The Intimacy Experiment (Shameless #2)

by Rosie Danan

NAOMI GRANT KNEW that every superhero worth their salt had a secret identity. An alter ego that represented their humanity and kept them tethered to “the real world,” usually by virtue of being unassuming—Bruce Wayne notwithstanding. Naomi could relate, though her given name was dusty from disuse. Hannah Sturm, with her easy smiles and trusting eyes, hadn’t made a public appearance in over a decade. And why would she? Naomi Grant was the one people wanted.

Of course, Naomi Grant wasn’t a superhero. She was a porn star. Well, former porn star turned co-CEO of an inclusive sex education start-up. Try fitting that on a business card. Her superpowers, at least most of the marketable ones, were of the distinctly bedroom variety. There wasn’t much use for her lauded talents here at the Los Angeles Convention Center, for a national teaching conference full of harried, unappreciated, and underpaid people in sensible shoes.

She braced herself for the impending impact of leers and jeers, but the shift in her normally fluid posture felt like overkill. Hadn’t she faced worse crowds than this? Back in her waitressing days, she’d once hosed down a pack of drunk frat boys on the Venice boardwalk. The workshop attendees moved through the rows of participants at a rapid clip. Classics. Communications. Molecular biology. Naomi pressed her tongue against the back of her bottom teeth, an old habit from when she’d had it pierced and the sound of stainless steel meeting bone warded off strangers. She liked to pretend she found average people boring, with their sitcoms and their mortgage payments and their shame over what made them hot. But the truth was, she knew better than anyone how quickly they could turn hostile, especially in groups as large as this one.

Finally, every pair of inquisitive eyes in the room turned her way. Her throat went tight. She wished she’d bought a soda on her way in. Something cool and fizzy enough that the bubbles stung her nose. She knew soda was a nutritionist’s nightmare, but that was half of the appeal on the rare occasion she indulged. It was like the way a drag on a cigarette made her feel like she’d been cast in a film noir for a moment, before she remembered she was taking years off her own life with each inhale.

Cassidy was their executive producer, and Naomi trusted her completely. They’d worked together before Naomi had left to run Shameless, back when Cass was making queer erotic films out of her garage. Cassidy was essential in helping make their site more inclusive. She was also the elder queer who had helped baby Naomi navigate coming out as bi over a decade ago.

He lifted a shoulder. “Blame Einstein.” “Really? That’s what you’re going with?” Her words were flinty, testing his speed to spark. He let them smolder and die. “Einstein wrote, in 1930, ‘To know what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms—this knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true religiousness.’” Naomi shook her head. “You memorized that?” “Those words made sense to me when nothing else did,” he said, thinking of standing in the rain at his father’s funeral. “The idea that there was so much in the universe I would never understand, never unravel, no matter how much I studied. The knowledge that my life wasn’t a problem I could ever solve let me focus my energy elsewhere. Those words felt like freedom.”

“And what we’re trying to accomplish is . . . for young people to find religion?” She said it like his mission was a lost cause. The statement was true, but it wasn’t the whole story. Correcting her was probably a bad idea, but he knew that in order to really get her on board, he’d have to at least try to get Naomi to understand. His job was full of deceptively small words like faith that had infinitely complicated definitions. Luckily, Ethan was pragmatic by nature and realistic by virtue of experience. “It’s simpler than that. I want to give people a reason to believe. In themselves, each other, and something more.”

So many of Ethan’s interactions, with Leah and his mother both, had pivoted in the wake of his dad’s death. In their individual responses to it. They’d all thrown themselves into work. Had let it pull them in different directions until every time they came back together, they bumped into each other like puzzle pieces warped so that they no longer quite fit.

It was a shame that he was going to have to shun his sister so soon after she’d come back from filming. “The next module,” he declared before his mother could dig into that proclamation, “covers initiating physical intimacy—or the lack of it, I suppose, depending on your and your partner’s preferences.” “That sounds very healthy,” his mother said, suitably distracted by allusions to procreation. “I’m sure Ms. Grant will provide valuable perspective given her work.” Ethan nodded, trying not to think too hard about Naomi’s professional history because he was certain, though he hadn’t personally verified, she’d been naked for at least parts of it.

“What comes after the sex session?” Leave it to Leah to cut to the chase. “That’s where things get really interesting, in my opinion.” Leah smirked. “You would think the parts after sex were the fascinating bits.” Ethan made a mental note to refuse to let her borrow his car when she inevitably came asking.

His mother nodded happily. Apparently sibling bickering did nothing to dampen her enjoyment of an evening of family time. Either that or she’d had more wine than he’d realized. “More kugel?”

“The tricky thing about grief,” his mom said, “is that even when we know it’s coming, we underestimate our own capacity for suffering.” Guilt ate away at Ethan’s insides, as corrosive as lighter fluid. He realized that in his mom’s eyes, he’d run to religion the same way Leah had run to adventure. They’d both found places to fill their time that weren’t here, with her.

Since she’d visited the synagogue, two weeks had flown by, aided by a packed schedule and a general sense of discomfort over having agreed to this gig. She and Ethan had exchanged a few breezy emails about her proposed syllabus. She’d only found herself lingering over the signature line once before deciding in the end that there really wasn’t much difference between Have a good night and Have a good night! She’d never used a chipper exclamation mark in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Naomi bit the inside of her cheek. It took a lot to rattle her, usually. Through the combination of years of therapy and sheer force of will, she prided herself on her ability to not engage with negative thoughts. Mind over matter. Public speaking didn’t make her nervous. It was just another kind of performance. But baring her soul had always cost her more than baring her body. She wanted this too badly—to be taken seriously as an authority figure instead of just an object of desire.

