“He didn’t have to do anything to me to make it feel personal,” she answered. “It doesn’t work like that for women.” Elliot waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he flattened his palms against the counter and pushed himself to his feet.
“Okay, how about a grand tour of my apartment. It’s quite the lap of luxury. I’m surprised thatArchitectural Digesthasn’t asked for a photo shoot.” Elliot hoped he was masking his mortification: he glanced around, and honestly, the apartment looked like a college student’s move-out day. Her own apartment in Tribeca had been finely appointed, clearly decorated by a designer, and though Elliot was not one for insecurity, now, with Birdie Maxwell standing in front of his IKEA-lite furnishings, he wouldn’t blame her for bolting. “I know it’s not the Four Seasons,” he said.
“It doesn’t have to be the Four Seasons,” she said, though Elliot thought she could have sold the line a bit more.
The tour of his apartment took about forty-five seconds, but he showed her the coffee maker for the morning and assured her that the sheets were clean and told her how to jigger the shower knob so the hot water worked.
“You don’t have to sleep in the RV,” Birdie reiterated as her eyes coasted over the framed family photographs, one of the few personal touches in the place. Elliot had forgotten that he had one of the three of them, Mona, Birdie, Elliot, that his mom had taken on their fourteenth birthday on their front lawn. He and Mona always had joint birthday parties, but that was the first year that it was obvious that Elliot’s RSVP list was significantly longer than hers. Elliot proposed that they just invite Birdie over—she could even bring Andie, who still liked to tag along back then—for a water balloon fight, then for a cake that they could split into quarters and they’d each devour a quadrant. Andie hadn’t come, which pleased Elliot because he just wanted Birdie alone. So itwas just the three of them and water balloons and an enormous sheet cake that gave them all a stomachache when they finally put their forks down. Elliot’s mom had insisted on a photo—all their shirts were damp from the balloons and Elliot knew, without looking at it now, that Birdie had blue icing around her lips.
She picked up the frame, peered at it, set it back down, her face unreadable.
“Elliot, really, we’re adults. Just sleep here. Who even knows when Mona changed those RV sheets last.”
Elliot hesitated. He wanted to sleep here, god did he want to sleep here. He watched Birdie sink into his lopsided couch and press the heels of her hands underneath her eyes. What he wanted to say was that he didn’t trust himself to sleep in his queen-sized bed with her. Didn’t trust that he wouldn’t lie awake all night willing himself not to touch her, not to run his hands over her spine or along her dewy skin or simply ask her if she wanted to place her head atop his chest. What he wouldn’t do to run his hands along her dewy skin. All over it. Every last spot, every last inch.
“Well,” he stammered, “it’s probably more professional if we sleep separately anyway.”
She dropped her hands and screwed her face up. “We weren’t going to sleep together. Did something about this evening give you the impression that I was looking to get laid?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant at—” he bleated. But then she raised her eyes and met his, and he could see she was only joking. “Ah,” he said. “Gallows humor.”
“First comes gallows humor, then comes the death of my career.”
“No,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
She parted her lips to say something, then stopped. Thenreconsidered. “Elliot, you know that I’m not looking for you to save me, right? I mean, whatever happens with this letter and, you know, like, my public image. Yes, I need your help, but no, I don’t expect you to, like, be my white knight.”
Elliot felt the blood pool in his cheeks, then his ears.
“Right, no, I never thought—” He turned away from her and opened the fridge in an attempt at normalcy, to reset the equilibrium. Of course that’s what he’d thought if he really drilled down on it. Save her, rescue her, prove that he’d completely fucked up and regretted it seven years ago by doing so. Also, save his own career in the meantime. It was a real happily-ever-after, just like her movies. Elliot had never thought of himself as subscribing to fiction, much less fantasy, and yet, just twenty-four hours in with Birdie, and he was doing it all the same.
“Okay, well, can I get you anything before I head out to the RV?” he asked.
Birdie sighed. “A time machine?”
“Where would you go back to?” Elliot asked before he could stop himself.
Their night together? Before she invited him back to her apartment? After he walked away? After she didn’t try to stop him?
“The dawn of time,” she said. “I think I’d go back to the dawn of time.”
“Fairly boring,” Elliot said, shutting the fridge. “No internet.”
“Oh right, for sure. That’s exactly why it’s appealing.” She managed a grin, and he nearly tipped over with joy in getting her to smile.
They each fell silent. Elliot knew there was plenty to say, but he didn’t quite know what needed to be said yet.
Instead, he tried to talk himself into leaving. Putting space between them. If he didn’t now, he knew he was going to crossall sorts of ethical journalistic lines, not to mention all sorts of lines period.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll head out. Make yourself at home. Just, uh, I don’t know, don’t look under the mattress?” It was meant to be a joke about the time that she and Mona had been snooping in his room and found a weathered copy ofPlayboythat his swim team friends gifted him for his sixteenth birthday. When he got home from practice the afternoon they found it, Birdie and Mona had torn out all the pages and taped them to the wall in an arch around his bed. He took them down before his parents got home, but not before the two of them howled until Birdie shrieked, “I’m going to pee in my pants,” and she and Mona both raced toward the hall bathroom before one of their bladders exploded.
“Look,” Birdie said, finding his stare, then faltering. “I wouldn’t mind if you slept here. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I’d like the company.”
It was easier to convince him than he’d planned on. He simply heard her ask and caved.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” she replied.
