You can’t say you weren’t warned. He had a hit song about it. His siren song filled the mid-00s airwaves, imprinting on all the girls that would later flock to his mansion when adulthood proved to be a total letdown. When the front door opens, his music drifts out from the speakers. You’re in the right place. Inside the party is ramping up. The whole rainbow of hot girls is here dancing like this is their dream. As your eyes drift across the crowd, you see every kind of woman. They’re all there strumming air guitars, drumming and lip syncing like mouthing the words brings them closer to living them. Some are in fancy dresses and heels, others are in sweatpants, and no one’s out of place. You recognize the red apple bergamot notes of his perfume “Wanted” by Jesse for ladies, and sure enough you see the nearly empty teardrop bottle on a side table. On the wall are gorgeous jars shelved like books. The souls. Jesse appears, handsome as a Ken doll, and invites you in, explains how it works. You get to choose and decorate your own jar. The extraction machine is less than a pinprick. Then you can stay forever. “Leavin’” plays as you look at everyone. The girls singalong with the echoes. They’re his backup. Without their souls they’re devoid of negative feeling. You’ve never experienced so much peace and happiness radiating from a crowd. One girl bumps into another, apologizes and neither of them seem irritated. Accidents happen. You talk to several Ph.D.s, a few doctors and a whole mess of teachers. No one ever kept their promises to these women. No one except Jesse. You pick an old green apothecary jar and detail the base with gold filigree. You slap on your best Gwen Stefani smile. This is the best day of your life.