To close the session, the group joined hands and chanted a series of long “oms” with their eyes shut. After a few minutes Zoe could no longer hear where her voice ended and the others’ began; she could feel all the human noise in the room humming in her own throat. Maybe, she thought, this was what an orgasm with another person felt like, not knowing where they end and you begin.
The truth was she had never had one—not with anyone, not even with herself. Maybe she was a late bloomer, but she had never tried when she was young. She lost her virginity before she had really gotten to know her own body. She had tried to touch herself a few times after the seizure incident, but she had mostly felt uncomfortable and numb down there, so she had quickly given up. Sex since had been about validation and power for her, rarely physical pleasure. She felt no closer to having an orgasm with a man inside her than she did riding the subway. Her body, she had decided, was defective. She couldn’t even drink alcohol like a normal person, let alone come like one. All her body knew how to do well was betray her.
The chanting grew quieter until they were silent. Kyle struck a single gong, and the people either side of her released her hands. When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to find herself blinking back tears. She tried to make her way quickly toward the bathroom, but Kyle intercepted her.
“I’m so glad you came tonight, Zoe,” he said. “I get the sense you might still be a little confused about what we do here, so I was wondering if I could tell you a quick story?” Zoe nodded unwillingly. “Great! One day, out of the blue, a guy falls into a deep hole. ‘Help, help!’ he yells, but no one comes. Eventually a rabbi walks by. He lowers a Torah down and tells him to pray to find a way out.”
Zoe looked toward Tali in the hopes that she would help her find a way out, but she was talking animatedly with a woman Zoe had earlier heard claim to have given birth in silence.
“Next, a priest walks past and gives him a Bible. Again, no result. A psychiatrist tells him he’s stuck because he’s depressed and throws down some pills. No dice. A nihilist tells him to imagine the hole doesn’t exist, but that doesn’t work either. A politician, an intellectual, and a bunch of others try, but nothing works. Then a spiritualist, a wise man really, comes to the edge of the hole. He looks down at the man at the bottom and jumps right in with him. And that’s what this meditation is about, Zoe—someone getting in the hole with you.”
Kyle smiled expectantly at her.
“But how do they get out of the hole?” asked Zoe.
“Exactly,” said Kyle.
“But there are two people stuck in the hole now,” said Zoe.
Kyle squeezed her arm
“Hope to see you next week,” he said before walking away.
Zoe looked toward the door just as Portia was leaving. She caught Zoe’s eye, slapped her ass, and mouthed something at her. It was money, honey.
Buoyed by the conversation with Portia and unable to bear the idea of a Friday night in which the highlight was hearing about Kyle’s polyamory, Zoe left Tali and found herself walking north toward the bar her friends had texted about, just for the company, she told herself; she wouldn’t spend any money.
It was one of those late-summer nights where the air felt like bathwater and the potential for sex was everywhere. Zoe had rubbed herself with an expensive moisturizer before leaving the house, and the perfume of it rose off her skin as she walked. She took off the plaid shirt she’d been wearing and tied it around her waist. Now, she was as close to naked as she could reasonably be, in a white minidress so tight you could practically see her heartbeat. She’d borrowed it from the Christopher Street boutique, of course, delighting in how it set off the tan she’s been perfecting all summer. A busboy clearing tables outside a seafood restaurant actually set down his plates so he could watch her walk by unencumbered. She popped in her headphones and added a little bounce to her step as she passed. God, she loved the last days of summer in the city.
Zoe arrived at the packed place on Avenue B and flashed her fake ID at the doorman with a familiar flurry of nerves. He was a big thick-necked white guy, his bald head dotted with beads of perspiration.
“Hold on, let me take a look at that.”
He grabbed the ID card and flicked his eyes up and down her, lingering for a moment on the swell of her chest.
“So you’re from Delaware?” he asked. “Which part?”
Zoe’s mind went blank. She had never been to Delaware. She’d bought the ID for forty bucks from the cousin of some guy in her freshman dorm. She pushed back her shoulders and smiled her brightest smile. “The windy part?”
He held her gaze, then exploded into laughter.
“All right,” he said. “You can go in.”
He pinched her waist as she passed. “Come back out and see me, will you?” he murmured.
She smiled at him again, this time less brightly. She loved the attention, but she knew it was a tightrope walk.
Inside, there was no sign of her friends. She pushed her way through the crowd to the back of the bar. A piece of paper taped to the bathroom doors read GUYS, DO YOUR DRUGS OUTSIDE. SOME PEOPLE ACTUALLY NEED TO PEE. No one seemed to have taken much notice, however, and the usual carousel of giggling groups of girls and twitchy guys tumbled in and out. She took a place in line and checked her phone. At least it was something to do, since she couldn’t afford to buy drinks.
The bathroom door swung open again, and out tripped Cleo with her Asian friend, who Zoe had met at the wedding, though she could not remember her name. She had a terrible memory, which for an actor was a problem. She knew it was because of her seizures. Cleo’s friend was wearing tiny denim shorts that showed off her tattooed legs, and instinctively, Zoe looked down at her own to see whose were skinnier.
“Baby Zoe!” cried Cleo and flung her warm arms around her neck. “What are you doing here? You know Audrey, right?”
“It’s hot as fuck in here,” said Audrey, ignoring the introduction. She mimed smoking a cigarette and pointed to the door. Cleo crinkled her eyes at Zoe and squeezed her elbow.
“Come with us?” she asked.
Zoe knew Cleo was trying to be kind, but her continual attempts at friendship irritated her. It was easy to be generous when you had someone paying for everything. With no friends in sight, however, Zoe didn’t exactly have another option.
“I’m leaving soon anyway,” she mumbled, following them out.
Outside offered little relief from the heat. Cleo removed a wooden fan from her purse and lifted up her long hair to cool the back of her neck with it. She handed it to Zoe to try, then produced a pack of cigarettes. Zoe carefully avoided the hungry stare of the door guy as she fanned herself. Cleo passed Audrey a cigarette, then pursed one between her lips.
“Can I have one?” Zoe asked.
Cleo raised her eyebrow. “Frank would kill me.”
“I won’t tell,” said Zoe. “Swear.”
Cleo relented and offered her the pack.
“They’re so skinny,” Zoe said, lighting one with feigned casualness. She was not really a smoker; she just hated to be left out.
“Cleo’s too chic to smoke anything but slims,” said Audrey.
“Chic as can be,” deadpanned Cleo. “That’s me.”