You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(15)

“What about you, Cusack? Do you have any resolutions?”

“Not a one,” I say, because I am looking at my resolution, you. “But if this goes on…us…I mean, I’ll kick your ass about yours whenever you need reminding.”

Your Polaroids flash. Your cheeks turn red. “I probably shouldn’t say this.”

“But you will.”

“It’s just…With a lot of guys, you get the feeling they’re just letting you talk so they can talk. But you…you listen. I mean, you really, like…you listen.”

“I try.”

“Are you on AOL IM?”

I don’t know what that is and you don’t make me say it out loud. You write down your screen name on a napkin. “I’m gonna be busy at work, so get on your computer and find me, yeah?”

We kiss on the sidewalk and race back to our respective homes to hide from all the idiots and a new year dawns in every fucking way! I get a little worried when you don’t take my Happy New Year call at midnight, but the fear is short-lived. You hit me back in the morning. You had a full house. Fucking Cynthia, Joe…I really need to move. Yes, life after Serendipity is good. Rebirth-level good. I am a new man. “My” computer? Even that’s different! It’s a magical portal that lets us talk with our hands on AOL Instant Messenger, AOL IM for short. Best fucking thing in the world. You are VailInTheCity and I am NYCBookstoreBabe, and we can’t keep our virtual hands off each other. I’m at work, daydreaming about your panties—Are they silk? Is that only in Skinemax?—and then a little ding, and there you are, reading my mind, pining for me in a little white box.

You: Sup Bookstore babe

Me: Well, hello, Miss Gunderson.

That’s your name. Vail Gunderson. You are twenty-four.

You: 22nd and fuck it…Never mind.

Me: What about it?

You: That’s where I live. I was a little evasive the other day but now…

LOOK AT THAT SMILEY FACE and oh, you like me. Why else would you pop up and tell me every little thing? Old stories, like the time you had your appendix out sophomore year of college. New stories about your roommate who stole sheets from Loehmann’s. You worry the cops are gonna barge in to arrest her, but you also know you’re silly. If there was a book about you, I would read it. And I know you feel the same, because we’re planning our fourth date, and it won’t be in the fucking computer.

Soon, there will be sex. You don’t say it. I don’t say it. But it’s in the ether. In the white box we share when we can’t be in the same room.

You: How’s tricks? Did you watch Sex last night?!

Me: Ha. I am halfway through The Lovely Bones. It’s unreal. How goes it with you?

It’s a lie. I can’t read, can’t focus. But I did read the first three pages, and you don’t read at all, sooo…

You: Cool

Me: Cool

And then you disappear, because that’s how it works. Your boss, Barry, is demanding, so when he shows up, you shut down. And it’s good. I need the downtime to be happy and prepare for greatness. I buy Trojans. I score a shiny fake ID off a kid I knew back in middle school. Same name because why would I want to be anyone but Joe Fucking Goldberg? I like having two IDs in my wallet, and I’ve never been this good at being me, galloping like a well-hung stallion to the register, where a patron awaits. She’s chipper, excited about her Dan Fucking Brown, and I am chipper. Work is no longer the center of my world; it’s just a place for me to practice being me, being yours.

I smile at the woman. I do not picture her naked. “After you finish, come back, because you’ll want to know more about NASA.”

“Ooh, thank you for the tip, but honestly…I’ll probably just want another page-turner.”

We laugh, and this is what you don’t get about bookstores, what I’m going to tell you when we meet at La Bonbonniere tomorrow. We have fun in here, we do, and I check AOL IM. You’re still busy, so I grab the tape, the knife. I’m trying not to think about you too much, trying not to analyze every tiny thing and replay every second of every date. But it’s hard not to think about you as I slice open the boxes, as I smell fresh books and wait for tomorrow to arrive…which it does.

Fourth date. Day date. La Bonbonniere. A West Village joint where a tabby cat jumps on your lap, and you order the jelly omelet just because it’s there. My cell phone rings. You.

“Ugh,” you say. “I hate to do this, but I can’t make it.”

“Are you okay?”

“You are so sweet to ask, and yeah, I’m fine, but Cynthia ‘accidentally’ gave some guy her keys, so we had to get the locks changed, which was a whole nightmare, and now Barry is making me go to Syosset to pick up his wife and…Do you hate me?”

I tell you the truth. “I could never hate you. Just let me know if I can help.”

“You really are the sweetest, Cusack.”

I puff up at my table for two. “You too, Sitcom.”

“And Joe, next time we meet up, we are going to fucking Serendipity, okay?”

You follow through. The very next day you hunt me down on IM; Are you free tomorrow, Bookstore Babe? Fuck yes, I am free and tomorrow. Tomorrow we go to Serendipity for frozen hot chocolate and steaming hot sex. Tomorrow, we are going to fucking fuck. Forty-one minutes later, my screen lights up. You really can’t get enough of me, can you?