Chapter 7 New York, New York
New York, New York
AJ was in her third season writing for SNL when the green notecard with Noah Drew’s name appeared on the bulletin board. He was set to host the last episode before Christmas, capping off the media for his first Oscar bid, a period epic called The Contract.
She had known this day would come since the ink had dried on her own contract. It felt inescapable, like the earth coming full circle in its orbit.
The night before his arrival, she dealt with her dread by watching Center Stage and getting plastered. She arrived at work the next morning plagued by a pounding headache and the song “I Wanna Be with You,” by Mandy Moore.
As AJ dropped her backpack in the office she shared with Dave on the seventeenth floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, she felt a traitorous tremor of excitement. She hadn’t laid eyes on Noah since their brief publicity tour. Well, not in person anyway.
Over the past three years, Noah’s star had continued its unstoppable upward trajectory, from another season of Sparta, into an edgy indie film, then a blockbuster comedy.
And now The Contract. It was a good old-fashioned gangster flick, the story of a 1950s Murder, Inc. hit man caught between loyalty to his boss and the girl of his dreams—a mob daughter who had inherited Vegas’s largest casino. Noah’s performance had been exquisite.
AJ was also doing fine. In fact, she had done her high school self proud. She was a staff writer on Saturday Night Live. She lived in New York City. She had an apartment with a dishwasher and a nice boyfriend who emptied it. Yes, these days, life was pretty great.
Yet, all it took was one look at Noah’s shape across a crowded Monday pitch meeting to turn back the clock.
The weeks after filming had been a blur. AJ found herself back in New York, having been gone for such an inconsequential amount of time that none of her snake plants had died. But she had never felt more like a stranger in her own life.
She and Noah had never officially agreed not to speak—they hadn’t needed to. L.A. had been a fever dream, and they would now resume their resting state of not speaking. Easy enough.
But it wasn’t easy.
After AJ called in sick for the full first week of postproduction, Ian tactfully suggested she recuse herself. “Maybe you should step back as a producer,” he’d said. “You’ve done enough.”
AJ had wanted to fight him on it—this was a huge opportunity. But her relationship with Em was already over; if she kept flaking on Ian, she’d lose him, too.
And she could not face all that footage of her and Noah.
AJ lived the next four months with her heart outside her body.
It hardly made a dent that Toni had turned UCB into a battleground—it was all AJ could do to hand in her sketches and drag herself to HGTV each day.
Even as she filled her hours, the space between them was shapeless, a dark unlived expanse lit only by Noah’s distant star.
Then, in February, their show was given a name, Into the Blue—a nod to the Astronauticals intro—and suddenly AJ existed again. She’d found a portal back. They’d have to see each other during promotion. And if the show took off, if they filmed another season…
AJ would face Em, and Toni, and all of it again, if it meant they could have more time.
While AJ had been sobered and frightened by the things Noah had confided in her, it was hard to stay terrified of something she couldn’t see. As their silence stretched on, hope began to creep back in. This couldn’t really be the end, could it?
As if to answer her question, Fox slapped a large, powerful image of Ana and Rho on a BQE billboard visible from AJ’s bedroom window.
AJ finally saw him at Good Morning America, the day of the show’s premiere. She had been chatting backstage with Dave, avoiding Toni’s glares, when a press liaison led Xiaobo and Noah to their group.
He was in a charcoal gray suit with a black T-shirt, his hair a little longer, no doubt for Sparta. As their gazes connected, AJ’s heart actually tried to vault toward him. Perhaps he could sense it. His eyes shone as he lifted his hand in a silent wave. AJ lifted hers in a silent wave back.
Then the cast was brought to three risers on set. AJ was placed in the front row. Noah gave her a quick nod, then folded his large frame into the chair beside hers. As he sought a comfortable position, AJ caught his scent, and there was not one inch of her body that didn’t ache to feel him.
But here were the presenters, all pomp and sunshine smiles.
They tossed questions to the cast like flowers from a float, but the parade itself was for Noah.
He was the true star, the one they really wanted to hear from.
That’s what AJ wanted too. She kept her eyes ahead, her expression neutral as she silently worshipped the low notes of his voice.
It’s you.
Then the segment ended, and Noah was summoned for photos. He stood, without sparing AJ a glance. She watched him shake hands with their hosts, the press liaison hovering nearby to extract him.
