I kept that one lie to myself: my red soles were courtesy of a very resourceful shoemaker on 82nd and Third and not, as my #IHeartLouboutin pre-party post would lead my followers to believe, the genuine article.
As far as the finest little black dresses were concerned, he promised me that designers would be dropping them at my doorstep in the hope of the right tweet or the right photo. He wanted me to help him co-opt an entire generation—my generation—of doe-eyed followers. Who was I to say no? In the past that was an honor bestowed on cultural icons like Andy Warhol and Oprah, but now it seems that I, Sophie Stiner, am cool enough to lead the way.
Go ahead and tag me! @SophieStiner @DrinkTheKoolAid #dreamjob #cool
CHAPTER 30
Snowbound Bound
By Natalie, the Beard
I was so nervous that when we settled into the limo I began biting my nails, and I wasn’t even a nail-biter. I wanted to chicken out, call the whole thing off, but one look at Albert and Tomás and I realized that this road trip was no longer entirely about me. In fact, from the way they were looking at each other I calculated my relevance to be at about 10 percent. This was confirmed by Tomás’s enthusiastic announcement of our first scheduled stop: a quick lunch at Miss Florence Diner, just outside Northampton, Massachusetts. Before I could say anything, or even ask if it was on the way, Albert blurted out with equal enthusiasm, “Oh my god, I’ve never been to Northampton!”
But a stop meant more time to work myself up into a nervous wreck. My face must have indicated as much, because Tomás spoke as if I had protested out loud.
“Natalie, he’s never been there!”
I wouldn’t have cared, really, I was happy for them and their sparks that were flying around me, but I am a rip-the-Band-Aid-off-quickly kind of girl and this would take forever. I tried to think of it from their point of view: Northampton isn’t just any cute town. It’s the LGBTQ capital of the Northeast, a place that promised acceptance and solidarity and something for Tomás and Albert to bond over. Unless I was willing to get into a whole conversation about my heterosexual privilege, I would need to just smile and acquiesce. Besides, we would probably be hungry by then.
When we arrived at Miss Florence, my anxiety seemed to melt as quickly as the cubes of butter on my scrumptious blueberry pancakes. I don’t know if it was the quaint town, the good company, or just that hopeful feeling that seems to ride along on a road trip, but I was thinking less about the possibility of a disastrous outcome and more about just enjoying the ride. In true buttinski form, Tomás convinced us that we should go all out to surprise Jeremy. Going all out for Tomás always began with the right outfit. Now that I was enjoying myself I was totally game. His plan included a stop at a ski shop in Bennington, where I would buy head-to-toe skiwear so I could disguise myself on set. I thought for sure Albert would veto the whole thing, but he was so smitten with Tomás that he didn’t want to dampen his spirit. I was all in—it was the most fun I’d had since Turks and Caicos. But once I zipped up my ski suit my nerves kicked back in and I begged Albert to call Jeremy and feel him out. What if he never wanted to see me again? Albert dismissed me, saying he didn’t want to bother him during filming—a pretty absurd answer, considering we were driving up to crash his set. But I let it go.
According to my close friend and personal concierge, Siri, we would arrive at the set just before dark. This was apparently of great significance, because Albert became particularly adamant that we not interrupt the last hour of daylight at the shoot in any way. We swore we wouldn’t, arrived on the set, and did just as we’d promised. I even wore my ski mask to ensure that Jeremy wouldn’t recognize me and blow his scene. Albert ran off to pee and Tomás and I stood quietly on the side as discreetly as possible. We were both nervous and excited. It was in between shots and the director was calling for the extras to come up. A group of ski bunnies paraded right by us, and Tomás nudged me into the line. Swept away in the moment, I didn’t protest—the right outfit can really give a girl confidence, I guess!
A stylist quickly perused the group, tucking, zipping, and unzipping seemingly at random. When she got to me, she ripped off my face mask. “Where did this come from?” she asked.
“Quiet on the set!” someone shouted, saving me from answering.