“Gum?”
“Yes.” He rolled over, to fish through his trusty tote bag. Whatdidn’the have in there? “Solène, may I offer you a stick of postcoital gum?”
I laughed at that. “Why, yes, Hayes, I would love a stick of postcoital gum.”
“We should hashtag that. #stickofpostcoitalgum. Now trending.”
“Yes, your twenty-two million followers would love that.”
He stopped. “You know how many followers I have?”
I felt as if I’d been caught knowing something I was not supposed to know. Information that might have been valid for mass consumption by his fans, but not general knowledge to those who knew him personally. It was tricky, this celebrity thing.
“Do you follow me?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I follow about two hundred people. And they’re all in my industry.”
“Huh,” he said, watching me and doling out his postcoital gum. Hollywood, a French brand. So apropos.
“Would it be weird if I followed you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He lay back then, interlacing his fingers with mine, holding our hands up toward the light. “Then again, I pursued you rather earnestly, so maybe not.”
“Rather,” I repeated. “My very posh Hayes.”
“Yes, well… It worked.” He looked over to me and smiled, one of his huge disarming smiles. “Because if you had told me that night in Las Vegas that I’d be lying here with you, naked, in a hotel room, in the South of France, in two months’ time… I would have told you, ‘No, it will probably take three.’”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I can’t even fuck with you properly,” he laughed, rolling into me. “You’ve totally thrown me off my game.”
“I know you too well.”
“Already, right? That happened surprisingly fast.”
“Don’t go falling in love with me. Hayes Campbell.”
“I’m not gonna fall in love with you. I’m a rock star. We don’t do that.”
“You’re a boy band member.” I smiled, fingering his hair.
His eyes widened and his mouth formed this perfect O. I assumed he was going to scold me, but then he stopped himself, his face settling into a wry smile. “Well,” he said, “I guess all bets are off then.”
west hollywood
“I met someone.”
It was late on Wednesday, the following week, and Lulit and I were winding down our June show. We had the long holiday weekend ahead of us, and the install of July’s joint exhibit,Smoke; and Mirrors. But in that dead period, coming down from the Basel high, the gallery was relatively quiet and I thought it might be the right time to broach the subject of Hayes.
“What? No. Who? When?” Lulit shut the office door. Matt and Josephine had already gone for the day, so I don’t know from whom she was hiding exactly.
“You have to promise me you won’t judge.”
“Judge? Why would I judge? He’s not an actor, is he? Please say no.”
I smiled at that. “No. But possibly worse.”