A woman with dark braids raised her hand. “Yeah?” Naomi placed both hands on the lectern, a little dazed. “So what I’m hearing you say is that the dating equivalent of ‘dress for the job you want’ is ‘dress for the dick of your dreams’?” Naomi let out a sharp, grateful laugh. And just like that, she knew she could do this. “I mean, if you’re fishing for dick, sure. But keep in mind that it’s not in short supply.”

“That’s pretty much how sound works,” she confirmed, feeling lighter already. “I thought you studied physics?” “I do.” He shook his head. “I mean, I did. I still try to keep up with new theories. As a hobby.” His hair was in disarray and his shirt was a disaster. Worry was written all over his face. What was wrong with her that she found him more desirable when he was frazzled?

Naomi thrust her arm forward and punched on the stereo. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that she’d been listening to an audiobook. “Deconstructing Reform Judaism. Chapter Six.” The serene narrator’s voice filled the car. Shit. For a moment, both women sat very still, but as soon as her wits returned, Naomi leaned forward to turn it off. Unfortunately, Clara had two arms free to Naomi’s one. She was surprisingly strong for being so little.

ETHAN COHEN WAS an embarrassment to his people. Matchmakers had held an honorable position in the Jewish community since the earliest days of their faith. Some of the most illustrious rabbis had once made their living as shadchonim. Ethan was literally supposed to be doing “God’s work” right now. Instead he was avoiding his imminent failure by drinking a beer. Any way you sliced it, his first singles mixer was a spectacular dud. Unfortunately, he had no one to blame but himself.

“All those people tonight, nervous and excited, dressed to impress. They reminded me that I miss the potential. The dizzy, light-headed feeling of falling for someone. The way you catch yourself thinking about them at all hours of the day and night. Finding excuses to spend time with them.” Naomi bit her tongue. Literally. “I forgot that love is essential. That even in its absence, you occupy yourself with the lack of it.”

He wanted to tell her love was inherent. That it existed in many intangible forms. That she could build love by extending it. But something in the twist of her mouth and the guarded curve of her jaw made him swallow the promises. “Love is valued at an individual, societal, and evolutionary level, and certainly Judaism tells us to honor marriage, the most commonly held institution in love’s name,” he conceded instead. “But I think in the simplest terms, love makes surviving easier, and everyone deserves that.” Naomi flattened her mouth into a hard line. “Not everyone.”

Since he’d become a rabbi, his work had exposed him to so much suffering. But anguish wasn’t something you could build up a tolerance to.

Her eyes went dark enough that he half expected steam to start pouring out of her ears. Whoops. Maybe telling Naomi she couldn’t do something in front of the entire team wasn’t such a great idea.

As she hugged her elbows, Ethan was struck by the huge number of times in her life Naomi had had to be brave. He wanted to show her that she didn’t always have to be the strong one. That if she let him, he’d carry some of the weight. No matter the outcome of this discussion, Ethan wasn’t ready to go back to his life before he’d met her, but something told him to wait out Naomi’s reaction. What if the trick to reaching her, one of them at least, was just patience? Standing still long enough that she would grow used to him. That she would let herself relax.

Dating Ethan also required bravery, but it didn’t inspire the same swooping belly and trembling hands she’d felt all those years ago. Instead, sitting across from him required her to flirt with her own softness. To decide if she was willing to put down the armor she’d worn for years and risk finding, when this whole thing ended, that she’d lost the strength to pick it up again.

The waiter came and poured the red wine they’d ordered. Naomi took a big swallow, half the glass, before she continued. “I have this thing where, when people promise too much, when something seems too good to be true . . . I don’t like to wait around and see it break down.” She’d learned early the cruel fact of life that you could lose everything more than once.

Joce had obviously moved on, married someone else, but Naomi knew more than anyone that good things happening for you didn’t make the bad things fade any faster. Time might heal all wounds, but in Naomi’s experience, never as fast as she needed.

Naomi had forgotten the luxury of having a date at a party. The way you could roll your eyes at them when someone made an inane comment. The delight of finding them with your coat already slung over their arm when you were ready to leave. The closeness, gentle and fond, of having them hold it behind you, arms straight, while you slipped inside.

“Sex doesn’t have to be a big deal to be worthwhile. But sometimes it is a big deal, and that’s okay too.”

Tender like the ocean returning to shore, no matter how many times it’s sent away. “This world is full of people who would rather hate you than examine the pain in their own hearts. They will try to limit who you can love, who you can spend time with, who you can fuck. Some of these people will act like their condemnation is in your best interest. Like one day you’ll thank them for showing you the error of your ways. Some of them feel better about their own lives when they can deny the validity of yours.”

“Ethan, anyone who loves you knows how much Beth Elohim means to you and would want you to keep your position—would probably do whatever they could to make sure you had the opportunity to help as many people as possible.” Leah dropped her gaze to her lap. “Even if it meant losing some of your love.” He swallowed, throat tight. They weren’t just talking about Naomi anymore. “Leah, I never meant to—” “I know,” she said, quick to cut him off. “We all know.” She gave him half a smile. “You’re insufferably noble in that way.” Confirmation of his fears washed over him, but instead of burning like acid the way he’d always expected, it fell like rainwater—surprisingly clear and clean. Acceptance had a funny effect on weakness.

Find a book you loved in your childhood.’” Naomi pictured her dog-eared copy of Anne of Green Gables. “‘Read it. Let it soothe the parts of you that were broken before you found the person who’s no longer yours. Let it touch the hurts they couldn’t fix. No one else can ever save you. It’s okay. You don’t need saving.’” She was talking to Hannah now, to her younger self, as much as these students.

Their spectators booed accordingly until Morey climbed on a chair and told them that in his day, all good shows came with an intermission, and if they didn’t like it, they could go home and miss the finale. With surprisingly minimal groans, they settled—looking at their phones or lining up for the bathroom.