Romantic Comedy(33)

Then it was time for Blabbermouth, and though Noah and Henrietta were high-spirited as their silliness culminated in the airplane bit, I felt a deep, uneasy knowledge that the sketch wasn’t quite good enough; it wasn’t making a point that earlier iterations of Blabbermouth hadn’t made better. I also knew that I wasn’t going to start wildly revising this close to dress and air. Some writers kept making changes for as long as they could, but I believed a point arrived when potential gains in quality came at the expense of the cast’s familiarity and comfort with the script.

After Blabbermouth was Catchphrase’s horrible sketch, during which I had the unpleasant experience of realizing Catchphrase could simultaneously unicycle and juggle, which impressed me in spite of myself; then Noah’s second musical act, the song called “Inbox Zero”; then the Bathroom Cabinet sketch, which seemed to me to be about 75 percent of where it needed to be writing-wise; then the Three Tenors. Then Noah reappeared on Home Base and said, “Thank you for coming to this rehearsal that was perfectly smooth in all ways.” Over the speakers, I heard the assistant director Penelope say, “And that’s a wrap on the run-through, folks.”

Bob, Nigel, Autumn, Penelope, and Elliot converged on the floor in front of Home Base, and Noah hopped offstage and began speaking with them. I tried to discreetly approach Autumn from the back, touching her elbow. When she turned, I murmured, “Annabel is still coming for dress and air, right?”

Autumn frowned and shook her head. The other people in the conversation all had gone quiet and were looking at me.

I said, “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with Annabel Lily.”

“Annabel’s not coming today,” Autumn said. “Period.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because something came up for her.”

“I can reach out to her,” Noah said.

“Or Danny can,” I said, just as Bob said, “Noah, you’ll have your hands quite full between now and air.”

“It’s no big deal,” Noah said. “I kind of know her.”

In a much warmer voice than the one she used to address me, Autumn said, “That’s above and beyond of you to offer, but guess what? It’s time for you to meet your snake.” She glanced among the others and said, “The handler recommends that Noah and the snake have one-on-one time to get used to each other.”

My eyes met Noah’s, and I said, “Wait, you are using a real one?”

He grinned. “I’ve been reassured it’s non-venomous.”

Elliot patted Noah on the back and said, “It’s gonna be awesome, man.”

Bob said, “In the last thirty-seven years, we’ve only lost, what, Nigel? Three hosts? Four?”

Dryly, Nigel said, “No more than that.” Then he looked at me and said, “A strong show for you tonight, Sally.”

SATURDAY, 6:01 P.M.

I was back in the cue cards room when my phone buzzed with a text from Henrietta: OMG Annabel and Danny have broken up for real?!?!!! Is Danny okay?

“Oh, shit,” I said aloud and turned to the nearest cue card guy. “I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to Danny’s dressing room and knocked on the door several times. There was no answer, but, when I turned the knob, I saw Danny lying facedown on his brown corduroy love seat. The room was about six by eight feet, a windowless box with a Formica counter under the mirrored wall, and Danny had done little to personalize the space other than installing the love seat. His legs hung off it, and he still had on his blazer from News Desk.

“Danny, it’s me,” I said.

When he turned his head, his face was red and tear streaked. “I guess you heard,” he said.

After I’d perched on the edge of the love seat—he was taking up so much of it that my right thigh was squeezed against his left hip—I could smell him. But it was a scent that was recognizable and human and not disgusting; the recognition of it felt familial.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “Although do you think it’s over over? Given your history—”

“Remember on election night, when it was like, the worst could happen? And then all of a sudden, it was like, Oh my fucking God, it’s happening. And then it had happened.” He sniffed. “Her publicist called my publicist, and Belly already put out a statement, which I’m sure the publicist wrote because it’s phony bullshit wording.” He grinned darkly. “Then she blocked me on all her socials.”

It seemed, among other things, either stunningly insensitive or deliberately cruel to behave this way hours before Danny was scheduled to perform live on national TV. And it would have been a lie to say that I didn’t once again wonder about the fate of my Danny Horst Rule sketch, but this time it wasn’t the main thing I was thinking about. The main thing I was thinking was that Danny had dodged a bullet.

“Did something specific happen?” I asked.

He rolled onto his side, his back against the corduroy cushions. “I was at her apartment this morning, right? We’re chilling in the kitchen, we’re making smoothies, and she has this super powerful, top-of-the-line blender. We’re talking about how it has a ten-year warranty, and I start making dumb jokes like, by the time the warranty expires, all cars will be self-driving, all meat will be grown in labs, and we’ll probably be divorced but we won’t even care because we’ll both be banging robots.”