29. Aarti
AARTI
Noa and I roll up to CBT Studios New York looking like we actually slept–which, yeah , I made sure that didn’t happen. NYC’s got us buzzing like we’re twenty-somethings with endless nights of boozing and partying ahead of us.
Or maybe it’s just that we’re fucking like twenty-somethings and that’s what keeps you glowing. I wouldn’t know from experience; my city days were absent of love affairs unless you count my love affair with what the Midnight Live writers called Fifteen Hour Energy.
I don’t watch many morning shows–not enough fart jokes or cursing for my taste–but Wake Up Call with Karin and Malik has a reputation for being the best. The hosts are genuinely cool, in their late thirties rather than the usual Medicare-eligible crowd you see on other networks.
Magenta has assured me that this is fluff for elder millennials casually watching while their Nespresso brews–no hard-hitting questions, no manufactured drama.
Relax and be yourselves , Magenta told me.
We’ll be ourselves within reason, and that’s the best I can ask for.
“Last looks!” the assistant director calls as we step onto the stage. A crowd of early-rising tourists cheer outside the window with signs that say “WE LOVE YOU AARTI!” and “WILL YOU MARRY ME AARTI?!”
“Well? What do you say?” Noa asks, pointing to the man holding the sign.
“Hmm…” I feign, the makeup artist powdering me one final time. “Not my type.”
“Aarti! It’s so good to finally meet you!
” Karin–a woman whose style, voice, and mannerisms have been so carefully calibrated by committee that she could plausibly belong to any demographic focus group–greets us with a firm handshake.
“And Noa. Did you have a hand in Rocky Road to Justice? My fridge is absolutely stacked with that flavor.”
“That one was all Jen and Mary,” she smiles. “They’re flavor geniuses in their own right.”
“Oh, I have so many questions. Let’s save it for the screen.” She winks and motions us over to a sleek white leather couch. Across from our seat sits the biggest man I’ve probably ever seen in person–and my show’s grips are beefcakes.
“This is Malik “The Tank” Williams, your other host for today.”
I shake his hand, a surprisingly softer grip than Karin’s.
“Pleasure!” He shoots us a smile straight out of a Crest commercial.
“I’ll have to have you two on my show soon,” I say, still blinded by his teeth.
“We’d love that,” Karin coos.
“But until then, you’re our guests,” Malik says. “Take a seat, take a seat!”
I look over at Noa to see if these tried-and-true morning people have drained the life from her yet, but she’s all smiles. I give her a nudge with my elbow as we sit.
“Feeling okay?”
“Better than okay.”
“Can we have you two sit closer?” a camera operator asks. “Better for my shot.”
“No problem!” I say, scooting toward Noa.
“So,” Karin says, “Nothing too complicated today, we’re just going to ask you about the show, how you met, make a little ice cream, and then do the big reveal!”
“The big–what?” Noa asks.
“Your Variety cover. The network sent it over this morning for us to announce,” Malik says.
“Oh.” I look to Noa. “We, uh, didn’t know that would be ready today.”
“It is, and we’ll all be seeing it together for the first time, live on air!” Karin says.
Noa’s face pales and I pat her hand.
“We got this,” I whisper. And I mean it.
The assistant director calls from offstage. “We’re back from break in three… two…”
“Welcome back! Our next guests are fresh from LA to promote the return of legendary talk show, Up Late with a brand-new host and a brand-new, positively delicious segment sidekick! Please welcome Aarti Nair and Noa Hart!”
On the monitors, I see the camera cut to me as the growing crowd outside cheers.
“Thanks for having us,” I wave.
“Aarti,” Malik says. “We used to have you as a resident of our city when you were a staple over on Midnight Live! How is it being back in town?”
“I always love being in New York. It’s the only city where being ignored is a form of respect."
Malik laughs. “Too true, too true! And what have you been up to while you’re here?”
“We got to see all my Midnight Live friends last night. It was a great show.”
“Just like old times, how fun!” Karin chirps.
This is softball, just like Madge promised.
“Now, Ms. Hart–” Malik begins.
“ Dr. Hart,” I chime in. Noa blushes.
“Thank you, Aarti! Dr. Hart… You’re an ice cream scientist at Jen & Mary’s. Can you tell us how in the world you got involved with Up Late? We’ve been told the story is a hoot and a half.”
“Well, my involvement wasn’t planned, I can tell you that much,” Noa begins. She paints our disastrous CBT meeting with colorful details and plenty of self-deprecation, charming our hosts with an ease that fills me with a bubbling pride I can barely contain.
We go to break, and when we come back, Noa captivates the hosts once again with her quick and dirty ice cream workshop.
“For those of you who want to try this at home,” she cautions, “don’t let your nitrogen canister explode and cause the fire alarms to go off on a very expensive set.”
“And they say you’re the physical comedian, Aarti!” Malik laughs.
I shrug. “Noa can definitely hold her own.”
“We’ll be right back with one more surprise from–honestly–my new favorite guests!” Karin says, hands covered in ice cream batter.
“And we’re out. Thirty seconds!” the AD says. “Great work, you two. One more segment and then you’re wrapped.”
I look to Noa, a small dollop of whipped cream in her curls.
“Ready?” I ask, cleaning the ringlet.
“I think so,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Been okay so far, I think?”
“You’re incredible,” I assure her.
We sit back on our couch as the crew clears out the ice cream station. The camera guy doesn’t have to remind us to sit closer this time as I give her pinky one last squeeze.
“And we’re back in three… two…”
“Now, before we let our two wonderful guests go, we’ve got an exciting development. You two are about to be on the cover of Variety ,” Malik says. “And we have the cover reveal right here on Wake Up Call!”
We all turn to face a giant screen on the other side of the studio.
The Variety cover fades in, and there we are in high resolution.
It’s me as a sexy human sundae, that giant cherry the only thing between Noa's hands and my barely-contained cleavage.
Our gazes are locked, captured in that breathless moment after our foreheads touched.
The joy between us is unguarded, genuine.
The headline curves around Noa's silhouette: AARTI NAIR POPS HER LATE-NIGHT CHERRY!
I try not to laugh at the boldness of the title.
Karin marvels at the photo. “ Wow . Who took this?”
“The Photo Truck,” I tell her. “I believe they have a truck in the city, too.”
“I know who I’m getting to take our next headshots!” She soft-punches Malik.
“This isn’t just the photographer,” Malik says, staring at the photo. “Making ice cream involves chemistry, but you two have chemistry! ”
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to totally blow our cover. “Make sure to tune in next week to watch my signature flavor unfold on the show!”
“It was so lovely having you two,” Karin says, hardly able to take her eyes off our picture. “We’ll be right back!”
The camera slowly, slowly, fucking slowly fades out from the photo.
“And… we’re out. Nice work everyone!”
The makeup artist hands us face wipes.
“You two are going to be everywhere after this!” she gushes. “Can’t wait to tune in.”
And with that, we grab our bags and catch our flight back to LA with everything going exactly to plan.