He said he didn’t remember. And, smiling, he moved away. Sean and I sat down at the table and Aslan returned with a banana, which he ate absentmindedly, entranced by a cobweb dangling from the chair. Every minute or so he would nod in agreement with some invisible power. Sean quickly excused himself to go to the bathroom. I cornered him outside the stall and screeched, “What the hell’s up with that kid? He won’t even talk to me.”

“Lower your voice,” whispered Sean. “Dude, Aslan has serious spirit guides in the form of prairie animals. He was probably just busy talking to them. Don’t take offense. It’s his first time on a movie set. What do you want from him?”

I just wanted to hold him. But I don’t know what it was I wanted to hold, since it was only the second time I’d met him and there was nothing about him within my grasp: clouds in the shape of Ireland, premonitions about the deaths of celebrities, the bass line from a Rolling Stones B-side. Aslan existed in too many forms for the room. At least Sebastian Chase, who did not exist at all, had created a body of taut, contoured muscle for me to cling to. If I could just fuck Aslan, if I could feel him inside me, I might know why I was so touched by him. I might know that he had some semblance of a notion that he was touching me too. And that maybe, just maybe, I was touching him.

Weaving back from the bathroom, my cheeks flushed pink with determination, I sat beside him at the table. By now, we were the only ones in the cafeteria. Sean, sensing that keeping us apart for so long had maybe not been so smart after all, had strategically closed it off and shut the doors, so that we could get to know each other. I had no idea if he could act, but Aslan’s energy was so intense; it prickled and boiled, ruffling my hair and confidence. I waited and waited for him to acknowledge me, sitting so close to him that, if I hadn’t just lost five pounds, our thighs would be touching. But he stared stoically ahead.

“Do you hate me?”

He shook his head and smiled.

“Do you like me?”

He nodded.

Then we both stared straight ahead. Finally, I turned to him and heard myself ask, “Please, will you touch my hand.” He turned to face me for the first time, as if I had said something so shocking he had to make sure I was for real. Very slowly, as if licking a potentially dangerous berry, he traced a finger across my palm. Satisfied that it was not going to kill him, he placed his hand full on mine; no fingers intertwined, it just hovered, like a Japanese train, never touching the tracks, riding on electrical energy.