At 1:06:47 into the movie and two pairs of underwear on the floor, the intercom buzzes in three shrill bursts.
“Did you order takeout?” Gabe asks, breathing hard. He flops back onto the sofa. “A sandwich actually sounds amazing right now.”
“How would I have done that?” Ari sits up. “With my thirdhand?” Two more buzzes trill through the apartment, followed by one sustained buzz.
Ari rolls off the sagging couch and stumbles to the intercom. She punches thetalkbutton: “Yeah?”
The response is a garbled mix of static, a low voice, “food,” and “Natalie.”
“Buzzer’s broken,” she says. “I’ll come down.” Ari tugs her tank top over her head. “Natalie orders these macrobiotic meals,” she tells Gabe, who’s already back on his phone. “Must be the delivery guy.” She picks his boxers up off the rug, scanning the floor. “Crap. Where did my underwear go?”
“Underwear is overrated.” Gabe heaves himself off the couch. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”
Ari pulls on his boxers, shoves her feet into her sneakers, and jogs down the stairs to grab the meals from the delivery guy.
When she reaches the ground floor, she sees a hulking shadow through the window at the top of the heavy door at the entryway. But as she begins to open the door, the shadow takes on a familiar shape.
Tall Sweater Nightmare Man is standing under her awning, holding a reusable shopping bag of produce that looks like an eighteenth-century Dutch still life.
He’s pale and lanky—mid-twenties?—with dark hair and a longish face that’s oddly proportioned.
But not in a bad way.
His eyes move back and forth across the slice of her face that’s visible between the frame and the door.
Ari clears her throat. “Can I help you?”
He looks confused, but doesn’t answer.
“Are you here to tell me about your Lord and savior Jesus Christ?”
“I’m Jewish.” He peeks over her shoulder. “Are you Natalie’s roommate?”
He smells like expensive botanical aftershave.
“Maybe,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Are these her gluten-free paleo meals?”
“This is olive oil–poached cod with mussels, orange, and chorizo,” he says, shifting his weight impatiently. “Did Natalie not mention I was coming?”
As if on cue, Ari’s phone chirps multiple times.
Nat: need huuuuge favor.
I got my days mixed up.
Josh is supposed to make me dinner tonight
Nat: the chef.
he’s already on his way with all these groceries.
I’m on the earlier Jitney but still running so late
could you let him in?
Shit.
This is typical Natalie bullshit, and she gets away with it because she has luminous skin and this amazing laugh and Ari has a crush on her in a way that’s completely different from her occasional horny Gabe feelings. Namely, an inability to say “no.”
