When he first arrived at Alchemy House, Nathan Wang didn’t say much. He had a quiet charisma to his presence that granted him a certain degree of mystery. He undoubtedly had stories to tell, if only he’d open his mouth and tell them. His taste in fashion was undeniable. On his first day he had shown up wearing a Prada zip-up windbreaker and dark green Stone Island cargo pants. Adding to the intrigue of his persona was the fact that, despite his outwardly stylish manner of presenting himself, two of his bottom right teeth had been bashed in.
The first time I had heard him speak was when Robert, the house manager of Alchemy, asked him if he had any food preferences or dietary restrictions.
“I like Peruvian food,” he muttered. “Like ceviche.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ve ever served that,” Robert said, taken aback and slightly flustered. “The way we do things around here is that each person, as a chore, cooks for the house on a given day. Today Aidan is cooking, he usually makes ground beef and tacos. I more so was asking in case you had any food allergies.”
From the get go, Nathan didn’t heed much to Alchemy House’s modus operandi. Just an hour after getting to the house, a DoorDash delivery guy showed up with a large sushi order from Matsuhisa in Beverly Hills.
All the guys that were in the house had gathered around the dining room table when Aidan was done cooking, and Nathan joined us with an air of extreme reluctance as if there were a million better things he would prefer to do with his time but for now, this would have to do. His cooler-than-thou demeanor would likely have irked me if it were more contrived and didn’t appear authentically grounded. The truth of the matter is that Nathan, at first glance, had a certain je ne sais quoi that seemed to convey the fact that he was, indeed, cooler than all of us.
I was therefore a little surprised (dare I say, flattered) when he initiated dialogue with me.
“Nice Zegnas,” he said, pointing to the Italian suede sneakers I was wearing, which I had guilt-tripped my dad into spending a thousand dollars on last month at Neiman Marcus while he was visiting. “I got those same exact ones for KD.”
“Who’s KD?”
“Kevin Durant. You know, the NBA player,” he shamelessly name-dropped with effortless grace.
Despite the tall tales that newcomers at Alchemy would attempt to pass off as true - the most recent case of which had been James, a schizo meth addict who had stayed for just a week, during which time he told everyone he personally had over a million dollars worth of bitcoin stashed away in his own crypto wallet - I instantly believed what Nathan was telling me.
“How do you know Kevin Durant?”
“Was his stylist, for years.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah.”
Nathan turned away to glance at a notification on his phone, and our seconds-long conversation came to an abrupt end.
People seated at the dinner table had heard Nathan briefly disclose his professional credentials, and the house was abuzz with gossip. Most people were calling bullshit.
“He’s probably some delusional rich Chinese kid, who met Kevin Durant once,” said Gavin, with what I perceived to be a slight but clear undercurrent of jealousy. “Kid probably never had a real job, just shops for himself all day and has himself convinced that he’s a professional stylist.” Everyone in the house, despite having no supporting evidence, seemed to acquiesce with Gavin’s take.
Aidan, who as standard practice stalked all newcomers to the house on Google with rigor akin to a background check, did his usual digging. A few days later, he found an article from a fairly legit-looking blog that once and for all proved all of Nathan’s naysayers wrong.