The Sexpert

by JA Huss

  OK.

  Here’s what happened:

  I had been living in California, the Bay Area. I went to grad school at Berkeley. Art history. I was pretty convinced that I wanted to get a PhD and maybe one day curate a museum, or teach or... y’know, the two things you can do with a PhD in art history. But, I dunno if it’s the hippie vibe that still kind of exists in Northern California, or if it’s just the way things went, but I started getting more and more into sort of avant-garde stuff.

  Like, I met this group of guys who were really into peyote, and I started hanging out with them, and we’d go out into the desert and spend the weekend rock climbing, and talking about crazy ideas for these out-there art installations. I tried the peyote once and it didn’t take—I just got really freaked out and hid in a cave for a couple days—but the experience of being out there with these free-thinking, super-creative dudes wound up being inspiring enough for me.

  One of the ideas we came up with was something we called AVATAR. Which stands for Audio Visual Assisted Talk and Robotics. Which isn’t even exactly accurate to what it was we wanted to make, but the acronym was too cool, so we ran with it. In a nutshell, what we wanted to do was build this massive, epic art installation that would be, like, the size of a small city and would be inhabited by these, like, highly sophisticated robots, but doing insanely mundane shit.

  We were trying to make a commentary on the progression of innovation in the twenty-first century against a backdrop of commonality that unifies all people across all cultures and all times. Or something. I dunno. There’s probably a reason it didn’t work.

  But in order to even attempt to pull it off, we had to draw in help from some of the students in the Berkeley Robotics and Intelligent Machines Lab. And that was where I met my ex-fiancée.

  Now, I don’t like to brag, but I’m pretty charming. Maybe it’s just the Southern boy in me, but I can almost always charm my way into or out of any situation. With anyone. Always been like that.

  Not with her.

  Alice was the first person I met in my life who could give a fuck about how clever or charming I was. The robots that she built were easier to make laugh than she was.

  And we were together for almost three years. We never really had much fun. She was cold. She really was. The sex was never even that great. I don’t know why we stayed together. And then one day she turned to me and said, “You wanna get married?”

  Honestly, it took me so off guard that I think that’s why I said yes. I have no other logical explanation for why I would have done such a thing. But I did. And then we started planning a wedding. Which was ridiculous.

  And this whole time, I’m still working on AVATAR. The other guys had sort of fallen off. A couple of them graduated and moved onto other stuff, one got busted for drug trafficking, and I’m not sure what happened to Todd. Anyway.

  But I still believed in it. I did. The more I dug in, the more I thought it could be special and say something really important. She who shall not be named hated it. She’s very, very, very practical. Methodical. Pragmatic. She doesn’t have a lot of patience for “art.” If she can’t see the end game, she won’t do it. I mean... she’s a scientist.

  And what I came to realize is that the end game for her with me was... stability. Or so she thought. On paper, I suppose I’m the kind of guy she imagined would be a good husband. I’m not totally stupid. I have pretty good genes when it comes to physical attributes that most people see as important. And I don’t need a lot from other people to feel all right most of the time.

  But the one thing she hated is that I’m an artist. I mean, I can’t help it. It’s just what gets my motor going. But she hated it. She wanted me to take all the work and research I’d done with AVATAR and “apply it to something useful.”

  And one day, after having a conversation-less breakfast, she looked at me and said, “I’ve been fucking someone else.” Just like that. Cold. Impersonal. Robotic.

  And I have to be very honest with myself about something: I didn’t care that she was. I really didn’t. Frankly, I was relieved that it gave us an excuse to break up. Because I don’t have a lot of quit in me. I will stick with something until the bitter end. Whether it makes sense or not. Character flaw.

  What bothered me is that she lied. And not just lied about cheating, lied about who she was. If that makes sense. She presented herself as one thing to me and the world, but somehow, underneath that, it turns out she did have blood and passion and feelings.

  Just not with me.

