Chapter 7 New York, New York #4
“What would they be reading? Hunger Games?” asked another senior writer, Sebastian, adjusting his glasses.
“It’s played out,” said Dani. “Also anachronistic.”
“I was thinking Jane Austen,” said AJ. “They all show up in some back room with their weapons, and you think they’re going to play poker, then they whip out Pride and Prejudice.”
“Yes,” said Dave. “And every time Mr. Collins does something, they start swearing in Italian.”
“Or when Wickham is revealed, one of them shoots a hole through the ceiling,” said Noah.
“Exactly,” said AJ. “I was thinking they could all stare out the window when they talk about Darcy’s letter, and we could play that pensive piano theme from the movie…”
“Great,” said Dani. “Run with it. Dave?”
As Dave pitched his idea about Noah being a judge at the Westminster dog show, AJ began to mentally outline her sketch. Despite her self-consciousness, she wanted to do her best for Noah. It meant something to her, getting to collaborate with him again. Even from offstage.
Noah’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“This isn’t an idea per se,” he was saying, “but I’d be open to doing something about my family.”
“ ‘Scrooge McDrew’—your ghost ancestors teach you the meaning of Oscar season,” said Dave.
“Wow, you had that ready to go,” said AJ, and she got a laugh from the room.
“That sounds like it could be fun,” said Dani. “Noah and Dave, why don’t you team up?”
“What up, Scion of Darkness,” said Dave, sending Noah a long-distance fist bump, which Noah reciprocated. As the conversation moved on, his eyes darted to AJ, who realized she was staring at him and looked away. She gave herself a shake.
This was going to be a long week.
AJ came in the next day around five p.m. The sketch lineup still hadn’t been posted, but AJ had gotten a decent enough response in the pitch meeting to justify starting on “The Club.”
She nestled into the coffee-stained couch in her and Dave’s office, donned her headphones, and began to google famous hit men. Then she searched “noah drew girlfriend.”
This wasn’t AJ’s first rodeo. Lucy Parker had turned out to be the first in a line of short-term girlfriends, ranging from models to Oscar nominees. Never anyone shorter than five foot eight. Never anyone longer than three months. Interesting. Noah did not currently appear to be attached.
Innocently, AJ cleared her browser history. Noah and Dave were scheduled to brainstorm further on the “Scrooge McDrew” sketch—they might turn up any minute.
Consequently, AJ had put more effort into her appearance today; she’d showered and even run a brush through her hair. She also hadn’t drunk as much last night—she hadn’t felt the urge. She might not look like a celebrity, but it was encouraging what a little rest and hydration could do.
She didn’t get much work done, apart from falling into a wiki tunnel about Bugsy Siegel. Despite her noise-blocking accoutrement, she was aware the second Noah’s footsteps began stomping down the hall.
A moment later, he and Dave appeared. AJ looked up and smiled, removing her headphones. Noah stilled in the doorway.
“Aww, look, guys, we’ve got the band back together,” said Dave. “Should we do the ‘Drive Me Crazy’ dance for old times’ sake?”
They all laughed, and AJ glanced at Noah. “Noah definitely still knows it.”
“Like you couldn’t do it in your sleep,” he said, an edge in his voice. Was he thinking about sleeping with her?
Do not go there, AJ told herself.
“Seriously, guys,” said Dave. “We could do it at the cons this summer…”
By the “cons,” Dave meant the fan convention circuit, where apparently Into the Blue had some sort of presence. A bunch of their old castmates made a summer of it—notably Xiaobo, whom Dave hooked up with each year (but they “weren’t in love”), and Toni, who still hated AJ.
“I’m serious, you two,” said Dave. “They’re magic. And the more cast members, the better the fees…there’s serious money to be made!”
“Define ‘serious’ ‘money,’ ” said AJ, who couldn’t imagine anything more torturous than traveling the country chasing the memory of Into the Blue.
“For four cons? Like, two hundred grand,” said Dave.
AJ almost dropped her MacBook on the ground but was determined not to look overly impressed in front of Noah, who, according to Perez, had been paid fourteen million dollars for The Contract. She doubted he’d be caught dead at a convention these days. Unlike backstage at Spring Con—
AJ cleared her throat. “Dave, I say this with all the love in my heart: I would rather die.”
“Same,” said Noah.
“Well, you are both snobs,” said Dave.
AJ laughed, pulling on her headphones. Dave dragged his chair out from behind his desk as Noah sat down on the couch beside AJ. She tried not to stare at his long legs unfolding. Even though she knew what they felt like, their shape, their toned strength, and—
No. Nope. You’re done.
