede.

  “You want your job back, right?” Freya asks.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “No buts. You need to live a little! It’s not going to kill you to have some fun,” Freya says.

  I mull over my options before saying, “Maybe I can ask him about his experiences instead and get firsthand accounts of what it’s like to undergo that sort of heartbreak and why that triggered the need to engage with multiple partners. Maybe it’s because he now feels emasculated and insecure about his manhood.”

  Ted snorts. “Having fun means doing more than interviewing man-sluts. You need to slut it up a little yourself, girlfriend. Look at you, you’re like a crazy cat lady and you’re only sixteen.”

  “I’m twenty,” I correct him.

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m not sure,” I say, even though what they are suggesting is exactly what has been running through my mind. “But I’ll consider it.”

  “Will you let us give you a makeover?” Ted asks excitedly.

  “No.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why do you always have to be so stereotypically gay?” Bethany groans.

  Ted gasps. “I am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “I like football,” he says, placing his hand on his hip. “That’s doesn’t fit into your stereotypes, you bitch.”

  “It’s true,” Freya says to me. “And he’s a Raiders fan if you can believe it.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about and the conversation dissolves into Ted and Bethany arguing over who is the bigger bitch, him or her.

  I think I’ve reached my capacity for social interaction for the day.

  “I have to go now,” I say and turn away to leave.

  “Wait!” Freya stops me with a hand to my arm. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll knock on Jensen’s door tomorrow and ask him if he’ll assist me.”

  What else would I do?

  Her expression turns horrified. “You can’t just proposition him out of nowhere like that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Well first of all, have you ever even talked to him?”

  My mind races through the past six months he’s lived in the duplex. I’d only seen him on a handful of occasions other than yesterday and usually avoided any type of interaction. “Once. The other day,” I admit.

  “Before you start your interrogation, maybe talk to him a little, get to know him a bit, and then ask for help.”

  “Okay.” That actually makes sense. The questions I will be asking are very personal, and it would be good to have him as comfortable as possible so there’s no risk of understating his answers. “Thank you.”

  I turn around again and walk away, but not before hearing Ted say, “She is so weird. I think I love her.”

  Chapter Five

  Small minds are concerned with the extraordinary, great minds with the ordinary.

  –Blaise Pascal