Romantic Comedy(26)

“I am the kind of dude who unironically talks about love languages,” Noah said, and everyone laughed.

“Bailey, you can show more skepticism toward Noah,” I said. “While Viv, you’re fully into his schtick.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Viv said, and Bailey said, “Like hostile skepticism? Or like I just don’t get him?”

“Hmm.” I turned to Rick and Bob.

“I vote for the latter,” Bob said.

“I agree,” I said. “More like middle-aged baffled.”

“This might be random,” Noah said, “but what if I sing a duet with one of them at the end? If one of the customers is as, you know, cheesy as me.”

“Oh, I love that,” I said. “Henrietta, let’s have you do it.”

“Ab-so-luuuuutely,” Henrietta trilled. Almost all TNO cast members could sing respectably, and some, including Henrietta, had truly beautiful voices, though she rarely used hers in a beautiful way.

I turned back to Noah. “But do you mean a real song of yours or would I write one?”

Noah looked amused. “If you want to write a song by tomorrow night, I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Yeah, let’s go with an existing song. Are you okay with it being ‘Making Love in July’？”

He grinned. “Sally, I’d expect nothing else.”

Noah grinning, Noah using my name, Noah’s ability to be warm and normal, while my insides churned—it was all somewhat devastating. Did he remember that, the previous afternoon, he’d serenaded me? Was I supposed to never mention that he’d serenaded me? Had he not serenaded me?

I said to the group, “We’ll get the updated scripts to you ASAP. Otherwise, thanks again, everyone.”

I was standing just offstage at this point, and Noah stepped down and approached me. In the same friendly tone from before, he said, “Did you hear Elliot’s idea for my Choreography sketch? I guess I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Wait, what’s the idea?”

“You know how the choreographer suggests putting a panther in my show? Elliot’s asking Nigel to spring for a real panther.”

“Oh, wow. Are you comfortable with that?”

“God, no.” Noah’s forehead wrinkled. “Would you be?”

“You’ll for sure hear from animal rights activists. Which I understand—I sometimes get stressed out on the animal’s behalf, but the truth is that my greatest moment here involved a reindeer.”

“What sketch was that?”

I shook my head. “Nothing I wrote. In my third season, in the episode right before Christmas, Diana Ross was the musical guest, and at the very end, she sang ‘Joy to the World,’ and fake snow fell from the rafters. The cast was standing behind her singing along, and Nigel came out with a reindeer that had antlers and everything. I knew it was corny, but I almost couldn’t contain my happiness.”

“Were you onstage?”

“Oh, God, no. Never. I was on the studio floor.”

“I somehow missed that episode, but it sounds awesome. And I’m not even a person who wore out her Supremes’ Greatest Hits tape in grade school.”

I laughed—although we’d discussed it less than three days ago, I certainly wouldn’t have expected him to remember that detail from my life—and he added, “My greatest show was in Glasgow, during a crazy summer storm. For the entire last hour, there was a torrential downpour, and everyone and everything got soaked. Me, my band, the instruments, the stage, the audience. I ruined my guitar, and it was so completely worth it.”

“I guess the common denominator for epic live performances is a weather event involving precipitation,” I said, and he grinned again.

“And it doesn’t even have to be natural,” he said. “It can be man-made. Have you really never appeared onstage here?”

“Yes,” I said. “I really never have. I prefer lurking in the shadows like a goblin.” He made a concerned expression, and I said, “I don’t mean goblin in a bad way. It’s a point of pride.”

His expression shifted to something warmer as he said, “Goblin definitely isn’t the word I’d have picked for you.”

Surely, if I were a person adept at banter in real life, I’d have batted my eyelashes and said, “What word would you pick?” But I was adept at banter only on the page, and I said, “Anyway, about the panther, if you’re into the idea, great, and if you’re not, just say so to Elliot.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

And then Autumn materialized at his elbow and said, “Noah, it’s time for your tux fitting.”

Looking at me, Noah said, “Aren’t I fancy? See you at the Blabbermouth rehearsal.” Before I could reply, he’d been whisked away.

I pulled out my phone and texted Viv, Where’d u go

She responded with a photo of herself sitting in the armchair in her dressing room, making a festive expression and holding aloft a can of Diet Coke the way a person might hold up a champagne flute. Within a minute, I was knocking on her dressing room door.

“Bad news,” I said as I entered. “I realized Noah Brewster is hot.”

She laughed. “Welcome to 2001.”