25. Aarti
AARTI
Even though I need my beauty rest for the photoshoot, I can barely sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that freezer or the editing bay, having my way with Noa–her lips on mine, her body arching beneath me, the little gasps she made when I touched her.
I can still taste her, still feel the involuntary squeeze of her thighs as they wrapped around me.
Despite last night’s breakthrough, I worry Noa’s anxiety will resurface for today’s photoshoot.
It’s one thing to feel beautiful and wanted in the dark with just your lover.
It’s another to face cameras and stylists, poking and prodding at every flaw.
It’s something else entirely to digest that millions of people will judge you on the cover of the biggest entertainment magazine of all time.
I arrive at the studio early, wanting to be there when Noa walks in. The hair and makeup team is already prepping as the photographer tests lights on stand-ins.
“Aarti Nair!” Casey Chen, celebrity fashion photographer, saunters over, all swagger and confidence in ripped jeans and a tank that shows off impressive arms. Her pink wolfcut is tied back in a bandana, revealing the dimples that, at one point or another, have made every lesbian in LA weak.
Luckily, I’ve managed to avoid her charms. “Been too long, babe.”
“Casey, nice to see you,” I nod.
“Haven’t seen you since that wild night at the Chateau.” She leans in conspiratorially. “How is Brigitte, by the way? Still breaking hearts across the greater Los Angeles area or… have you decided to lock it down?”
“We’re just friends,” I say, looking around. “Let’s keep it professional.”
“Since when are you professional?” She laughs.
I don’t fold, and she raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. All business. Where’s your ice cream girl?”
The way she says it–dismissive, minimizing–makes my blood boil. But before I can respond, I hear footsteps in the hall.
Noa appears in the doorway, and my heart does that stupid fluttery thing it likes to do in her presence. She’s wearing a bubblegum-pink cardigan, curls pulled back in a messy bun, and she looks determined. Until she sees Casey.
Her jaw promptly drops and Casey’s brows go higher than the Hollywood sign.
“Noa Hart. You’re the ice cream girl?”
Noa turns to me, still unable to speak, her eyes pleading for me to do something. What exactly? I’m not entirely sure. But whatever it is, I’ll do it.
Casey’s gaze ping-pongs between us, and like a lesbian Sherlock Holmes, I see the exact moment she puts it together. That Noa and I…
“Well, well,” she murmurs. “This should be fun . Like old times.” She gives Noa a wink. Weird.
“Let’s check out wardrobe options,” I say, dragging Noa toward the racks.
“What’s going on?” I whisper once we’re alone.
“Casey–that’s– Casey ,” she says, panic rising in her voice. “We… It was…”
“You don’t need to say another word.”
LA is big, but the lesbian community within it?
Not so much. From what I know about Casey Chen, she’s done quite the number on people in our circles.
She’s a classic love-bomber–tells women how special they are, leads them on, then dumps them the moment she’s onto the next…
if they’re lucky. Given that Noa looks like she’s seen a ghost, I’m guessing she got the Casey Deluxe.
“Be right back,” I assure Noa.
I cross the room to speak to Casey. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
She shrugs, following me to the corner of the room.
“Loosen up, Nair,” she says, giving my shoulder a slight shove. “I can’t have you this stiff when we’re about to take some hot photos of you and your new–”
“So glad we got to reconnect, but this isn’t gonna work.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“We’re going for something different than your usual style. You understand?”
“You can’t be serious.” She laughs, but there’s an edge to it now. “Does the network know you’re dismissing their photographer? Does Gretchen? She requested me specifically.”
“I’m sure she did.” I pull out my phone, texting Madge:
Sending Casey home. Need to get someone else ASAP.
“This is about her, isn’t it?” Casey’s voice drops. “Noa can handle it. She’s a big girl. Unless she’s like… still in love with me.”
My fists clench and Casey must see something flicker in my face because she steps back, hands raised. “Fine. Your funeral.” She packs her camera and leaves.
My phone buzzes.
MADGE
Copy that. Another photog is on the way.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Noa appears beside me.
“It is not a problem,” I assure her, and her tight shoulders drop a smidge.
“She just–” Noa begins.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her. “I want you to feel good.”
A half hour later, the door to the dressing rooms bursts open and Claire appears. “Your new photographers are here! They’re… um… parking?”
We follow her to the window, where a giant rainbow-painted truck is attempting to parallel park across three spaces.
“What is that ?” Noa asks, and I’m relieved to hear wonder instead of anxiety.
“That,” I grin, “is exactly what we need right now.”
We make our way down to the parking lot to greet the crew of The Photo Truck. A brunette with a septum ring hops out and waves.
“I’m Emma,” she says, extending her hand. “I’ll be your photographer today.”
The back of the truck rolls open and another short-statured human fumbles out.
“Ohmigod, Aarti Nair, I am a huge fan!”
“That’s Max,” Emma says. “Technically they have no reason to be here other than they love you.”
“Cool with me, as long as we get good photos for Variety .”
“Wait, Variety? ” Max shouts. “Jo is gonna lose her–I mean, Emma is a consummate professional and will absolutely get you what you need. For Variety. ”
Max hides a giddy squeal as they turn on their heel and head to the truck. “Follow me!”
We hop into the back and it’s just as magical as the exterior.
“Wow,” Noa marvels, taking in the space, filled to the brim with costumes, props, and every piece of photography equipment imaginable. “What is this place?!”
Max and Emma beam.
“The truck is all about feeling comfortable and yourself. And channeling that into amazing photographs, of course!” Max says, already pulling out options. “Let’s play!”
