Some Kind of Magic

by Mary Ann Marlowe

  Maybe I shouldn’t be prying. Maybe I should find a way to ask Adam himself. But if the story was out there, it was out there. And I couldn’t contain my curiosity.

  I hit Refresh again and again until the link changed from “0 messages” to “1 messages” and opened it up.

  Hey,

  Yeah, I’m not really sure anybody knows. Adam’s fiercely private, but it may be about this one girl he dated in college. The timing adds up, but nobody really knows. It’s ancient history.

  The new song has a lot of fans asking, off the forum, if she’s back in his life. Or if the song’s about that singer he’s been dragging out. My money’s on the new girl.

  I wrote Total Disaster back to thank her, or him, for the information, no closer to understanding what had happened. The who of the situation didn’t interest me so much as the why. It didn’t surprise me one bit that the fans had figured out the new song was about me.

  Little did they know that “Expulsion” right at this moment could be sung about me as well. Ironically, Eden was cast out from the Garden of Adam.

  It hit me a second later. Did Total Disaster say Adam had gone to college? I’d always assumed he hadn’t, because Micah never did. We didn’t know anything about each other. Was our entire relationship based on a physical attraction that wasn’t even real?

  There were half a hundred things I wanted to ask him about. If I’d stayed with the tour, we would’ve had hours to do nothing but talk. Adam had once asked me to come to him first with any questions, and instead, I’d fled the scene. His open offer was likely forever closed now.

  He’d be asleep, but I started to text him anyway. I typed out, “Thinking of you.” It wasn’t at all what I wanted to say to him, but how could I say everything I wanted to say to him?

  I deleted the message and laid my head down. Nothing could fix this mess. Adam believed I was the worst kind of opportunist, winning him over through nothing more than a chemical reaction. Words weren’t going to win him back. It had always been only a matter of time before this came to a crashing end. And I deserved it. I deserved to lose him. It was going to hurt for a very long time.

  Chapter 19

  On Tuesday morning, I’d been standing on a bridge in Hamburg with Adam, talking about our future. On Tuesday night, I’d been singing with him in front of twelve thousand people. On Wednesday, I was on a flight home from Copenhagen in disgrace. And on Thursday, I sat in the parking lot at Anubis Labs, a regular nine-to-five employee, seeking motivation to drag my ass into work.

  Nobody was expecting me to come straight back since I’d asked for vacation. But I didn’t see any reason to burn my days off twiddling my thumbs at home. Ten minutes after I sat at my desk, Keith stuck his head into the lab.

  “Good morning, Eden. Welcome back.”

  I nodded, waiting for him to clarify why he’d stopped in.

  “Could you come with me?”

  With a growing sense of trepidation, I followed him into the corridor. As we walked, he made pleasant small talk with me about some place in Italy he’d visited once. But as soon as we were in his office, he closed the door and gestured toward an orange plastic chair.

  He sat at his desk with his fingers steepled. “So we have a problem.”

  I waited for him to continue.

  “Yeah. We need to talk about the media.”

  Ice water flooded my veins. They couldn’t think I talked to reporters. “That wasn’t me. I’ve never even discussed this research with my family.”

  “Oh, I know that.”

  “Then, what?”

  “Remember our talk about the importance of keeping a low profile. We’re very sensitive to the press. Not just on this project, but others. And whether you intended it or not, you’ve brought international attention to our company. Negative attention.”

  I looked at my hands. “I’m sorry, Keith. I—”

  “Eden. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we’re not going to be able to retain you.” He crossed his hands together on the desk and leaned forward. “Listen. You’ve been with us for six years, and we know you’ve provided value. We’re prepared to offer you a generous severance package for up to three months of your salary.”

  “You’re firing me?” Why didn’t this upset me more? I squared my shoulders. “I understand. And that’s very generous of you. I hope I can count on you for a positive reference when I find a new position.”

  “Of course, Eden. We’re going to miss you.”

