You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(32)

It’s a fresh start, and I don’t want you to worry about my gene pool, so I tell you the truth, mostly. “No, he’s a customer slash crackhead. He gave me the code, I hang there when he’s out of town, but you saw how he is.”

“Ah, well, I still can’t judge the guy. Addiction is a tough thing, you know?”

I am Gollum. I am sniffing your fucking scarf. “I know.”

“Did you ever see our episode about the guy who’s in AA and gets addicted to Carrie?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

The silence is the bad kind, so I fill it up fast. “Anyway, the thing is I really am sorry. I was just…The truth is I live in a shithole with these idiots who get high and quote Dumb and Dumber. I didn’t know how to tell you about my situation; they’re pigs and I hate it but…. I’m sorry.”

There’s a silence. I can’t read it; I’m too scared to fill it. Are you still there? Did you hang up?

“Okay, Joe. I get it. We’re all self-conscious.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait. The thing is…It’s like your uncle.”

“Customer.”

I did it again, I corrected you, and you sigh. “Once again, my dear…everyone poops…. This is New York. Friends or my show…People like us don’t live in places like that. I mean, first of all, Carrie and the girls are in their thirties. We’re in our twenties, you know?”

I don’t tell you I’m seventeen. I don’t want you to feel like a cradle robber. “Mm-hmm.”

“So, you know how it is, then. We all live in a shithole. There is literally no shame in it, in stumbling along the way as you figure it all out, what you’re gonna do, who you’re gonna be. And second of all…I’m flattered. You wanted to impress me. You meant well. I know you care…. But, Joe, I wasn’t expecting a penthouse.”

I’m seventeen and I live in a box and life moves forward so that’s what I do. I push us ahead. “I know, but anyway, can I make it up to you? Take you to Serendipity sometime this week?”

You tell me this is a week from hell and you have to deal with Barry and you promise to call a little later.

But you don’t call a little later and you don’t call at night.

In the morning, I don’t have a voicemail from you, and it’s a lot later. I try you first thing, and five rings later, I reach you in the bad way. Your motherfucking voicemail: “You went to Vail and all you got was this lousy voicemail.”

I chuckle to seem calm, cool. So not Gollum. “Yeah, Vail, it’s me. Just wanted to make sure you got my new number. Also, I really like Vail. I can’t wait to go again….”

So much for the coolness, and I blame that bastard Angus but then, when I’m dug in with Mooney, you call me and get my voicemail, so now you are the Gollum, the seeker.

“Howdy, partner! I’d call this phone tag, but I hate that phrase. I mean, this kind of communication has its merits or You’ve Got Mail wouldn’t be such a good movie. Byeee!”

You called me your partner, and it feels good. Right. On we go like this for another day, and then another day, trading voicemails, ships passing in the night, a couple of put-upon “twentysomethings” trying their damnedest to keep the love alive. I want to see you and you want to see me, but your week from hell is getting worse every day.

Barry is riding you hard, I get it.

Cynthia is having an STD scare and she needs you, I get it.

You have to see the dentist and your cousin from California, I get it.

And I mean it, Vail. I do get it, and that’s because of you. Constantly assuring me that this is your hell week, that you do want to see me, and I don’t mind the distance. We’re bonding with our voices. Trading details about our lives. Old-school love letters via matching Motorolas. I’ve told you about my plan to ask Dumb and Dumber to move the cardboard box, give me an extra couple of feet, and you’ve told me about this potential new job in fundraising for the arts. We’ve Got Mail, yes. But my Portnoy is antsy, and I am too. I want the back-and-forth. The ping-pong. And your period is over by now, right?

I miss you. Your red scarf is losing its scent, I am losing my mind and finally it happens—you are calling—and I want it so bad that I let it ring so I don’t sound so fucking desperate. I picture you, crossing your fingers, hoping to hear my voice, and then I give you what you want. Me: “Vail!”

“Joe!”

“How goes it?”

“You first, Joe. Did Dumb and Dumber let you move the wall?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck.”

You know things now. You know about the astrology sluts who make me uncomfortable, and you know I don’t belong with Dumb and Dumber. You’re investing in me, in my journey. Gollum isn’t nuts. He’s just a guy who knows what he wants. So here I go again.

“Hey, what are you up to later?”

“I have to meet Cynthia in midtown.”

“Right.”

“I mean, I wish I could see you. I do…. Next week will be better.”

I feel your scarf in my back pocket. Still there. “Don’t even worry about it.”

“Are you sure? Because I really do feel bad. It’s just one of those weeks….”