You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(81)

“I know, but…Joe, I think you need to do some check-ins, you know? Call Jeremy, see how he’s doing. Maybe go make things right with Mooney.”

“But you hate Mooney.”

“But you don’t. And that matters to me. I know you left things bad with him. I feel responsible…See me getting all neurotic? This is why I need some alone time!”

It doesn’t feel good to hail you a cab, but I do it. And I’m not worried as I close the door of the cab.

You roll down the window. “Can I be crazy?”

“Of course.”

“For all my ‘alone time’ and my very sincere intentions to read that book and finish it…I also reserve the right to call you in the middle of the night if I get, you know…”

I give a thumbs-up to the cabbie. “You know where I live, Vail.”

“Oh yes, I fucking do, baby. See you soon…sooner than you think, no doubt.”





29


Fifty-one hours later, I am wasting away at the Beanery like a gigolo with no place to go and what is soon? Is soon tonight? Is soon never? I’ll tell you this much, Vail. It’s not sooner than I think! Are we done? Is this because I don’t want to drink beer with Dubs? Dick groans.

“You need to chill, Goldie.”

“I am chill.”

He smirks and who the fuck could chill? I tell him your parting words again—Sooner than you think, no doubt—and how do I do it, Vail? How do I chill when you’re trying to kill me and INXS is too fucking loud. Live, baby, live? More like Die, baby, die. Dick taps away on his suddenly ever-present laptop. What the fuck does he do on there all day? Is it really that hard to make a movie you’re never going to make? No. I won’t be that asshole, Vail. I won’t blame him for the things you do to me. He smirks and says they’re all “nuts,” and he closes his laptop. Good riddance. Computers should not be fucking portable. Coffee shops are for talking!

“All right,” he says. “Here’s the truth, Goldbitch. Seems to me like she still doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a dog. Do you want to be her dog? Obey every command?”

“Woof.”

He rubs his eyes. “Well, then you have to let her train you.”

“You mean like when Carrie told Aidan she wanted space and then freaked out when she couldn’t get a hold of him?” I have to stop doing that. I will stop doing that. “Sorry.”

“Go home,” he says. “Two days is nothing, and I’m warning you, Goldboy. No girl wants to be your whole fucking life. And yes, she put you in the doghouse because you wouldn’t hang out with that Doug guy.”

“Dubs.”

“Whatever. Don’t sweat the ‘soon’ stuff. Forget about her and go to a strip club or hit some fucking golf balls. Whatever passes the time so you have something to fucking say when she hits you up and that’s the other thing. No calls, Goldbitch…Let her come to you.”

I do it. I live, baby, live. I pull doubles in hell. I eat at McDonald’s and think about how to check on my typewriters back at Mooney’s. I don’t “make things right” with him. I don’t know how to do that. I call Vagina to say hi. I don’t go to her “modeling agency” parties, but I do get invites. After another long day in hell, I go down to Union Square and hit the bank and blow a hundred ones on random buskers, a Black guy with drums, a willowy young blond girl with a cat on a leash and a guitar, a voice that haunts me on the walk to Veselka, where I order six different kinds of pierogi, all of which I rate in my Moleskine.

See that, Vail? I have a life. And maybe I need to invest in it. Girls seem to like the way Dick carries his laptop and the computer at Mooney’s isn’t mine. Fuck it. Overtime in hell is pretty good, so after Petra liberates me, I go to Circuit City.

And now I have a laptop. I walk home to SoHo, and soon is a short word, a long time. Where are you? Dick is probably right and I should’ve just had a beer with Dubs but it’s not like I did something terrible. The silent treatment is a bit much and I’m not a dog, not completely. I log onto IM for the hell of it and holy shit it’s…

Me: You’re up late.

You: Omigod JOE! HI! HII!!!!!!!!

You owe me more than a “hi,” and those exclamation points hit like acid-laced daggers. Gently, Joseph. You are trying. But I can’t ask you if you miss me, or how many hours it takes for “soon” to fucking end. I have to be a cool cat. Hard to get.

You again: So really how are you Joe? What’s new?

Me: Nothing. Barry let you back on IM?

You: No lol we have a night shoot so I’m holding down the fort. Yawn. But yay for good timing! Work is crazy and Cynthia got me a Giuliani poster lol you will die when you see it.

Oh, joy. Yet another older man on the walls in your bedroom. GREAT! But also actually great because you invited me back into your bedroom. Can I come now? Too soon?

You again: Are you there?

Me: Yeah. Kinda hungry. Might go to that diner on 23rd Street.

The minute I let those words go into your laptop I know I fucked up.

You: Cool! Who with?

YOU, GODDAMN IT, I WANT TO BE WITH YOU.

You again: Well don’t let me stop you. I mean if you’re hungry you gotta eat. Ha.

Ha and I nod like you can see me, but you can’t.