As Noah and Dave began to laugh and ideate in hushed tones, AJ felt a deep, somnolent calm claim her. She’d read once that guilty suspects slept in jail because they knew that’s where they belonged. Perhaps this was similar. Perhaps being next to Noah was where AJ felt she belonged.
And it focused her. When she next looked up from her computer, it was past nine p.m.
Dave had stepped out without her noticing; Noah hadn’t moved. He was reclining with Dave’s computer closed on his lap, one of his enormous hands on top, his gaze adrift. When AJ reached up to take off her headphones, he blinked a few times and stirred. He had almost been asleep.
“Did Dave go out to get food?” asked AJ.
Noah nodded. “Have I ever told you how much he reminds me of your brother Mike?”
AJ laughed to hide her surprise. “They are a breed.” Noah yawned, and even that was dear to her. “You don’t have to stay here all night,” she said quickly. “I can get Valerie—” Valerie was the head of their talent department. She normally didn’t let hosts out of her sight.
“She came by an hour ago,” said Noah. “I sent her away.”
“Oh,” said AJ, blushing. It was so intimate, how easily they could sit together for hours without speaking. “Why? What have you been up to?”
Noah shrugged. “Resting,” he said. He glanced at her. “I feel like one of those guilty prisoners, the ones that sleep when they get caught.”
For a second, all AJ could do was stare into his dark eyes. Could he tell, the way she could, that their subconsciouses were still at play?
Don’t.
AJ’s gaze fell to her lap. Noah had made his feelings known. He couldn’t even be bothered to send her one email. Thinking like this would only get her hurt.
This isn’t real.
The person beside her was just an afterimage. He had appeared through a wormhole, and when the week was out, he’d disappear back through.
What was real was that after, AJ would be left to face another week, another host. They still had several days of close quarters ahead. She needed to keep things pleasant, surface level.
AJ stood. “Come on,” she said. “You must be starving.”
They grabbed their coats, and AJ took Noah out the back way to avoid the Christmas Spectacular crowd at Radio City.
They turned up their collars as they passed the giant tree.
The night was cold, but not too cold for two kids from New England.
AJ bought Noah dinner from her favorite halal cart, and they ate out of plastic containers under the statue of Atlas holding up the sky.
“So this is where you spend your days,” said Noah between enormous bites.
“And nights,” said AJ.
Noah seemed to take something from this. AJ wondered fleetingly if she should mention Brian McKenzie, who was in California this week covering basketball. Then Noah continued, “Is it everything you dreamed?”
AJ shrugged. Aspects of it were. But these days, she was increasingly aware that SNL wasn’t the forever home she’d imagined. The most successful writers made their mark in five or six seasons, then moved on. “It’s not all big celebrity hijinks, but I like it.”
Noah smirked. “Even SNL has too many emails, is what I’m hearing.”
“Only if you respond to them,” said AJ dryly.
Noah’s eyes snapped to hers. Neither spoke. Then the distant jingle of the carols rushed in, softening the moment. “Why didn’t you want to be a cast member?” he asked.
AJ laughed. “Smooth subject change,” she said, but she didn’t push. She’d made her point—for the show’s sake, that would have to be enough. “I think my performing days are over.”
“They weren’t in ‘Snow,’ ” he said holding her gaze.
AJ rolled her eyes. “You always gave my acting more credit than it deserved,” she said, blushing.
Noah frowned. “I don’t think that’s true at all.”
“What about your acting?” said AJ. She wanted to tell him she’d loved him in The Contract, but somehow felt that would be oversharing.
Maybe because she had lied to Brian and her family over Thanksgiving about “a work emergency,” then gone to see it alone so she could openly weep.
Or maybe she was just afraid she’d slip and tell him she loved him.
“You’re obviously going to be nominated,” she supplied.
Noah shrugged. “I don’t know about that.” AJ suppressed a smile. He was still at his old game, fishing for compliments. He noticed her laughing at him and got adorably defensive. “Honestly. I haven’t even seen it.”
“Oh, right. You don’t watch your performances.”
“It makes me self-conscious,” he said. “How am I supposed to deliver if I’m thinking about how I look? I mean, do you enjoy watching yourself?”
Why did he insist on treating her like a fellow actor? “Not really. But I still watched Into the Blue when it aired.”
“So did I,” he admitted, and AJ smiled. “Well, most of it.”
“Oh?” asked AJ, biting into her pita.
He examined his knuckles. “I couldn’t get through the last one.”
AJ swallowed. “Same.”
They stood listening to the skaters cut across the Rink at Rockefeller Center.
“So, how are you?” AJ asked.