Pushing Upward by Andrea Adler

body as had been bestowed upon him, he was extremely insecure about his acting, and he had every reason to be.
    We’d met the first day of Walter Sheldon’s class. It was only seconds after I’d sat down that this cute guy in a white T-shirt, cutoffs, and a Yankees baseball cap took the seat next to me. By the time his thirty-five-second introduction was over, I knew his name, where he was from, the teachers he’d studied with, and that his wink—the one he made with his right eye—was a sign of affection and a prelude to an invitation to have coffee with him after class.
    Larry wasn’t very bright or well mannered. These flaws in his character assured me of how short-lived the relationship was going to be. Nevertheless, Larry did have other attributes that made getting involved romantically an easy decision. He had the greatest lips on the planet; thick, dark wavy hair; and an exceedingly hairy chest. To me, there’s nothing better than burrowing into a mound of hair when I’m depressed, or diving into a mass of hair when I’m horny. I once mentioned my hair fetish to Rachel. She told me I must have been a female ape in a past life, searching for my hairy male counterpart. She might have been right.
    Most of all, I loved the way Larry kissed. His plump tongue always knew just what to do inside my mouth; his succulent lips and long, expressive fingers knew just what to do everywhere else—a quality that more than made up for his acting deficiencies. Which is why, when Larry invited me to his apartment after class, I graciously accepted and looked forward to proceeding with … what he knew best.

    A joint was smoldering in the ashtray on the floor by the bed, burning its last embers. Our bodies were naked, snuggled beneath the covers. Giggling rippled out from under Larry’s sheets, and only if you were lying next to us or if your head was directly above ours could you have heard him whisper the words: “I was great, wasn’t I?”
    â€œIn class or in bed?” I replied.
    â€œVery funny, bush hair.”
    â€œYou were great in bed. Okay in class … why do you do that?”
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œLook out into the audience when you’re supposed to be in character. You break the fourth wall every time you look out. You lose the audience’s trust.”
    â€œI sucked, right?”
    â€œYou didn’t suck. There were a couple of lines where I really believed you. Like, when you described how the cops couldn’t catch up to you and the sirens were screaming, and how you jumped out of the Porsche and walked away, cool-like. You were really into it.”
    Larry lay there gloating, as if he’d just contributed something significant to a nation of needy people. I lay there next to him witnessing the swell of his unjustified ego, wondering how anyone could walk through life and remain so unconscious. As my conflicting thoughts about Larry drifted back and forth, I suddenly stepped into my own reality and stumbled upon an alarming idea that shot me bolt upright.
    â€œI’m moving in with a stranger on Saturday. What am I doing?”
    Larry took hold of my shoulder and pulled me down. It was his Italian Brooklyn accent that always ruined the ensuing moment or made me laugh out of context. “Why don’t you move in here? We got plenty a room.”
    â€œAre you serious? You’ve got two roommates and one bedroom. You don’t even have a dresser. Where would I put my clothes?”
    â€œWe could put ’em under the bed.”
    â€œYour mattress is on the floor.” I reached for the ashtray for one last toke, but the joint had burned out. “I’m just feeling paranoid.”
    â€œWhat if she’s schizophrenic? In the daytime, she’s warm and loving, but when the sun goes down, she becomes a gargoyle, and flies around your room in the middle of the night, nests on your head …”
    â€œI