An internationally bestselling literary and social media sensation—the brazenly sexy and wildly provocative debut novel about a thirty-something female filmmaker and an antagonistic CEO in his mid-fifties whose obsessive, scorched earth affair leaves them both transformed.
Noa Simon is a thirty-six-year-old filmmaker who knows what she wants when she sees it. And when she meets Teddy Rosenfeld, an antagonistic fifty-five-year-old CEO, she knows. An electrifying encounter in a bathroom stall at their first meeting only serves to whet Noa’s appetite, and despite Teddy’s subsequent rejections, Noa is empowered by the challenge—and by her own insatiability. She takes a job at his office and folds herself into his life. A ravenous, volatile romance follows, one that will ultimately force Noa to reckon with how far she is willing to go to satisfy and conquer her deepest desires: Does she want to be one with Teddy romantically, or does she want to be Teddy?
A compulsive, transgressive page-turner, Rosenfeld shows how power and control can play out between men and women in our most painful and pleasurable moments. With precision and visceral, voyeuristic detail, Maya Kessler has written a white-hot tale of sexual abandon that titillates and interrogates in equal measure.
Release date:
November 19, 2024
Publisher:
Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster
Print pages:
320
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Chapter 1: Get Out of My Sight 1 Get Out of My Sight ››
He’s sitting by one of the white tables on the lawn, talking to his business partner. They laugh at something, but stop when everyone’s asked to quiet down. The lighting dims and he watches the movie projected on the screen by the stage. Up until that moment, he has no idea that there’s such a thing as me. Up until that moment, I have no idea that there’s such a thing as him. But we’re soon to find out.
It’s mid-September and I’m in the middle of a rough patch. I feel stuck and I don’t know what to do to change that, so I’m pissed off at everyone and everything. There are still some joyful moments, such as this wedding of my two friends, Tom and Alison. They’re now sitting in front of the screen, roaring with laughter as they watch my movie along with the other guests. Once it’s over, everyone applauds and we go straight back to the dance floor, but then Tom tugs at me and says, “Come, they want to meet the director.”
“Come where? Who’s they?”
“My mom’s friends.”
“No, no, too drunk for introductions!”
He clears a path through the crowd and the scattered tables across the lawn and I trudge behind him.
“They’re in biotech. Marine biotech.”
“Biotech? What does that have to do with me?”
But Tom doesn’t reply since we’ve already reached the table where the “distinguished owners of Delmar Bio Solutions” are seated—at least that’s what he announces as he stands behind me, gently placing his hands on my shoulders and shoving me toward them. “This is our girl, Noa Simon.”
“Pleased to meet you.” A handsome bearded man with short gray hair and a confident handshake grins at me, examining me with glimmering eyes. “Richard Harrington.”
The other one is clean-shaven, his full head of hair combed back, a big, fat man dressed in a white shirt—or, on second glance, pink—one button excessively undone, exposing a hint of his tanned chest. He looks at me and gives a polite smile, leans in heavily and shakes my hand—“Teddy Rosenfeld”—then leans back again.
Richard says that my movie was really something special, that he’s seen numerous wedding videos, but this one “had a different kind of flare.”
“So, you’re a filmmaker?” Richard inquires while Teddy lights a cigarette.
I tell them that I’m in the industry, but I haven’t made my own film yet. Richard pulls up a chair and invites me to sit. Teddy stays silent, surveying me with brown eyes and a serene smile that makes me want to pick up the folding chair and smash it over his head.
I take a seat, and Richard asks me what I’d like to drink, as though we’re at a restaurant rather than a wedding. He asks if I’ve ever made corporate films, then briefly tells me about Delmar and the work they require. I’m working on a daytime television show and I don’t have time for another job, but I hear him out and ask the right questions. I’m trying to understand what they’re offering, even as I doubt it matches up with my own aspirations. Richard is hearty and charming. Teddy’s no longer involved in the conversation, so much so that he faces the stage the way people do at the beach, pivoting to make sure their direction faces the coming sunset.
Richard, on the other hand, is still engaged. “To be honest, we’re already in talks with an agency. But you’ve got something going on, I can tell you that!”
“Thank you so much.”
“So not only can you make films—now we know you’re also charming!” I like Richard’s smile.
“As are you both! Well, mostly you. Teddy is obviously the less charming between the two of you.”
Teddy turns his head toward us at the sound of his name, looks directly at me and says, “What’s that?”
“About seventy percent less, give or take,” I add.
Richard bursts out laughing. “She’s razor-sharp this one. Had you figured out in no time.”
Teddy looks at me. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re not as charming as Richard.”