  No, they wouldn’t.

  On my way to collect my things, I took a detour through the boner wing and caught Thanh at his laptop. He shoved plastic safety glasses way up on his head. The indentation gave him the look of a professional skier. “Eden. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to tell you I was sorry for causing any trouble with your product.”

  He smiled. “Oh, you didn’t. I mean, you did, but it was indirect.”

  “Thanks for everything. I always enjoyed working with you.” I took a step to leave.

  “Hey, wait a second.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a metal case. He handed it to me. “You said you liked how this perfume smelled, right?”

  I opened the case to find a dozen or so vials of the gold liquid. I slammed the lid shut and held it out to him. “This stuff’s already caused me too much trouble, Thanh.”

  “Oh, well. It’s completely useless to me.” He shook his head, eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Completely worthless. Can you believe it?”

  “How is that possible?”

  He sat down. “It’s strange. The injectable form of this same chemical showed positive results both in the lab tests and in some of our further research. But who would want to inject a chemical intended to make you more receptive to another person’s pheromones? We considered an ingestible form, but you can’t just go around slipping a pill into someone’s drink. We’d hoped that we could translate the effects to a topical product. But apart from some anecdotal results, we can’t draw any conclusive proof that it’s anything more than a lovely perfume.”

  “It’s just perfume?”

  “Just perfume.”

  The ramifications of this revelation sank in. “Then how . . .” I stopped.

  “Oh, right. You went and got involved with some guy.” He nudged my shoulder. “What do they say? Even a blind squirrel finds a nut. But yeah, I don’t think this stuff gave you much of an edge there. You know, you’re not completely unattractive.”

  My face grew warm, thinking of the uncontrollable sex I’d had with Adam that first night. “It was real?”

  “Real?” He scratched his chin. “I don’t know what that word means. But if you’re asking whether you landed a guy through some kind of magic, relax. This stuff apparently works about as well as toothpaste.”

  I hugged Thanh good-bye and walked out of the lab without a job. I waited for the expected sadness to hit me, but the knowledge that the chemistry with Adam had been based on our natural attraction elated me. I had to refrain from punching the sky, freeze-frame style. I could almost hear the Simple Minds sound track playing as I crossed the parking lot.

  Driving home, I let my mind race with the information I’d learned. I didn’t worry about myself. I could find another job, and honestly, the thought of analyzing blood samples in that building for another year did not fill me with excitement.

  I’d managed to save up a small fortune working there. And with three months’ salary, I could find a better job. My rent was my biggest expense, but my car was paid off. I still paid student loans every month, but a large amount of my paycheck went into savings intended to fund grad school. Savings I never touched. I mentally calculated how much money I’d squirreled away.

  It should be enough to sustain me while I hunted for another job. But that was the last thing on my mind. My only concern in the world was how I could let Adam know his feelings for me had been free of chemical seduction. How could I tell him that I hadn’t trapped him? He might not care. H
e might still accuse me of having sinister intentions. But at least one thing was clear: Adam’s attraction to me had been one hundred percent genuine. If only I could convince him of the reverse.

  I pulled into a parking space at my apartment and sent him a text. Just spoke to the researchers at the lab. The perfume doesn’t work. It never did anything.

  After five minutes, he hadn’t responded, so I went into my apartment and paced around, waiting. I located his number, hit Dial, and listened to the phone ring. No answer.

  Desperate to get word to Adam, I sent Micah a text. You there?

  I figured it was afternoon wherever he was. Berlin maybe? No, that would be later. Oslo? Either way, they should be awake by now.

  A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with Micah’s response. Yes.

  Hey, how’s the tour going?

  Do you mean to ask me how is Adam? He knew me too well.

  Maybe.

  He’s putting on shows. Seems to be doing okay. Hasn’t said anything to me about you. That stung.

  I sat down on the sofa to think of what to ask. Is he around? Could you tell him something for me?

  Sure.

  Tell him the perfume never worked.

