Romantic Comedy, page 22
After some number of minutes—eight? Or twenty-five?—he rolled off me, onto his side, and pulled me so I was on my side, too, so we were facing each other and he looked at me from about three inches away with such intensity and affection that I had to avert my gaze; I couldn’t help it. But then I looked back at him and said, “You’re definitely worth driving twenty-six hours for. And definitely not boring, even though you don’t work at TNO.”
He laughed. “And you haven’t even tasted my pan-seared salmon yet.”
“By the way I have an IUD. In case next time you want to—” I paused and raised my eyebrows, aware again of the strangeness of how the most precise and succinct way of saying something could feel splendidly obscene. I continued, “In case next time you want to come inside me.”
“I’d love to come inside you next time.” He grinned. “I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess before.”
“It was a good kind of mess,” I said. “And I also have, uh, a clean bill of health. Sexually.”
“Good to know and same for me.”
He leaned in and kissed my mouth and the sex we had that time was slower and calmer before it reverted to clawing and devouring each other.
After the second time, before the third time, when it became apparent there was going to be a third time, he was on his back, and I was straddling him, and I didn’t care about the pooching of my stomach because I’d decided I was beautiful just as I was. Just kidding! Because it was getting dark and also because presumably sex hormones were coursing through me. He wasn’t yet inside me again though I could feel his erection, and I said, “Did you take Viagra?”
“Wow,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”
“That wasn’t an insult. It was a compliment.”
“To which one of us?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Sorry that I’m really turned on by you. No, I didn’t take Viagra.”
Sincerely, I said, “I apologize if that was rude.”
It was hard to read his expression—he seemed to be analyzing or assessing me almost distantly, though there was also a new haze of closeness between us that no doubt arose from being naked together, our skin smelling like the other’s skin, our bodily fluids mixed on his sheets. Even if the knowledge wasn’t comprehensive, we abruptly knew each other much better, more thoroughly, than we had a few hours before.
“I think I can forgive you,” he said, “under the circumstances.” He thrust up once then stopped and said, “Is this okay? Do you need anything?”
“Like what? A vaccine? An overall deal with a studio?”
“I was thinking of lubricant.”
As with being gazed at tenderly, as with being given a personalized Mad Libs, I had never before been asked if I needed lubricant. And as when he’d inquired on my arrival if I needed a bathroom, I was touched by both his thoughtfulness and his lack of fear about the biology of the human body.
“I don’t right now,” I said. “But thank you.”
This time he looked at me when he was inside me and I was able to look back for about three seconds, which wasn’t nothing; and then I leaned forward, leaned into him, so our torsos were pressed together.
* * *
—
If life were a romantic comedy, I’d have awakened the next morning from a deep, restorative, and gracefully positioned slumber with sunlight streaming in through the windows and Noah standing by the bed holding a mug of coffee for me. Instead, I woke in darkness at 4:13 a.m., my heart hammering, lying on my side with my chin in a pool of my own drool, being spooned by Noah. And even this ostensibly sweet arrangement was compromised by the fact that in a best-case scenario I needed to fart, but I was pretty sure I needed to poop. And he was still naked, and I was still wearing nothing but my T-shirt. In contrast to comparable situations in the past, I felt gratefully not hungover. At the same time, everything that had seemed spontaneous the previous night—not showering upon arriving at his house, not brushing my teeth before going to sleep, him jizzing on my stomach—had caught up with me. I probably was still coated with Albuquerque Hampton Inn residue! Though I didn’t exactly feel gross because of Noah, I definitely felt gross adjacent to him, and aware of him behind me not as a smoking-hot person I might be falling in love with but as a rhythmically breathing lump inhabited by a human I didn’t really know that well.
I could see the time on the cylindrical silver clock on Noah’s nightstand, which I lay closer to than he did. What an ugly object, I thought as I tried to determine a strategy for extricating myself. The master bathroom was about twenty feet away and the door was open, and I could go in there, turn on the shower to cover the noise of facing my destiny on the toilet, take a real shower to conceal the fact that I’d just faced my destiny on the toilet, and emerge clean. But where were my clothes and toothbrush and hairbrush? Still in my car? They had to be. And it was very plausible that the house’s security alarm was armed, either because Noah had set it the night before or because it was automated. Then I thought, one of the guest rooms. Any of the guest rooms. Any bathroom not right off Noah’s bedroom.
All this time, Noah’s left arm had been slung over my left side, and, as lightly as possible, I nudged it off. Then I inched forward, to the edge of the mattress, swung my legs down, and quickly stood. Immediately, my new freedom released a surge of adrenaline. The articles of clothing scattered on the rug were indistinguishable in the dark room, and the first thing I picked up was, I was pretty sure, his boxer briefs. The second thing seemed to be his shirt. In the bed, he stirred, and I thought Fuck and hurried from the room.