  I can take a lot in this life, but betrayal I’m not great with. Hell, when I felt I had betrayed Pierce in college—even though it was a total accident—it caused me to make some fundamental, core changes to my life that I stand by to this day. So, yeah, I take that shit seriously.

  Anyhoo... Three days after our fateful breakfast, Alice moved out.

  After that, I just worked on my project all the time. I got possessed. It was like a fever. And in the course of playing with some software that I didn’t really know how to use, I accidentally stumbled onto what became Voice Lift.

  The rest of the story is pretty boring and covers way more patent law than I ever thought I would learn, but being that close to Palo Alto at the time, it wasn’t hard to find people who could take my little discovery and turn it into a billion-dollar company.

  Ironically, it turns out that my art and my experimentation is what led directly to the success I’m having now. Also, it turns out that what I really love is making stuff. Figuring stuff out. Solving problems. Solving puzzles. So the company is kind of a perfect fit. It allows me to scratch my artistic itch while still doing something new and cool every day. And lately I’ve been thinking about how far I’ve come in this crazy journey and how...yeah...it might be cool to share it with someone. I’m not worried about falling to my death alone, as Pierce said (although belaying with someone else is almost as much fun as “laying” with someone else. I just made that up), but it just would be fun to, I dunno, share the adventure with someone, I suppose.

  And the thing that’s making me think about all this now is how one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees different this girl, Eden, is from all the other women I’ve known in my adult life. It’s really that simple. She seems like the kind of girl who’d be up for...adventure.

  I also happen to be thinking this while watching Eden’s ass twitch in her skirt as she nibbles on the pen she’s holding, sniffing and rubbing the back of her hand across her runny nose, which is probably all stuffed up from the air-conditioned coolness in here compared to the torrid heat outside.

  She’s a goddamn dirty trick.

  “Yes, it’s the same parking spot always,” says Cheryl, fatigue setting into her once-chipper voice, the energy she had not so very long ago starting to fade.

  “Hey, gang! Let’s see the digs, shall we?” I bellow out. It’s almost like I startled them both out of a deep sleep, the way they jump.

  “I just have one more question,” says Eden, but I grab her by the wrist and pull her along before she can ask it.

  She looks shocked for a second that I would seize her like that, but I just smile and say, “Sorry, pumpkin, but see this five o’clock shadow?” She nods, still looking surprised. “Yeah... I didn’t have that when you started talking. Let’s go.”

  “Is this the pool?” Eden asks, as we are standing at the edge of what is very clearly a pool on the ground floor, just beyond the leasing office.

  “Um... Yes,” Cheryl says.

  “Good eye,” I lean in and whisper.

  Eden ignores me and says, “Oh, that’s nice. I think my apartment is right up there, so I’ll be close.” I feel like I can sense a hint of pride in her voice.

  Cheryl glances at her file again, “Yes, yes, your unit is right by the elevator that comes here to the pool.”

  That causes Eden to gnaw at her lip. “Elevator to... Hm. Does it get very crowded? The pool, I mean?”

  “Well, sure. It can. When it’s hot
out like this,” Cheryl offers.

  “Hm. How crowded?” Eden asks, nervously.

  “Yeah, how crowded?” I ask too. I don’t really care all that much. I’m just trying to make it appear like I’m interested in the crap Cheryl’s telling us about the building and not just in hanging around Eden. Which, despite all my instincts telling me not to... I am.

  “Oh, well, you don’t really have to worry about that,” Cheryl tells me.

  “I don’t?” I ask. She shakes her head at me. “Why don’t I?”

  She gets a smirk and says, “You haven’t seen your unit yet?”

  “Uh, no. Somebody from the company set it all up. I just got into town. I’ve barely even been to the office yet. Spent a couple days bouldering in Moab and drove straight here at three this morning.”

  “How rustic,” Cheryl says. I can’t tell if “rustic” means “charming” or “disgusting” to her. “Well, come along and let me show you.”