  Will he know what that means?

  I think so. Can you go tell him?

  Okay. I have to go find him.

  I went outside and sat on a bench in the apartment complex community lawn. I stared at my phone, hoping against reason that the next text I’d get would be from Adam. But it wasn’t.

  He said it doesn’t matter. It never mattered.

  What does that mean?

  I don’t know. I thought you would.

  Okay. Thanks.

  The words made no sense to me. It didn’t matter. Why not? Because it was too late? Because I broke his trust in me when I lied to him in the first place? It never mattered? What never mattered? Everything? Us?

  I threw my head back and stared at the blue sky for an answer. The clouds floated past innocent and cheerful. They were the same clouds I’d watched float past when I’d lie on the driveway, listening to my brother in the garage practicing the chords to another metal song. Until he’d say, “Come stand over here, Eden. I need an audience to chant my name.” And I’d shake myself out of my reverie and become my brother’s biggest fan.

  I was so proud of him now, out on tour with a huge rock band, performing before huge audiences who would know his name soon enough. Good for him.

  The stab of jealousy hit me unexpectedly. I inhaled and let the breath out slowly. I wasn’t jealous of his career path. I was jealous that he could walk over to Adam and pass along a message. He could hear Adam’s voice when he responded. I was jealous of his proximity to everything I wanted.

  The blue sky was pissing me off. I needed to go inside and start searching for a job. I needed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

  Monster.com listed five openings in the Central Jersey area for lab technicians. I threw Brooklyn into the search location, lying to myself that I only wanted to broaden my opportunities, not to find work closer to Adam.

  Would I ever be able to get close to him again or would there forevermore be bodyguards directing me to stand in line with the other gawking fan girls? I didn’t even know how often he stayed in Brooklyn. For all I knew, he had a house in LA for the months he wasn’t on tour. I couldn’t plan my life around the location of an apartment where a guy I’d barely dated might or might not live.

  I e-mailed my resume to the New Jersey companies even though it was really time to take the next step and start sending out grad-school applications. But I no longer felt remotely enthusiastic about that prospect anymore. My entire future lay out before me, and it looked like someone else’s.

  * * *

  My mom cajoled me into coming over for her “Ring in November” faux New Year’s Eve party. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and used the party as a chance to spend some time with Stacy. In retrospect, I should’ve spared the birds and thrown the stone at myself.

  Mom eagerly led us toward the kitchen, where Duncan Lewis, the alcoholic surgeon, leaned against the kitchen island. He wore completely acceptable beige Dockers and a safe, plain navy sweater. He had to be at least forty.

  I stayed on the other side of the divide, feigning interest in the variety of chips my mom had laid out. I poured myself a strawberry soda out of a champagne bottle into a clear plastic flute, and we made awkward small talk, but I must’ve glanced at the clock on the soffit about two hundred times. It wouldn’t be midnight for another eight hours. It wouldn’t be New Year’s Eve for as many weeks.

  Duncan used to be good-looking. He had that kind of leftover leathery skin from too much golf sun. He’d had a great life, before—a nice house in Metuchen, a lovely wife. Or so we’d pieced together from conversations my mom had had with him. After the divorce, he’d lost a fortune. But he didn’t stop drinking until the accident.

  My mom asked him if she could get him anything. She fluttered around the kitchen, straightening things that didn’t need straightening and throwing out topics that might spark a deeper conversation between us. “There’s a possibility of rain in the forecast.”

  Finally, she moved out of the kitchen to check on my dad, and Duncan quipped, “I hear your company made a product to help horny ladies get laid. Did you really drug that guy?”

  I pinched Stacy’s hand. Hard.

  Stacy sipped her soda and casually asked, “How’s that malpractice suit going, Duncan?”

  Mom must’ve had some kind of sixth sense, because she was in the kitchen in a heartbeat, saying, “Eden, Dr. Lewis just came back from Europe. Where all did you go, Duncan?” Her voice oozed sycophantic wonder. It was like she was starstruck. By Duncan.