I followed a short hall to the entry hall; crossed it; entered the guest wing; walked to the farthest of the three bedrooms; entered its bathroom; sat on the toilet; peed for a very long time; pooped; immediately felt 60 percent better; remembered I had no underwear on, let alone pants, to pull up; washed and dried my hands; then stood there, unsure what to do next. It occurred to me that, as at the homes of rich people I’d visited in the past, there might be spare toiletries in the cabinet behind the mirror or under the sink. But the mirror was just a mirror, without any cabinet, and under the sink all I found were a toilet brush, a plunger, and an unopened package of six rolls of toilet paper. In lieu of a toothbrush, I used my index finger and water, and as I did, I noticed the puffy tangle behind my head of triple-orgasm hair. I washed and dried my hands a second time and attempted to run my fingers through the tangles with little success, and as I did I fully apprehended the absurdity of the situation. My phone was in Noah’s room, in the pocket of my discarded jeans. My laptop was in the car. I was wearing nothing from the waist down. If I were a different person, presumably this was when I’d have returned to Noah’s room, climbed in his bed, snuggled against him, and gone back to sleep. Instead I walked pantsless into the kitchen, pulling my T-shirt over my nether regions, hoping there really was no closed-circuit TV, helped myself to a tangerine in a bowl of citrus on the island, then—as quietly as possible—opened seven cabinets before finding the one with side-by-side compost and trash bins. I saw on the microwave clock that it was 4:31. I walked back to the guest room adjacent to the bathroom I’d besmirched, climbed under the covers, and began crafting the sentences I’d use to express to Noah that I really appreciated his hospitality but that staying in a hotel seemed to make more sense after all. Would I say that I felt overwhelmed, or was that obvious? Would I specify that while I knew there were people who could handle an amorphous and open-ended trip in the context of an amorphous and open-ended relationship, I wasn’t one of them? Relationship, of course, was the wrong word. Tryst? Fling? Rendezvous? I frantically revised my hypothetical script for at least an hour before, improbably, falling asleep. When I awakened, sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and Noah was standing by the bed holding a mug of coffee for me. But before I realized it was him, I only knew that I was in a strange room with a strange man, and I yelped.
“Sally, it’s me,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine forty-five.” He passed me the mug then sat on the edge of the mattress. He was wearing a gray T-shirt, blue shorts, ankle socks, and sneakers. The perfect golden hair on his perfect arms and legs was visible, and his face was kind and handsome. “I guessed at how much oat milk you put in, so if it’s wrong, we can start over.”
“I hope it’s okay I came in here. I just thought—” The words that a few hours before had seemed necessary—amorphous and open-ended, relationship, tryst—were eluding me. Instead, I felt very happy to see Noah, while also wondering if my eyes were visibly crusty or my lips were visibly scummy.
“Yeah, of course.” His voice was friendly and utterly unfazed. “It’s always weird sleeping in a new place for the first time. And I apologize that we didn’t get you more settled last night, but I guess we were distracted.” He smiled affably. “Your bags are all in the hall. I brought them in from the car. And your clothes are there.” He nodded to the left, and I saw that on the white armchair, in a tidy pile, were my folded jeans and folded bra. “I think your phone is in the pocket,” he said.
Where, I wondered, was my underwear?
Noah patted my calf beneath the coverlet. “My trainer is about to arrive. Remember Bobby, the one I don’t have three-hour workouts with? I’ll shower after that, then I thought we could hike or go have a picnic lunch at the beach if that sounds fun to you? Or we could hang out and swim.” He smiled and I felt a fizzy sort of scrambling, like the tide gathering itself to go back out: how attracted to him I was, how much I liked him, and how confusing it was to find myself at his house. “We can play it by ear today, but I’m really happy that you’re here.”
Would a person who wasn’t anxious and uncomfortable sit up and kiss him? But I hadn’t brushed my teeth since the gas station bathroom! Instead, I said, “Me, too.”
Noah’s hand remained on my calf, and he squeezed it. “Just text me if you need anything in the next hour. I’ll be in the yard by the studio.” Then he leaned in and kissed me on the mouth, and the kiss was so quick that it probably didn’t matter if I had scummy lips or not.
* * *
—
Good news I successfully pooped, I texted Viv. Also we had sex last night X 3 and it was great
Bad news is I have no idea what I’m doing here
It’s like 13 hours until bedtime
Seriously how do you get through a day with another person?
In the folded jeans on the chair, I’d found my phone in one front pocket and my underwear in the other, which was cringe-inducing but not as bad as if the underwear was still at large. Viv didn’t respond immediately, so I opened the door that Noah had closed when he’d left, peered out, saw no one, and pulled in my suitcase, backpack, purse, and the cardboard box with its two remaining protein bars, both of which I ate. I located and used my toothbrush then showered. After I emerged from the bathroom, a text from Viv was waiting: Day sex
Then: OK can we back up a second and savor SEX THREE TIMES WITH NOAH BREWSTER
AND THAT IT WAS GREAT
THAT’S THE ONLY GOOD THING THAT’S HAPPENED IN 2020
You can’t talk now can you?
I called her right away. “He’s outside with his trainer.”
In a singsong, Viv said, “Sally Milz got laid last night, doo dah, doo dah.”
“I’m kind of freaking out,” I said.
