You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(84)

“Joe?”

Right off the bat, there’s something different about Carl Casey. For one thing, he’s not taller than I am. He’s a ginger, nervous, and a nice guy who thanks me for the opportunity. And he’s Pivenish! Jumpy and caffeinated. He had two lattes today and he has no résumé, not yet. He’s doing extra work and improv classes. I tell him I get it, and when I tell him about my production, he says the magic words.

“This is like something out of a movie. Talk about romantic!”

It’s been a rough day, so I’m still hesitant. “Yeah?”

“What can I say? I’m that guy…total sap. I love love. Rom-coms…Woody Allen…When Harry Met Sally. This is why people come here, to run in the rain and get the girl!”

“Thank you, Carl! You get it!”

“One day when you guys are old and gray, you tell her what you did, and she’ll think it’s the most romantic thing in the world.”

I did it, Vail! I found my Piven. Carl doesn’t judge me. Carl doesn’t like Starbucks—he applied for a job, and they never called him back—and he has a friend who tends bar not far from here. He says she’s the perfect Sarah and we’re on the move to check out the bartender slash actress when he stops short by a hot dog stand. I ask him if he’s hungry. Producers do that kinda thing, they spring for lunch.

He smiles. “I’m good. When I was at NYU, before I dropped out, I had a crush on this girl…. She was graduating, and she was a poet. I showed up at her house with a tape recorder and told her I was an assistant at The New Yorker doing research for my boss Alice. We didn’t stay together, but we did get together. It’s Shakespeare, my man. All the world’s a stage…. You gotta stop and smell the hot dogs.”

And then we’re walking again. The potential Sarah slings J?germeister in a waiting-for-my-train, vaguely Irish tavern. Carl’s “friend” is named Betty, and she is the perfect Sarah. A smiley ginger in a tight white turtleneck who would totally stop and smell the hot dogs. Her hair is in a bun, and her face is a blank canvas that breaks my heart a little. I can already see her playing a corpse on Law & Order and failing to parlay it into a career as she realizes that she belongs with Carl. Yes, it’s obvious. He has a thing for her, but that’s good with me. I too love love. Maybe we’ll even visit Carl and Betty one day when they’re shacked up in Hoboken, running an Irish bar and popping out little gingers and…Gently, Joseph.

“Joe,” he says. “Meet the best actress in all of Manhattan.”

“And bartender,” she squeaks. “Don’t forget my other talent!”

By the third beer, it feels like I’ve known Carl and Betty my whole life.

Betty is from Wisconsin. She was Beth when she moved to New York, but she changed her name to Betty because she loves Bette Davis and all things retro. They’ve been sort of seeing each other for a couple of weeks. Carl came into the bar for six nights in a row to woo her. Betty doesn’t like to give out her number, so it took some time. Meaning they get it. Me. They don’t think I’m “playing with fire.” They don’t see me as a manipulative phony bound for prison.

“You’re trying to start the fire,” says Beth turned Betty. “It’s very Bruce Springsteen.”

I hire her on the spot and you call me—yes!—and I send you to voicemail. See that, Vail? I have a life. I wrap things up with my actors. Tomorrow, they’ll begin their “research.” They’ll go to Mooney’s. After all, that is where Jeremy and I met. I’m high and maybe a little tipsy when I leave the bar, and it’s time for the first scene of Joe Goldberg Has a Life.

It’s okay to call you because you called me, and you pick up on the third ring. Trying so hard to be a lady. “Hello, hello! How’s Jeremy? Did they get here okay?”

“Great,” I say. “I really can’t wait for you to meet them!”

“I’m free tonight.”

“Oh, man, I would say yes, but Jeremy wants some catch-up time.”

“Totally get that. See, isn’t this better, Joe? We went out with my friends. We do our own thing for a bit, and now we’re gonna go out with your friends. I’m excited to meet them, but I’m even more excited that you guys got to catch up on your own, you know?”

Fuck no. “Yes, I do. And I gotta run. I’m finally going to Mooney’s to make things right and maybe get a slice of his wife’s famous meat loaf.”

“Really?”

No fucking way! The cage. The cage! “Yep!”

“Ooh, Joe, I meant to tell you that my friend at The View says it looks promising with that PA gig.”

No dice. I’m a producer, baby, so why don’t you blow me. “We’ll see. But no pressure there. Jeremy might also have something for me.”

“Okay, now I really like the sound of him.”

My stomach is rumbling, and no wonder Dick is always so worked up. Making a movie is nerve-racking. Can I do it? Can I pull it off?



* * *



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Three…two…ACTION.

Here you come, walking down Eighth Street, and this is it. The first scene is a quickie. Just us. Smooth sailing thus far—KNOCK ON WOOD—and you hug me. You missed me; you don’t have to say it. I feel it. We reenter India on Eighth Street for THINGS I LEARNED HOW TO PRONOUNCE. You know, a redemption tour kinda thing.