  He rounded his lips, preparing to regale us with whichever destination he’d recently visited, but I cut him off. “Mom, I just got back from Europe.”

  She flapped her hand dismissively. “She spent a week in a bus.”

  “I got to perform at a couple of huge arenas, Mom. It was really exciting.”

  Duncan piped in. “I used to play music.”

  Mom batted her eyes. “Did you?”

  Oh, good lord. Was she trying to catch these guys for me or for herself?

  She threw a pointed glance my way and then told Duncan, “Eden’s broken up with that rock star you may have read about in the news.” She sighed and smiled at him in a shared bullet-dodged sort of way.

  “Mom, we didn’t break up.” Not exactly. “In fact, we’re going to get married and have little rock musician babies. We’re going to live in a grungy cockroach-infested apartment in Brooklyn and spend all our time touring small venues across America together.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Eden, you’re not funny.”

  “Seriously, Mom. Stop interfering.”

  “Eden.” She flashed a look at Duncan. “She’s only joking. She’s always had a strange sense of humor. Did you know Eden works in a medical research lab. Isn’t that interesting?”

  I nearly choked on my corn chip. She chose an impeccable time to exhibit pride in my place of employment for the first time ever.

  Dad entered the kitchen. “What’s going on?” He meant well but picked the wrong time to ask.

  “Merm.” I swallowed the food down and took a swig of the mercilessly nonalcoholic champagne. “I’ve been terminated.”

  “What? Eden! Why didn’t you tell us? When?”

  “Thursday.”

  Dad sat on a stool beside me. “What happened, Pumpkin?”

  My mom pointed a finger at me. “I knew something like this would happen. We’ve seen the gossip pages, Eden. Do you think Elsie Lockwood could refrain from asking about it?”

  I drained my sparkling soda and crushed the plastic flute. “Could you give me a break, Mom? You shouldn’t be reading the tabloids.”

  Mom snapped, “How else can I find out what’s going on with you?” She turned to face Duncan, saying, “She’s usually
not like this,” but he’d cleared out at about the same time I’d started losing my shit. She narrowed her eyes. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get him here? Well, consider that bridge burned.”

  I crossed my arms. Somewhere between 4:06 and 4:09, I’d turned into a twelve-year-old.

  “Oh, my God, Mom. Stop trying to force these poor guys on me. They are not interested. I am not interested.” I was done with it all. I bit back all the words jumbling in my head and settled on the one thing that felt like truth. “You’ve got to stop trying to plan my life out. You’ve got to stop trying to fix everything. Mom, you can’t live vicariously through me.”

  Stacy’s jaw dropped, and my dad scowled.

  My mom looked very disappointed in me. “Oh, Eden. That isn’t funny.”

  “Mom, I wish I was even kidding. You think you know what I want out of life, but you don’t. You and I don’t want the same things.” I pulled over a stool and sat, pleading. “You can’t protect me forever. I could do everything right. I could get the right job, meet that mythical perfect doctor, buy a house in the suburbs, and find complete stability. And still be unhappy.”

  Dad shifted to face me. “Do you have any leads on your next job?”

  I knew he meant well, but he couldn’t hear me. Irritated, I gave him a smart-ass answer.

  “Nope. And as a matter of fact, I’m not looking for another job. I’ll play music on the streets for twenty bucks a day and live with Micah until I can produce a CD that will languish on a merch table in the back of a club while I play music to small crowds. And I’ll finally be happy.” That would get their goats. What was good enough for Micah would never be good enough for me.

  My mom blanched. “Oh, Eden. You’re not twenty any longer. You can’t spend the next five years hanging around bars. You’ll never get married.”

  Even though I’d fully expected that, her response fueled my annoyance. “Mom, chances are that wasn’t going to happen anyway. I think I’ll be happier doing something I love.”

  “Until you run out of money.”