  She ostrich-galumphs toward the elevator she was just referencing, and I follow. Eden doesn’t. I turn back. “Are you coming?”

  “What? Where? To see your apartment? Why do I wanna see your apartment?”

  I shrug. “Dunno. Cheryl’s making it sound very mysterious. You’re not curious?”

  “Not really.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really. Not really.”

  I walk over to her now, because... because I want her to not be mad at me for whatever thing it is that she’s decided to be mad at me about. “Hey, listen. I don’t know if it’s really because I took your charger, but whatever I’ve done to rub you the wrong way... I’m sorry. OK? Really. I am. Do you wanna grab dinner with me tonight?”

  What did I just say?

  “What did you just say?”

  “Um... It would appear that I asked if you want to... grab dinner with me tonight.” What am I doing right now?

  “I thought you were having dinner with Pierce. He told Myrtle to make a reservation.”

  “Yeah, and he said someplace not shitty. What? You don’t wanna have dinner with me and your boss at someplace not shitty? Not-shitty dinners are usually the best kind.”

  She pushes her glasses up her nose again and eyes me. “What’s your deal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know who you are. Myrtle told me.”

  “Oh. Did she?”

  “Yeah. So, I mean, what’s your deal? You drive a crappy pickup, you steal chargers—”

  “Borrow.”

  “Fine. Borrow chargers from strange women in traffic—”

  “You are strange. That’s true.”

  “You’re renting an apartment instead of, I dunno, buying a ranch or whatever you could do, and for some reason you’re hitting on me now. What’s your deal?”

  What is my deal? It’s a reasonable question.

  My deal? My deal, Eden, is that I’ve bided my time and re-centered myself in search of what I need in my life. And now that I feel like I’m close, I’m ready to get back into the business of sharing that with someone. And even though we’ve only known each other for about twenty minutes, I think you’re fascinating and cute and funny and I’m sort of imagining what you’d look like spread out horizontally. So how about we go check out my place and maybe, if you’re up for it, we do a little something my granddaddy used to call the “belly-bumping bed boogie...?”

  “Yeah. I dunno. Shall we?”

  I stare at her and gesture with my hand in the direction Cheryl just went. Eden stares back at me for another second, rubs her runny nose with the back of her hand once again, and then, finally, she walks past me toward the elevator.

  Shit, man. What is my deal?

  CHAPTER SEVEN - EDEN

  Am I hallucinating? Did I slip into an alternate reality after hearing those guys on that ridiculous morning show talk about the Sexpert? Because my life has suddenly turned into… not my life.

  But I’m on autopilot right now as I follow Cheryl into the elevator. Andrew slips in next to me just as Cheryl presses the button for the penthouse, and I’m just about to make a run for it and get out of this hallucination when the elevators door close and force me to see it through.

  Why? Why the hell did I agree to go see his apartment?

  Well, I am a teeny-tiny bit curious at what a guy like him rents in this building, so I just fake-smile the whole ride up as Cheryl talks about the summer concert series down in the Towne Centre and how the TDH is sponsoring a rodeo this weekend.

  “Rodeo?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of that and I’ve worked here for two years.” Personally, I think Cheryl has the hots for Andrew and she’s hinting around that he might like to take her to these events.

  “It’s new this year,” Cheryl explains. “Le Man opened up the new event center last fall and there was a lot of controversy about land use and protests about stewardship from the local ranchers before it was built. So Le Man said they’d sponsor one of the local rodeos and bill it as a main event.” Then she turns to Andrew. “It’s going to be great fun. You should go.”

  I roll my eyes and realize Andrew is watching me, not looking at Cheryl or paying any attention to her obvious flirting.

  “Are you going to the rodeo, Eden?” he asks.

  Which makes me snort, it’s that funny. To me, anyway. No one else laughs. “No,” I say, serious again. “I’m deathly afraid of bulls.”

  “Really?” he asks, his eyebrows high up on his forehead like this is the most surprising thing he’s heard today. “Why? Did you have a bad encounter with one as a child?”