“Richard is incredibly charming, not exactly fair competition.”
“True, you never stood a chance. Why’d you even sign up?”
Something changes in his expression. Maybe I pissed him off? I offer a mischievous smile. He gives me a weird look, but then finally turns to face me.
“Noa.” I remind him of my name, in case he’d forgotten it.
“I know,” he says quietly.
The music suddenly stops, and the new silence is accompanied by the deafening shriek of microphone feedback. The newlyweds’ siblings have prepared some entertaining content: a song-and-dance routine. The guests stay in their seats but listen enthusiastically. A sudden interruption midconversation—is this even interesting? The three of us form a unified front. I stay put and listen, the moment enabling me to somewhat process the situation. I now realize just how much I’ve had to drink. I sense a kind of slight, uncontrollable tremble through my body, which then turns into a shiver. Teddy notices it. The siblings have reached the chorus again. His eyes remain on me until he sharply turns them elsewhere. I feel a little overexposed, but I’m still enjoying sitting at the table with him, as though we’re just two people who happened to stand next to each other during a moment of silence. I watch him: while the table blocks my view of his shoes, I see his legs spread apart, the extravagant wristwatch, palm serenely placed over his knee, ringless fingers.
The song comes to an end and everyone applauds.
“So, how come you haven’t made your own film yet?” He was listening after all.
“Because I haven’t managed to write it yet.”
“Haven’t managed? What’s it about?”
“It’s not something I can explain in a minute.”
“How can you write something you can’t even pitch?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Do you know what you want? You need to know precisely what you want.”
“Absolutely disagree. If you know precisely what you want at the start, you will ruin the creative process.”
“I don’t know anything about the creative process.”
“I can tell.”
“You married?”
“No.”
This exchange is happening very swiftly and our eyes are locked throughout.
Richard hasn’t kept up with us. He tries to resume the lighthearted chat, gesturing to me: “All right, well, come by the office and we’ll have a chat, maybe we’ll manage to get something going.”
“Sure, I’ll give you a call and we’ll set a time,” I hear myself saying.
“Here you go.” Richard hands me his business card. Old school!
Tom’s mother then appears, draping her arms around Richard’s neck. “I see you’ve met our Noa. What a great movie! Totally brilliant! This is what I call talent!”
Richard beams with joy. “Yes, we’ve just met! And we’re trying to steal her away to make films for us at Delmar. What do you say about that?” Richard and Tom’s mother start talking, and I lean over the table, reaching for Teddy’s pack of cigarettes.
“Pass me one.” My hand doesn’t reach.
“For you, anything.”
I look at him and say in absolute seriousness, “Careful now.”
He hands me a cigarette and places his hand on his heart, smiling. I bring the cigarette to my mouth and place it between my lips with care. My heart’s pounding. We’ve hardly uttered a word, and I already feel like I’m going to pounce on this man and pull him over to me and I won’t loosen my grip, I won’t let go, until I swallow him whole, until there’s nothing left. In my mind’s eye, hyenas leap, their teeth tearing through the exposed flesh of a carcass. His eyes are still fixed on me, and the smile is still there. He tilts his head to the right, gesturing for me to come sit next to him. I get up, circle the table, and take a seat.
“Noa.” He says my name.
“Yes.” I grab his lighter and light my cigarette.
“The meeting’s over. You’re free to leave.”
“Then why did you call me over here?”
“What’s that?” He genuinely didn’t hear me, but he then adds, “To part company quietly.”
“I don’t feel like parting company just yet.”
“All right.” He allows me to remain by his side and glances around. “How are you finding the wedding so far?”
“I find it delightful and moving. And you?”
“I find it delightful and moving too,” he says dryly.
“Can’t wait to see how you look when you’re not delighted and moved.”
He looks at me and laughs. “You’re sweet. You are.” He retains his smile, displaying a disorganized set of teeth, canines slightly pointing inward, somewhat obscuring the other teeth. I find that mouth so beautiful.
“Well?” I’m impatient.
“Well what?”
“Well, what are you saying?”
“What am I saying?” He pauses and I tense up. “Don’t listen to Richard.”
“Richard said lots of things. Which part shouldn’t I listen to?”
“Don’t come to work for me.”
“Really? That’s what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“Then who’s going to make all your marine biotech blockbusters?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Okay.” I pull the ashtray closer. “What makes you say that?”
“Sorry?” He leans in a bit, to hear better.
“I’m asking why would you say that?”
“Why do you think?”
“Well, I guess you have something against me. Or for me.”
His eyes are on me. “That’s right.”