He was leaving. He was leaving, and they weren’t even going to speak—
Dazed, AJ rose, pins and needles gnashing her leg. Goddamn it, her foot had fallen asleep. As her heels teetered, a large hand reached out to steady her. AJ’s heart seized as Noah grasped her wrist, never pausing his conversation with the anchors.
He held on to her until AJ regained her balance. Then their eyes met, and it was all still there, as if not a day had passed. The moment lasted long enough for his thumb to caress her pulse.
Then the liaison led Noah away, leaving AJ behind with the rest.
The network held the premiere that night at New World Stages. It was AJ’s first red carpet, and no one had prepared her for the way people just…shrieked.
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“SMILE!”
“ARE YOU IN THE SHOW?”
This last had been belted at AJ while she stood in front of a giant poster of herself. AJ wasn’t offended. This didn’t feel real—the show, the attention, any of it.
Since Anjalee had blown off all of the promotion, Noah’s arrival was the most anticipated. As AJ neared the theater’s entrance, she heard the crowd’s pitch geyser.
He was all in black now, and somehow looked both warm and like he couldn’t give two shits about this pageantry. Their eyes connected as he paused in front of a wall papered in the Fox logo, and he gave her a small smile. Then AJ stepped into the theater.
She would soon learn that Noah famously avoided his own performances. But she didn’t know that then. She waited patiently for him to join the rest of the cast in the front row.
But he appeared only onscreen…in a bright, sand-swept, futuristic palace.
“What is this?” whispered Dave on AJ’s left.
After, Ian explained that the network had opted to launch the show with “17,” the action-packed Rho backstory episode—the only one filmed traditionally, after the strike.
The only one filmed without the rest of the ensemble.
Fox, it seemed, had already lost faith in Into the Blue.
After the premiere, there was some confusion over the show’s title—“Into the Blue sounds like a C-list movie about surfers”—but most of the internet agreed that forty-five minutes of Noah Drew marauding through space was good TV.
The second episode bombed.
Compared to high-octane “17,” “A Man, a Dog, and a Wormhole” crawled.
It was badly lit and full of clanking, and such a drastic departure from the pilot, that over half of their viewers changed the channel and never changed it back.
To add insult to injury, the Astronauticals fan base loudly rejected the reboot online, denouncing its drama and lack of slapstick.
As the show’s ratings continued to plummet with each passing week, the network’s misgivings proved correct: Into the Blue was a total bust.
This was when AJ took refuge in the message boards.
Contrary to the general audience, a core viewership latched on to the show with the ferocity of a suckling crale calf. They called themselves the Blue Coats, and they saw themselves as keepers of the show’s flame, lighting up the web with theories, trivia, and, of course, shipping.
The biggest ship by far was Ana and Rho: Arho.
INTO THE BLUE: Arho subreddit
BlueFlower96: I’M brEAKING SPACE AND TIME let’s go.
EarlGreyHot: I love the way she throws it back in his face.
$ailorJupit3R<3: So does he, he’s actually undressing her with his eyes LOLcats
The fans’ excitement was addictive and bottomless, and it gave AJ a place to hide as their ratings continued to crash and burn.
Unfortunately, nothing could block out the air-raid siren of Fox releasing the last three episodes in one night. They were officially washing their hands of the show. Into the Blue was dead.
That Friday, AJ huddled on her couch with a tub of Cheetos and a handle of vodka.
Toni was throwing a “funeral watch party” at a bar in an old casket factory; Ian was going, which AJ supposed meant he and Toni were still a thing.
Xiaobo had flown in, presumably for a night of no-strings-attached-RIP-our-show sex with Dave.
But to AJ’s surprise, Dave plunked down beside her. “I’m good here,” he said simply. Whether he found it too difficult to see Xiaobo or he was quietly looking out for her, AJ couldn’t say. But as he poured them shots, she felt grateful.
They were both in a drunken morass by the time “Hot Water” aired. AJ hardly knew what she was watching as Ana and Rho knelt in a secluded spot, the camera tight on their faces.
Then it happened.
AJ arched into Noah, who bit down hard on his lower lip as if to keep from swearing. Her eyes widened as she felt him, her head dipping back in unmistakable pleasure as she sighed, “No.”
Dave sat bolt upright. “What the fuck was that?”
AJ was too dumbstruck to formulate a response. That had just been on TV. Her parents had seen it. Oh. God.
She dialed Ian. No answer. Again. No answer. She threw her phone aside and took a shot.