“I know, I know … I’m swagger,” he laughed, turning to find me in the corner. “Solène, did you know I was ‘swagger’? That’s my official archetype. Lest you think we were interchangeable. That’s what you think when you see me, right? You think, ‘Oh, he must be the swagger one.’”
I laughed at that. As did all the other women in the room. Hayes and his loyal subjects.
The business guy who had been consumed with his phone call up until then let out a little whoop, calling our attention. “You, my friend, are going to owe me big-time.”
“TAG Heuer?” Hayes asked.
“TAG Heuer. Hi, I’m Raj. Pleasure.” He leaned in to shake my hand before turning back toward Hayes. “Yes, they’re sending over someone at three o’clock with several watches. You’re to choose one appropriate for this evening. And then another more casual for every day.”
“Well done, Raj,” laptop fellow said.
“This could be huge, Hayes. If they offer it to you, you can’t say no,” the darker of the blondes said.
“Yes, but isn’t it off-brand?”
“It’s off August Moon brand. It’s not off Hayes Campbell brand.”
Hayes was doing that thing where he pulled at his lower lip, pensive. “I just think it’s kind of elitist. I mean fourteen-year-old girls aren’t buying TAG Heuer watches.”
“They are in Dubai.” Laptop fellow again.
“You’re reaching beyond fourteen-year-old girls, mate. That’s the whole point. You’re expanding your brand. You’re redefining yourself. You’re not going to be in a boy band forever.”
Hayes turned to me then. He was so dashing in his suit. Were these people ever going to leave? “They want me to do an ad campaign for TAG Heuer. Solo. What do you think?”
All eyes were on me then, and I assumed they were wondering if and why my opinion should matter. “Who else has done them?”
“Brad, Leonardo,” Raj said.
“Who’s shooting it?”
“They have a couple of people they use for all their projects. Very competent, impeccable work, but not celebrity names.”
“So he can’t request Meisel or Leibovitz or Afanador?”
“I’m sorry, what is it you do again?” The fellow at the laptop stopped plunking.
Hayes broke into one of his half grins then. “Solène owns an art gallery in L.A.” He sounded almost boastful. “I trust her taste implicitly.”
I would have laughed at him had he not been staring at me so intensely. So much for secrets.
“Well,” I said after a charged moment, “if it’s good enough for Brad and Leo … go for it. Give them swagger.”
*
“I missed you.” Not long after the entourage had parted and Hayes had changed out of his suit, we found ourselves on the sofa. Alone.
The heightened energy of his celebrity had dissipated in the absence of those whose job it was to fawn and dote and cater. As exhilarating as the fame aspect could be, there was something appealing about him not having to be “Hayes Campbell, pop star.” Something raw, naked, accessible.
“It’s only been two weeks,” I said.
“For you it’s been two weeks. For me it’s been ten cities.” He reached for my hand then, sliding his fingers between mine. Suggestive.
“Well, if that’s how you’re measuring time—”
“Ten cities … What, thirteen shows? Three hundred fifty thousand screaming girls … who were not you.”
“No. I’ve never been a screaming girl.”
“Well, we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”
God, he was good. The ease with which he slipped in these little lines: seemingly innocuous, but loaded.
The side of his mouth was curling up in that way that I had come to adore. “What are you smiling at, Solène?”
“Nothing,” I laughed.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
He nodded, his free hand reaching up to finger my hair. I could smell whatever fragrance it was he had put on his skin. Wood and amber and lime. “You’re thinking, ‘God, I could really use some lunch right now.’”
“Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
For a moment he did not speak, and I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as his thumb traced the side of my jaw. So faint I might have imagined it.
“Okay … Let’s go out and get something to eat.”
He’d already crossed the room before I registered what was happening. “Outside?”
“Yeah. There’s a great sushi place not far from here. Do you like sushi? We can walk, it’s such a beautiful day,” he called from the closet.
It dawned on me that, sheltered in the Four Seasons fortress, he was probably not aware of the commotion he had caused on Fifty-seventh Street. “Have you seen what it’s like out there?”
He returned from the bedroom then with a pair of black boots in hand. The infamous boots, I gathered. “What? Are there a lot of fans? All right, so I’ll have Desmond take us over in a car then—”
“It’s not a matter of not walking, it’s … I don’t think you can leave the building.” The idea of trying to get through that throng accompanied by one of the objects of their desire terrified me.
“It’s really that bad?” His eyes searched mine before he made his way over to the window. But the window did not open and there was no way at that angle that he could see the street.
“Well, that’s crap,” he said, tossing the shoes aside. “They followed us over from Rockefeller after the show. Swarming the cars. Complete insanity.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be.”
“I really hate being locked up in here … All right, so, plan B, then? Room service? Bloody hell, that sounds not romantic at all.”
I laughed at that. “Were you trying to do romantic?”
“I was giving it a shot. Unless…” His eyes widened then. “Come with me.” He grabbed my hand, leading me toward the bedroom. Romantic, indeed.
I followed him into the room, past the bed and a wardrobe trunk marked AUGUST MOON/H. CAMPBELL, and out onto a large terrace. Spread before us was an unobstructed view of Upper Manhattan and Central Park in all her spring glory. A green oasis under a clear blue sky.
“So…” He squeezed my hand. “Lunch? Here?”
“Lunch here would be divine.”
*
Hayes wasted no time calling up our order, and then joined me at the railing, drinking in the view, the smell of spring, the sun. There was something so comfortable about being near him in that space. Bumping up against his tall frame. His closeness, now familiar.
“What would happen if we blew off the rest of the day and spent it together?”
“Your management would not be happy. And my partner, less so.”
“But think of the fun we could have.” His eyes lit up. They’d gone from green to blue in the sun. Mutable, like water. “Getting into trouble. Running amok in New York…”
“It’s not like we could leave. You’re like … Rapunzel up here. Locked away in your castle … with all your hair … Hayes Campbell, the new-millennium Rapunzel.”
“Rapunzel of the Four Seasons…” he said.
We laughed.
For a moment, he held my gaze and I felt that distinct rush. The realization that this attraction had ceased to be just physical. That somewhere I’d crossed over. That I liked him.