Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides [184]
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Good. Now you.”
I leaned down and exhaled in her face.
“It’s fine,” she said, decisively. “Okay. Now we can go to the party.”
I’d never been to a party before. I felt for the parents. As we squeezed by the throngs in the throbbing house, I cringed at the destruction under way. Cigarette ashes were dropping on Pierre Deux upholstery. Beer cans were spilling onto heirloom carpets. In the den I saw two laughing boys urinating into a tennis trophy. It was mostly older kids. A few couples climbed the stairs, disappearing into bedrooms.
The Object was trying to act older herself. She was copying the superior, bored expressions of the high school girls. She crossed to the back porch ahead of me and got in the line for the keg.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m getting a beer. What do you think?”
It was fairly dark outside. As in most social situations, I let my hair fall into my face. I was standing behind the Object, looking like Cousin It, when someone put his hands over my eyes.
“Guess who?”
“Jerome.”
I pulled his hands off my face and turned around.
“How did you know it was me?”
“The curious smell.”
“Ouch,” said a voice behind Jerome. I looked over and received a shock. Standing with Jerome was Rex Reese, the guy who had driven Carol Henkel to her watery death. Rex Reese, our local Teddy Kennedy. He didn’t look particularly sober now, either. His dark hair covered his ears and he wore a piece of blue coral on a leather thong around his throat. I searched his face for signs of remorse or repentance. Rex wasn’t searching my face, however. He was eyeing the Object, his hair falling into his eyes above the curl of a smile.
Deftly, the two boys moved in between us, turning their backs to each other. I had a final glimpse of the Obscure Object. She had her hands in the back pockets of her corduroy skirt. This looked casual but had the effect of pushing out her chest. She was looking up at Rex and smiling.
“I start filming tomorrow,” Jerome said.
I looked blank.
“My movie. My vampire movie. You sure you don’t want to be in it?”
“We’re going on vacation this week.”
“That sucks,” said Jerome. “It’s going to be genius.”
We stood silent. After a moment I said, “Real geniuses never think they’re geniuses.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“Because why?”
“Because genius is nine-tenths perspiration. Haven’t you ever heard that? As soon as you think you’re a genius, you slack off. You think everything you do is so great and everything.”
“I just want to make scary movies,” Jerome replied. “With occasional nudity.”
“Just don’t try to be a genius and maybe you’ll end up being one by accident,” I said.
He was looking at me in a funny way, intense, but also grinning.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Looking at you like what?”
In the dark, Jerome’s resemblance to the Obscure Object was even more pronounced. The tawny eyebrows, the butterscotch complexion—here they were again, in permissible form.
“You’re a lot smarter than most of my sister’s friends.”
“You’re a lot smarter than most of my friends’ brothers.”
He leaned toward me. He was taller than I was. That was the big difference between him and his sister. It was enough to wake me from my trance. I turned away. I circled around him back to the Object. She was still staring up bright-faced at Rex.
“Come on,” I said. “We’ve got to go to that thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know. That thing.”
Finally I managed to pull her away. She left trailing smiles and significant looks. As soon as we got off the porch she was frowning at me.
“Where are you taking me?” she said angrily.
“Away from that creep.”
“Can’t you leave me alone for a minute?”
“You want me to leave you alone?” I said. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone.” I didn’t move.
“Can’t I even talk to a boy at a party?” the Object asked.
“I was taking you away before it was too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got bad breath.”
This checked the Object. This struck her to her core. She wilted. “I do?