  I can’t tell if he’s joking because my fear of bulls is weird, or if he’s really asking, but I don’t have to worry about it, because the elevator doors open and Cheryl sings, “Here we are!”

  Cheryl exits and Andrew waves a hand at me that says, After you, so I follow her out and stand in front of the massive, polished, hardwood double doors that have a little bronze plaque off to the side that says, Penthouse.

  As if we didn’t already figure that out.

  “We can have your name engraved on that, Andrew,” Cheryl says, pointing to the plaque. “Just tell me what you’d like it to say.” She beams a smile at him and when I look over my shoulder at Andrew again, he’s looking at me, not her.

  “What?” I snap. “Why are you staring at me?”

  It’s like he knows. Like he’s got some sixth sense that I am the target Pierce aimed him at. Like he’s putting two and two together and any minute now he’s gonna realize—

  “Sorry,” he says, eyes averting to Cheryl. “They’re just eyeballs. Everybody calm down.”

  “Let’s get inside,” Cheryl says. “There’s a lot to go over.”

  Cheryl passes a key card over the security panel and it flashes green as the locking mechanism disengages. Then she opens the double doors with one of those ta-da gestures with arms outstretched. Like she’s a game-show girl presenting a brand-new car.

  “Here we are! Notice the floor-to-ceiling windows highlighting the views. Come with me and I’ll point out all the landmarks for you.”

  She hooks her hand into the crook of Andrew’s arm and practically drags him over to the windows. He’s looking over his shoulder at me. I’m still standing outside the apartment. He says, “Come on. She’s gonna show us the views.”

  I consider turning around and leaving before I get caught in some trap I can’t get out of, but… the views. They’re like the ones from the fiftieth floor of the TDH building and I’m drawn to them.

  So I push my glasses up my nose, sniffle from the overabundance of air conditioning, and walk forward with them.

  His place, like mine, comes furnished. But this building is ultra-modern, so it has a sparse feeling to it. The couches and chairs are all a little bit retro-feeling. Those crisp geometric edges and skinny tapering peg legs. And they are brightly colored, but tasteful at the same time. Light blue and muted yellow.

  “See, that’s Pikes Peak,” Cheryl says, drawin
g my attention away from the design. “The tallest mountain in Colorado.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say.

  “Yes,” Cheryl insists. “That is Pikes Peak.”

  I look at Andrew, sick of Cheryl’s blatant flirting. “No. I mean Mount Elbert is the tallest mountain. Pikes Peak is the most famous, that’s all. It’s only fourteen thousand one hundred and fifteen feet. Mount Elbert is fourteen thousand four hundred forty feet.” And then I snort again, and say, “Pikes Peak isn’t even the second highest mountain in Colorado.”

  “Well—” Cheryl starts to say, but I continue.

  “It’s the twentieth.”

  Andrew laughs. Cheryl looks annoyed.

  “You into mountains?” he asks.

  “Not particularly. But I grew up here. We had to memorize all the Fourteeners in sixth grade because that’s useful information every kid should know.” And then I almost snort again but catch myself just in time. “Didn’t you have to do that? Cheryl?” I look at her expectantly.

  “I… I grew up in Nebraska.”

  I nod at her, smiling. My smile says, I thought so. Not that I thought she grew up in Nebraska. Just not here. I’m suddenly weirdly competitive with the Nebraska-born leasing agent. Which is... unexpected.

  “OK, well, there’s a lot more to see,” Cheryl says. “I’m sure no one here wants an impromptu lesson in the Colorado mountains.”

  “I do. I love mountains,” Andrew says. Which catches Cheryl off guard because she makes a face that totally says, What? “Really. What else can you teach me? Eden?”

  “I... Uh...” Was that innuendo?

  I look over at Cheryl, who, I think, is asking herself the very same question, because she says, “OK. So, that’s the tour. How about we go back down and sign your lease, Andrew? You didn’t sign yet.”