Endpaper: All that Glitters Is Not Gold

Around the age of nine, I conjured up an elaborate future for myself. In that ever-so-boring hour between lying down and falling asleep—long before I had an iPhone to keep me entertained, and long after I learned that counting sheep is fruitless—I used to imagine scenes from my adulthood and replay them over and over in my head.

In one version of the story, I surged to stardom on American Idol before I turned 18. In another version of the story, I published the many novels that I penned in elementary school, way back when WordPerfect was still my word processor of choice. In a third version of the story, I became a red-carpet sensation after a film producer plucked me from obscurity to play Elphaba in a cinematic adaptation of “Wicked.”

In each version of the story, I married a man—nay, a dreamboat—named Zach Gold. Many little kids fantasize about their eventual romances and weddings, but between my inability to sleep and my unfettered imagination, my musings about my personal Prince Charming became far more specific than most.

I knew his hair color (dark brown) and his twin brother’s name (Matthew) and the design of my wedding dress (poofy skirt, sparkly bodice, sweetheart neckline) and the name of our first kid (Isabella Rose) and the name of our second kid (Penelope Anne) and the way he addressed letters to me (“Dear E”) and his favorite breakfast (pancakes).

My story was thorough, and it was fabulous.

Zach Gold and I met in the fall of our freshman year of college. I initially envisioned that we met in the university library as we reached for the same book. Standing on opposite sides of the bookshelf, our fingers brushed as they landed on the book’s spine; we shared a chuckle and a knowing glance as we decided who should check out the book first. At some point, the story morphed, and we instead met when we landed spots in the same a cappella group.

A few weeks into our wild love affair, Zach Gold revealed to me that his father was in fact the governor of California. In the scene I envisioned, I spit out my drink on the generic collegiate lawn on which he told me this news. A few years into our wild love affair, Zach Gold’s father ran for and—of course, since nothing ever went wrong in my ridiculous reveries—won the presidency of the United States. Maybe 2016 wouldn’t be such a shitshow if Jonathan Gold were here to knock some sense into everybody.

Zach Gold and I were inseparable throughout college. For our first anniversary, he serenaded me with Paul McCartney’s “Silly Love Songs” as our a cappella group harmonized lightly in the background. For our third anniversary, he treated me to dinner and a show in the Big Apple. Two months after we graduated from college, Zach Gold flew to Paris—where I was, obviously, filming my next Oscar-winning masterpiece—and proposed to me atop the Eiffel Tower. Gentlemen, take notes.

On Valentine’s Day in 2019, we tied the knot on the lawn of the White House under a chuppah—which is what you do when your father-in-law is the first Jewish president. After we moved to our mansion in Los Angeles, we raised our four to six children, and my singing/writing/acting career continued to thrive. In retrospect, I am proud that my nine-year-old self tied her happiness as much to her professional pursuits as she did to her love life.

Why Zach? When I started spinning these tales, High School Musical had recently become an overnight hit. On the mean streets of Thomas Fitzwater Elementary School, there were few sex symbols sexier than Zac Efron.

Why Gold? Emily Gold seemed like a glitzier stage name than Emily Zauzmer. I needed to be prepared when Hollywood offers started flowing in after my runaway success in “Wicked”—duh.

Many of the milestones I thought up a decade ago have now come and gone. All the dates I decided upon circa 2006 seemed so very distant as to be unreachable when I first spelled them out. When no knight in shining armor galloped into my a cappella auditions freshman year, I thought back to my childhood pipedreams and to a tenacious little girl who would be rather disappointed. “Zach Gold has about 10 minutes left,” I texted an old friend as I awaited my final audition on a red plastic chair in Lowell Lecture Hall.

A lot of milestones that I never thought of have come true in the meantime. I never guessed that I would go to Harvard and meet so many wonderful friends. I did not predict that I would spend delightful summers in New York City and Los Angeles. I could not have known that my concentration would allow me to write about the Kardashians, or that the Kardashians would even be a thing. (I wish I had known that the Kardashians would be a thing. I would be so much wealthier right now.)

I think there is value in setting goals for the future, and I think there is value in living in the moment. Back then, I spent a lot of time setting goals for the future. Right now, I like to spend my time living in the moment. But hey, if you’re named Zach Gold and live within a 50-mile radius of Cambridge, call me.