“Why?”
The answer was both so all-encompassing and so self-evident that it was oddly hard to articulate. After a few seconds, I said, “What if we run out of things to say? What if I fart in front of him?”
“If this is a real relationship, then those things will for sure happen. And then if you get pregnant, you’ll fart in front of him so much that both of you will only notice the rare moments when you’re not farting in front of him.”
“How many breakfasts and lunches have you eaten today?”
“I ordered kung pao shrimp for lunch, then I got horrible heartburn and now I’m drinking ginger tea, and I only have medium heartburn. You haven’t decided how long you’re staying, right? How long can you tell yourself you’ll be there without losing it?”
“From my perspective or his?”
“Since you’re not a mind reader, only yours.”
“Until, I don’t know—Thursday?” It was presently Monday, which sort of made staying until Thursday adhere to the rule of three.
“Great,” Viv said. “Tell yourself, but don’t tell him, that you’ll leave at noon on Thursday. And that after that you’ll never see him again. And just enjoy the hell out of yourself until then. Leave it all on the field. Is that the expression? I hate sports metaphors. But for once, don’t worry about the future. And for sure don’t worry what your butthole looks like when you’re doing it doggy style.”
“I bet my butthole is less cute than yours. Also, neither of us is drinking at all. I’m abstaining in solidarity.”
“Wow, that’s kind of beautiful. You can’t just lose your inhibitions in the fog of alcohol.”
“Will I never see him again after Thursday?”
Viv laughed. “Will my baby be born healthy and always stay safe from harm?”
“Fair enough. And I’m sorry about your heartburn.”
“Bianca didn’t get fired, by the way. They’re not firing anyone because of the pandy. But the girl from—what’s that improv team with the most annoying name ever?”
“You have to be more specific.”
“I can’t remember right now, but that’s who got hired. So you know how I said day sex? I wasn’t kidding. That really is the answer to how you get through the hours with this person you kind of do and kind of don’t know.”
“I’m excited that you’re about to bring a human into the world,” I said. “You and Theo are going to be such good parents.”
“We realized last night that the age he’ll be when our son graduates from high school is the age my dad will be three years from now.”
“Theo’s young at heart.”
“Hmm—young at heartburn—is that anything?”
“Young at fart?” I countered.
“Keep me posted.”
“Thank you, Vivvy,” I said. “And likewise.”
* * *
—
In the bathroom, I heard voices outside, and I discovered that if I raised the shade on the north-facing window, I could see Noah and his trainer. The trainer was visible from the back, and Noah was visible from the front, holding a silver kettlebell near his left shoulder then thrusting it straight up with both hands. I was fairly sure he couldn’t see me—no lights were on in the bathroom—and I watched for a few minutes. Sweat had made a messy column down the front of his gray T-shirt and also appeared in large patches when he lifted his arms, and again I felt a wave of attraction. He did some sit-ups, and I wondered if his body felt sore from sex, sore in a good way, like mine did. He went back to lifting the kettlebell, and, more because I didn’t want to be creepy than because I’d lost interest, I closed the shade. I then lay on the bed with the latest issue of The New Yorker and read the cartoon captions until my phone buzzed.
Hey just finished, he’d texted.
I saw you out the window, I replied. You looked cute.
Also sweaty, he replied.
Sweaty in a cute way, I replied. Want to come visit your own guest room?
I would love to! he replied.
He showed up within about a minute, this time carrying two water glasses. I took both and set them on the table beside the armchair then hugged and kissed him. He kissed me back before saying, “Are you sure you don’t care if I’m sweaty?”
“I’m very sure,” I said.
Afterward, when he’d collapsed on me and I was running my fingertips over his back, I said, “So have you, uh, dated much during the pandemic?”
“Well,” he said, “the last person I had sex with is you. And the person before that was also you and the person before that was also you.”
“Who was the person before that?”
He lifted his head. “This is kind of a complicated answer. The last serious relationship I had was with a woman named Louisiana. We broke up almost four years ago.”
“I know who she is,” I said. “And I know you dated her.” This was the jewelry designer / pest control heiress.
“We’ve never officially gotten back together, but—well, for lack of a better way to say it, we’ve hooked up a few times over the years. Including this past April. And I don’t want to sound disrespectful to her, but I remembered pretty quickly why we’d broken up. That’s always how it’s been with her.”
“Can you be more specific and thorough about her unappealing qualities?”
He laughed. “I can picture her wearing a Good Vibes Only T-shirt,” he said. “How about that? Or, this is a lot more serious, but she’s very preoccupied with food and her weight and counting calories. She’s extremely thin. And I feel for her, but I have enough issues of my own on that front that I find it challenging to be around.”
“Was she staying here?”
“Sometimes. She lives in Malibu.”
I wondered but didn’t ask if her Malibu house had been funded by cockroaches or necklaces.
“Ending things again with her is what made me resolve to email you,” Noah said. “It still took a while to work up the nerve. But I’d felt lonely after being sick, with everything shut down. And then being around Louisiana felt equally lonely. It wasn’t her fault, but there was just something missing.”
