“Ironically,” I said, “I’ve played tennis about twice, and I’m awful at it.”
But Noah’s voice was serious as he said, “For a long time, I’ve known that the best parts of my life were the public parts. I can’t complain, because those parts have been really great, like touring in another country or being part of a ceremony at the White House. But in my romantic relationships, away from audiences and cameras—I don’t want to insult the women I’ve dated, because it takes two to have mundane conversations, but they were mundane. It was like what you said about you and that guy Gene. Either we were talking about predictable topics or talking about potentially interesting topics in a predictable way. Sometimes I’d tell myself, Well, sure, it’s hard for normal life to measure up after you hang out with the Obamas. But other times, I felt like, behind the scenes, there was this emptiness. At night, when I was going to bed, I was more relaxed when I was by myself, whether I wasn’t dating anyone or was dating someone but they weren’t there that night. I wanted to find a real partner, but I couldn’t picture who the partner would be.” He paused. My ear was over his heart, and I could hear its steady beat. “When I’m with you,” he continued, “the best, most interesting part of my life is behind the scenes. I felt this emailing you, and I even felt it in your TNO office when you were helping with my sketch. Like, no one in the world knows what we’re up to except us and it’s awesome. It’s not for social media, it’s not for a documentary about the making of an album, it’s not an anecdote to tell on a talk show. It’s just because we think it’s fun and we like each other and we like being together.”
Listening to him, it had occurred to me to say, “I’m honored that you find me more interesting than the Obamas,” but what came out of my mouth instead was “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire life.” I raised my head to look at him. “And I don’t think it’s self-centered.”
“Oh, good.” He grinned.
“Just so you know,” I said, “you weren’t wrong about me being private and hating to have my picture taken, or at least by a random dude jumping out of the bushes.”
“I did know,” he said. “Because you threatened to stay at a hotel when I mentioned there might be paparazzi at that shopping center when you were arriving. If I’m not mistaken, you also once told me you were a goblin who’d never appeared onstage at TNO.”
“Oh, right.” I brought my hand up to my face in embarrassment. “I mean, there wasn’t a second when I actually wanted to stay at a hotel. I always wanted to stay with you. I just got anxious.”
“I like that you’re private. You realize that there are women who dated me in order to get their picture in magazines, don’t you?”
This was an aspect of the situation I hadn’t considered. “I bet that was more of a fringe benefit than the main reason,” I said. “I’m sure you being charming and adorable was the main reason.”
Dryly, he said, “You might be surprised.”
“I may have a flaw or two, but I solemnly swear that I’ll never use you to try to advance my modeling career. Or to get my cannabis-infused-jams-and-jellies small business off the ground.”
He laughed. “That reminds me there are two jokes I’ve thought about making when we’re”—he patted my bare hip—“like this. Should I try them out on you?”
“You definitely should.”
“The first one, the joke part isn’t the sentiment. It’s the callback.”
I was smiling as I said, “Not to discourage you, but preemptively explaining a joke rarely enhances it.”
“Okay,” he said. “Baby, you don’t know how beautiful you are. You’re so perfect, I never thought I’d find this, am I in heaven?” When I laughed, he said, “Do you know what that’s a reference to?”
“Yes.” I leaned in and kissed him. “And I do think it’s funny.”
“But you also get that it’s really how I feel? That’s why I think of it whenever we’re in bed.”
“Thank you for your delusionally generous view of me. What’s the other joke?”
“This one is a little crude.”
“Even better.”
“I’m so happy that I can’t wipe the smile off my penis.”
This time, I really, really laughed, and he said, “Seriously, the sound of you laughing—there’s nothing else like it.”
* * *
—
To my surprise, the first person to contact me about the photos wasn’t Henrietta; it was Danny. Yo Chuckles, read his text, which arrived that night just after 10 P.M. Pacific time. He’d included a link to an online tabloid with the headline “Noah Brewster Spotted on Hike with Mystery Woman.” Noah and I were watching a movie in the sitting area off the kitchen but had paused it while he got up to pee.
Danny’s next text was Aren’t u a dark horse
Weird huh? I replied. How are you doing?
From Danny: Trying to hide how much I dig the pandemic. This was followed by a photo of a placid, empty pool in the foreground, then some well-manicured hedges, then part of a vast white brick house that I assumed to be Nigel’s Hamptons mansion, an assumption confirmed when Danny added, Nigel likes to keep it at a sweet 81 degrees
The pool? I replied. Or all of the Hamptons?
From Danny: Are u and NB cuffed?
I replied with the shrugging brown-haired white woman emoji then added, Pretty sure Noah keeps his closer to a sweet 75 degrees
Danny: To each his/her own sugar daddy
I didn’t love this, nor was I convinced that the implication was unfair.
Btw he and Annabel never really dated back in 2018, I wrote.
Danny: Old news Chuckles
Danny: Good to see u enjoying yourself for once
The next text was indeed from Henrietta, after a screenshot taken of a different online gossip site: My fav hetero headline ever! This one was “Does Noah Brewster Have a New Girlfriend?”
I skimmed both articles. I could see that already there were many more, all regurgitating the same minimal information—Noah, debuting a newly shorn look, and the unidentified woman took a hike in the celeb-popular Temescal Canyon Park….Brewster, who was last linked with jewelry designer Louisiana Williams…Noah Brewster, almost unrecognizable without his signature long hair, and his brunette date were all smiles following the afternoon stroll….The photos, of which there seemed to be just three, were of us before we’d realized the paparazzo was there, when we were holding hands and both looking slightly downward at the path in front of us, except in one Noah was facing me and speaking. Though I’d been wearing what I thought of as my cutest and sleekest leggings, my thighs looked lumpier than they did in my mind’s eye. On the gossip site, some of the photos helpfully included superimposed bright green arrows pointing at the absence of Noah’s hair under his baseball cap.
I could hear Noah returning, and I had the impulse to toss my phone behind a cushion, but I hadn’t done so by the time he appeared. “Is everything okay?” he asked.