“You only met me three minutes ago.”
“Which was enough.”
“You’re despicable.”
“You have no idea.” He smiles.
One of the waiters interrupts our conversation but I’m stuck formulating my reply. By the time his eyes return to me, I’m quick to attack, my face close to his. “No, you have no idea. You have no idea who I am and how despicable I can be. Sitting here as if you’ve claimed ownership over being a dick.”
He doesn’t bat an eyelash. “You should listen to me.”
“Don’t want to.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want you to tell me what you have against me or for me.”
He smiles again. “I’m all for you.”
“So?”
“What?”
“Tell me what you want.”
He looks at me, his face lacking any and all emotion, and speaks quietly. “I told you what I want.”
“Then say it again, because I didn’t get it. Be explicit.”
“I want you to get up right now and get out of my sight because I’m dying to fuck you.”
Yes. There it is, that’s what I was after. “That’s more like it.”
My friends call me from afar to join them on the dance floor.
“It’s okay. Go on,” he says.
“Okay, I’m going, but I’ll be back,” I place my hand on his knee, crossing yet another border, passportless. “And Teddy, don’t you dare leave this wedding without telling me.”
“Wouldn’t dare.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay.” He means it too.
“Good. See you.” He watches me as I walk away.
We’re dancing. Laughing. And he’s there, a colossal weight of a man, right on the other side of the lawn. I occasionally glance in his direction. I can’t tell if he sees me, but I sense him watching the whole time. Or maybe not? I drink some more and need to pee, but I’m not sure I can risk it. I don’t want to waste another second. And how do I even look? It’s been hours since I last checked myself in the mirror—typical that everything would have smeared by now. And what if he goes home while I’m in the restroom? I can’t bear the thought. I confidently walk across to their table. Teddy’s in the same position, just like he’d promised. Richard isn’t there; maybe he went to stand in line for the chocolate fondue.
“Did I miss anything?” I sit beside him, sweating from the dancing.
“No.”
“Did you miss me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I have to pee.”
“Oh yeah? So do I.”
“Lovely. Shall we both go then?”
“Yes.”
He rises from the chair and stands tall. He looks at me from above and we walk toward the restrooms. I’m a little too drunk; I keep missing fragments of seconds, tiny skips of time. Once we reach the restrooms, he opens a door to one of the stalls. We walk in, and he glances outside before he shuts the door. We’re together, alone. Top secret.
“Free at last!” I call out and hug him. He holds me and it feels so natural that I press myself into him, my head leaning against him as I shove my hand through his shirt and momentarily stroke his bare chest and neck. “Need to pee.”
I pull down my pants and underwear and sit on the not-so-clean toilet, but I don’t care right now. The stall’s really small; he leans on the door and doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Nothing’s coming out. It’s the excitement. Happens to women too, difficulty peeing in certain situations.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
The trickle begins and we both fall silent and listen to it, looking at each other and smiling. Done. Still sitting down, I take his hand and place my face in his palm. Something happens in that moment, I can sense it. He raises my chin, runs a finger across my jawline, then my lips, and my tongue gently glides over his thumb.
“My turn.” His voice is deep and cracked.
I rise, wipe and put my pants back on. We swap places: he stands with his back to me, unzips his pants and takes his cock out. I stand behind him. “You’re blocking my view!”
“Nothing to see here, ma’am, go on home.”
His arm is leaning against the wall and I peer from under it. I speak to his cock in a hushed shout, as one does when talking to someone at a loud party.
“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Noa!”
“Forget it, he can’t hear a thing.” Teddy pees and I’m satisfied.
“Very nice. Next time, I’m doing the holding.”
“We’ll see about that.” He zips up his pants. “All right, let’s go.”
“What? No. Not yet. No way.”
“Yes way. Let’s go.”
“No, no, no! There’s a whole world out there.”
“Same as here. Out.”
“But you said you wanted to. You told me.”
“And I also told you to get out of my sight. Come on.”
I look at him and feel sorry for being too drunk to persuade him. I attempt it nevertheless. “Nobody knows you’re here.”
“You and I know, which is plenty.”
“Teddy… you know this doesn’t happen every day.”
“I know that. Now forget about it and go back out to the dance floor, find yourself a nice guy and marry him.”
“What? Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do I need to get married?”
“That’s usually how it goes.”
“Not for me.”
“Is that right? How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
He nods his head, then points at the door. “You go look for him, and then I’ll come to your wedding and we’ll go pee together again, deal?”
I realize that I’m not going to win this one. “Fine. But then I’m doing the holding.”
“Fine.”