The next two hours are pure joy. Max tosses us outfit after outfit–Noa in a flowy sundress, me in a sharp suit, Noa in an over-the-top tuxedo, me in the fluffiest dress I’ve ever donned.
I take every opportunity when Max and Emma’s backs are turned to let Noa know I’m delighting in how her curves fill out each look.
“Wait, wait!” Max produces a collection of fake mustaches. “These are from our last wedding shoot.”
Soon we’re posing with handlebar mustaches, monocles, feather boas. Emma snaps away, occasionally calling out directions but mostly just capturing our natural interactions.
“The chemistry between you two!” Emma says, reviewing shots from the tethered capture. “Makes sense you’re doing this segment.”
Noa blushes.
“Oh oh oh!” Emma exclaims. “I’m having an idea! We have this prop from last month…” She disappears into the front of the truck, emerging with what appears to be a human-sized martini glass. “Alcohol campaign. But what if…?”
Max is already bouncing. “Oooh!! Aarti’s a sundae!”
“And Noa’s the scientist creating me?” I add.
Max dives back into the costume rack. “Wait, wait, I have the PERFECT thing!” They emerge with a vintage silk cream-colored corset bodysuit, dyed with chestnut swirls that look like chocolate syrup. “Willy Wonka burlesque promo.”
I hold it up–it’s gorgeous but far more revealing than anything I’ve worn on camera before.
Minutes later, I’m folded into the massive glass, legs dangling over the side, the corset doing its job a little too well. Every breath threatens to spill me over the push-up cups.
“Here,” Max brings Noa a sexier-than-it-is-accurate lab coat and an array of giant food props I can only imagine were accumulated from the aforementioned Willy Wonka shoot–cherries, a whipped cream can, sprinkles, and merino wool that functions surprisingly well as moldable scoops of ice cream. “Go forth and create your masterpiece!”
Noa falls into her element, circling me, arranging clouds of wool around my body, strategically placing each sprinkle.
Her concentration is admirable, save for when I catch her eyes lingering on where the chocolate swirls curl up into my cleavage.
She looks up, realizing I caught her peeking, and blushes an adorable shade that nearly matches the massive cherry she just grabbed.
“Um,” she quickly covers, “This could–”
I glance down at my breasts bursting out of the bodysuit. “Maybe that cherry can be my fig leaf? Give me a little coverage?”
She smiles, grateful for the save. “That’s what I was gonna say.”
“Love it!” Emma says.
Noa leans in to hand me the cherry and trips over a gaff-taped lighting cord, nearly wiping out. The foam prop is her saving grace, stopping her fall as the basketball-sized cherry squishes against my decolletage.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Noa gasps. The cherry is compressed between us, and she’s pinning me in the glass with her body.
“It’s fine, just–” I try to shift, which only makes the corset situation more precarious. The movement causes Noa to lose her balance again, her free hand landing on the rim of the glass right by my hip for support.
We lock eyes and the absurdity of it all hits us both at once.
A giggle escapes me. Then Noa snorts–so loudly she surprises herself–which makes me laugh harder.
We’re both gone, collapsed into hysteria.
For a split second, Noa’s forehead drops to rest against mine as we shake with laughter, the cherry still ridiculously sandwiched between us.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, both of us teary-eyed and breathless, and for a moment everything else falls away.
It’s just us, sharing the most perfectly ridiculous moment.
Emma’s camera clicks, but we barely notice. “Don’t move! That’s it, that’s the shot!”
Max squeals. “Y’all are gonna break the internet!”
By the time we wrap, Noa’s glowing. The anxiety from this morning has melted away, replaced by something lighter, freer.
“Thank you,” she says to Max and Emma. “You made me feel so at home.”
Emma shrugs. “You two made my job easy.”
“Yeah, you were incredible,” I tell her. “You always are.”
Max tries to hide a smile at Emma, and something in their eyes tells me they know their fair share about co-worker relationships.
“We’ll have these processed tonight and send them to Gretchen by tomorrow,” Emma tells me as I hop off the truck.
I give Noa my hand to assist her on the step down. “Great. We’ll dry-clean these outfits and get them back to you,” I shout up to Max.
“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” they say. “All of it was from that thrift store on La Brea. $1 Sundays, baby!”
“You two are truly magical.”
Max grins and closes up the truck. We wave them off as they drive onto Hollywood Boulevard and into the night.
The lot is empty aside from our two cars, and neither of us seems to want to leave quite yet.
“What do you say we go take some of this makeup off?”
I buzz us back in with my keycard. Everyone but the security guard has gone home. We quietly make our way to the dressing rooms, both of us silently fizzing with leftover glee from the shoot. The automatic lights turn on and Noa faces me.
“We should probably change,” Noa says, but she doesn’t move.
“We probably should,” I agree, stepping closer.
The air between us crackles. She’s looking at me the way she did in the editing bay, all want and need, and I can’t stop myself. I back her against the vanity, a rogue lipstick slowly rolling off the tabletop before it clatters to the ground. Neither of us follow it, eyes locked.
“Aarti,” she breathes.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my hands bracketing her hips.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t stop.”
I kiss her like I’ve been dying to since yesterday–deep and desperate and claiming. She melts against me and I lift her onto the vanity, stepping between her legs.
“The door,” she gasps as I kiss down her throat.
I reach behind her to twist the lock, then return my attention to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder that makes her whimper.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her between kisses. “So fucking beautiful. When are you going to believe me?”
She pulls me back up to her mouth instead of answering, and I lose myself in her–the taste of her sticky cherry lipstick, the little sounds she makes when I touch her in just the right spot.
In a shocking turn of events, I can’t get enough of Noa Hart. So I break my own rules. I invite her over to my place for the first time.
She says yes.