You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(113)

No point avoiding the inevitable, if so, and then I crack the door. I hear your little deformed feet, those combat boots on the stairs. To the victor go the spoils and wow. Wow! I was right. You washed that bastard out of your hair and you lunge at me in your pajamas—you came here in pajamas—and my coat overwhelms you. I hold you, and for hours, it goes on like this. I let go to scratch my shoulder, and you tell me to come back. “Don’t let go, baby. Not now, not ever.”

“I am here, Vail. Forever.”

We lie like that in my California king. Sleeping on and off. Our clothes in rumpled lumps on the floor. Peace in the valley, in the loft. No words from either one of us because transformation requires silence, bodies touching, mouths at rest.

And then you roll over. “Why are you so into me?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I mean, it’s scary to me…. I haven’t ever…You see I am so bad at this, and it feels embarrassing sometimes, you know, as the older one who’s supposed to be so mature or something.”

“I love you, Vail. Sometimes it really is that simple.”

It’s 11:17 a.m. That’s when our new life begins.

You pull an Andes candy out of your purse and you worship me in a new way. Licking my toes, moving up to my calves. You come for my Portnoy and lick your lips.

“Truly so rare to see one in the States, babe.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Are you kidding? Maybe this will convince you.”

Your mouth assures me that it most certainly is a good thing and it’s different being inside of you, like his dick really was in there blocking me and overcrowding you. I have more places to go and I bend you like a pretzel. You last a long time and I last a long time and you scratch me and I bleed. You lick my wounds and shudder. This is a whole new you. The you that you were always meant to be, and I don’t need to work on forgiving you for the past.

It is gone. Like it never happened. And if Dick is out there in the ether, if there is some way for him to see us, hear us…well, sex was his thing, Vail.

He hears you climax every time. He knows he didn’t die in vain.

We get out of bed and get dressed so we can go to La Bonbonniere. You want to see the cat, and we get jelly omelets and make big plans and little plans. You don’t mention the Beanery, and it feels like we won’t be going there anytime soon. I test you, just the same. I ask if we should walk to the East Village, get a coffee.

You shrug. “I’m kinda done with that place. It’s a rip-off, and the coffee’s never as good as I want it to be, you know?”

Do I ever. You want to see a movie this afternoon. You call in sick to Uncle Barry and you won’t be there long. You went for it last night, when you couldn’t sleep. You applied for a fundraising job at the Carnegie Corporation, and they want to meet you, talk to you.

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, I am surprised.”

“Vail, come on. Who wouldn’t want to meet you?”

What an honor, what a first. To bear witness to the blossoming of a young woman like you. You are happy to know that Jeremy and Sarah are back on in San Francisco, genuinely relieved that they are intent on making it work. You want me to blossom too. You tell me that I should forget about running around to pour coffee at The View.

“And, Joe, seriously. I know you hate that show, same way I know you hate working in Times Square.”

Yes yes yes! “Oh, it’s not that terrible.”

“Well, just the same, I think you should quit. I’m not saying you should go back to Mooney’s, but I don’t want you working there just so I can get a discount. If anything, I need to focus on the books and movies I already have, you know?”

“I was hoping you’d say that, because I think I might have gotten fired.”

“Well, good,” you say. “And fuck that stupid store.”

Jelly omelets and a whole new you and it just gets better! Like the third chapter of a really good book where the rhythm is kicking in, amping up, and you know you picked well. You want to go to Costa Rica with me, and I want to go to Costa Rica with you. You reach for my chin and wipe the jelly I left there on purpose. You lick your finger.

“Okay, I have an idea.”

“I like ideas.”

“It’s an idea that honestly would be better off if it was your idea….”

“Well, I have an idea of what this idea might be and I’m pretty sure we have the same idea, Vail.”

“Mmm…”

“Hmm…”

And then we kiss. We are so cute that I want to kill us and I almost feel bad for the busboy. I hope he has what we have someday, and I hope he knows it doesn’t come easy.

“Okay,” I say. “Tell me about this idea of yours.”

“You first, Joe.”

I love that Dick’s venom exited your system along with his ghost dick. You don’t seem sad or wounded. You seem free. And I’m proud that I’m not some asshole who wants the credit. A little secrecy is good, especially with a new start in a new world as a new us. Dick was wrong and Woody Allen was right. Shocker. Girls are not sharks. Relationships are like sharks. They have to move or they die. (Are sharks feasting on Dick? Do sharks eat dicks?) “No,” I say. “How about you go first.”