He stands there, motionless. I do too. He runs his eyes over my body, all the way up until he reaches my eyes and stops.
“I can’t. I wish I could, but it’s not the right time.” He’s talking as though he’s at a business meeting. I extract his use of the word ‘wish’ and smile seductively.
“Behave yourself.” He means it.
“Okay. But let me tell you, you’re making the wrong call here, and there’s no woman in this world, in your entire lifetime, who’s wanted you as much as I want you.”
He suddenly turns serious, leans toward me, his face right above mine. “Enough. Out.”
He opens the door, and we exit without anyone noticing. I glance at the mirror to see what he’s been looking at. I go over to the bar and ask for some water. I drink and watch as Teddy returns to his table. He’s talking to Richard, still standing. They chuckle, and then he picks up his cigarettes and keys and says goodbye. No, this is not happening! The entire sum of my joy vanishes at once, everything is consumed into a great black hole gaping within me and there’s no point in anything anymore. How can he just stand there and talk to Richard when I’m still here, when we’re still here and we can steal away to a stall or a car or an empty street without anyone ever knowing? How can he leave without making sure he can reach me if he wants to? I suddenly feel very tired.
›
The following morning my head hurts. I can’t stop thinking about him, repeatedly recalling our glorious, all-too-short encounter. Teddy-Teddy-Teddy. I make coffee. Teddy Rosenfeld. Google—there he is. The Delmar Bio Solutions website. Oceanography. I read and learn that the company develops underwater monitoring systems, something about multispectral cameras, something about measuring bodies of water, something biomolecular. I don’t get any of it. It seems to be a serious, global corporation, very active, with offices abroad. Here’s a photo of him. My heart pounds. He’s really something. Smart, quick, beautiful, fat, sexy, despicable, not mine, somewhat mine, enough. The way he said ‘enough,’ as though I were a child who didn’t know when to stop. Well, if he doesn’t let me in, then he’s better off dead. Oh no, what if he dies? And how old is he? Who does he have? A wife, kids? How do I find out? He’s got me, but he won’t let me in.
Even though he saw. He saw who I am, he loved me immediately, he understood everything. He knows I understand too. I hate him for knowing we both understand, yet still letting me go. How dare he not call me this morning—he can easily get my number—leaving me on my own with the weight of our meeting. Is he thinking about all this? Does he even remember? Of course he does. My entire existence is reduced to the need for being the object of his desire, and all other components of life become redundant.
Later on, during my Friday coffee date with friends, I’m still wrapped up in it. I anxiously wait for Sharon, my best friend in the whole wide world, to be done with her errands and join us, and then I wait for her to finish her casual conversations with everyone and become mine and mine alone, sitting right next to me. Now I can be with Teddy again as I tell her about him, about how he said ‘Yes’ when I asked if he missed me, how he said ‘I wish’ and ‘Behave yourself.’ She likes him. My heart skips a beat when I quietly repeat those words, ‘Get out of my sight because I’m dying to fuck you.’
›
My joy turns into severe distress during Friday night dinner at my dad’s house.
Whenever I’m here, at this house in the suburbs, I feel the need to confirm that I’m just momentarily passing through and I’ll soon resume my own life—a life that is the complete opposite of the vast emptiness filling these rooms. My dad’s had a wife for years now—Mina. A quiet, desolate type, fair features and faded hair, not a color in sight. Even her eyes are hueless. Mina’s actually harmless and nice enough; she and my dad get along well, and I have a good, drama-free relationship with her.
My brother, Roy, lives with them. He’s three years younger than me. He occasionally babysits dogs or plants for people who go away on vacation, or he sleeps over at a friend’s place, but I guess living here suits him. For someone who left home at a young age, I find it a bizarre choice to live at your dad’s place at the age of thirty-three, but that’s just how Roy is.
The clearest advantage of coming over here is that Roy gives me weed. That is, I give him money—usually a bit extra, since he’s forever broke—and he takes care of the purchase.
I’m sitting in the kitchen under the fluorescent lights, sipping some water after having refused the juice Mina had offered. Even though I’d lived in this house for years, I still insist on feeling uncomfortable whenever I come over.
I’m holding my phone. It’s gone from simmering to boiling, and I have to find a way to write Teddy, talk to him, see him. Explain that I need him to acknowledge me immediately, otherwise something bad might happen. I mean, he’s currently somewhere, sitting or standing or lying down. Teddy. All it takes is to think of his name for my heart to start racing, for me to willingly give up everything I have, just to know that he’s mine. Especially when I’m here. But I have none of him, and I have to leave it be.
I can’t drink booze after yesterday but I shouldn’t stay sound of mind, so at least I can get my delivery and get a little high. I go down to the basement—home to my man-child brother, who came out like a pro when he was only sixteen, and maybe since he was so mature for his age back then he remained stuck in perpetual adolescence.
We light up, I mix in tobacco and he doesn’t. He tells me about some Austrian he’s about to meet tonight, who isn’t the guy he’d been with last week, of course, and most likely won’t be the guy he’ll meet next week. And despite the nature of his love life, in a strange and even logical way, maybe even more than I do, Roy dreams of a family life—2.4 children and a pink picket fence.
Banal conversation, awful food, same tiring dynamic at these meals. At least Roy’s making me laugh. My dad—or more like the neurotic cloud through which one could spot the man who used to be my dad—is ceaselessly offering up discussion topics, as though even the briefest moment of silence would testify to the lack of connection among the four unfortunate people sitting here together, around the chicken in instant chicken broth. Mina comes to the rescue and tells us about a Gloria Estefan concert. The central narrative involves a mix-up concerning seat numbers.
But who am I to say anything? It’s not like I got married and had a family and now they can come over to my place for a nice Friday night dinner, under a warm light.
›
It’s only in the middle of the night that I suddenly get it.
I wake up on the couch at my place, certain that I should quickly eat something sweet and follow it up with something salty. Then, while smoking the remainder of a joint, I come up with the notion of emailing him. It’s not that I don’t have ways of getting his number, but that seems like an invasion of his privacy, while a mere email is clearly fine. And anyway, Richard had invited me to their office, so I can set up a meeting and just show up there during the week. But it’s Friday night, and twenty-four hours ago we were standing together in a tiny stall, and I want a sign of life right now.
Their website doesn’t have any personal email addresses, so I find Richard’s business card. His email address comprises his initial, then last name, then at sign, company name dot com. If that’s the case then Teddy’s email must have the same structure. Give it a try. It’s 2:13 a.m., a fine hour.
In the subject line I write: Urgent Matter
My heart accelerates. I type:
Present resolution has not been found acceptable by both parties|
I then revise:
One of the parties has found the present resolution to be unacceptable.
Shit. What have I done? How can I fall asleep when I’m waiting for a reply? And what if he never replies? What if he’s asleep? And why am I like this? Why wasn’t I granted the kind of personality that can just let go? I freeze, staring blankly. The immaculate silence of late-night hours. What a stupid thing to do.
And then that sweet sound, and the phone’s light, and the notification on the screen about a new email, with his name. My knees are trembling. Open it, quick.
party’s demands are
Not even a question mark. But he replied! What are my demands? I answer quickly without overthinking.
Must hold meeting at earliest convenience
Silence. I’m fired up, don’t know what to do with myself. I go out to the terrace. He replied! It’s cold outside. Walk back in, put the phone down, can’t keep holding on to it, sprawl on the couch. Ping.
Okay
Followed by:
Where are you ?
I can’t believe it. What madness is this? He’s my kind! And with a question mark! Took the trouble. Is he actually going to come over now? This can’t be real. Maybe I should tell him to meet me at a bar? But it’s the middle of the night, where can we even go? I send him my address. I’ll go downstairs, we’ll have a chat in his car. What’s my actual plan?
Coming
I can barely contain the excitement of my success. I look around, the apartment’s a little messy. Where do I start? Sip of ouzo straight from the bottle. What will he drink? I have nothing worthy of him here. Pick up scattered socks, empty the ashtray, quickly do the dishes, pause to look in the mirror, clean off makeup smeared under my eyes, put on some lipstick. Go to the bedroom. Straighten the blanket, tidy around. Start to fold the pile of clothes. Take off my shirt, deliberate between two bras.
The quiet knock on the door makes my pulse rush. How is he already here? Forget the bra, quickly back into the T-shirt. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m going to open the door and here, there he is, standing tall, well-dressed, in the entryway to my home. Teddy Rosenfeld.
“You beautiful thing,” he says, almost gloomily.
I shift to the side a little and he comes in. I shut the door behind him and mumble, “It’s all right if I lock the door and throw away the key, right? You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“Nice place, got a terrace too, huh? Very nice. It’s pretty, you have good taste. You own it?” He talks fast, I forgot about that.
“No, rented. And I’m a bit tired of it.”
He stands in front of me. I’m grinning, pleased. He grins too, must be infectious. We’re now both standing, smiling in the middle of the living room. There they are, those teeth I missed so much.
“I can’t believe you’re here. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water. Just walked up a lot of stairs. You don’t have an elevator.”
“It’s three flights.”
&
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