You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(97)

Yes, even after what he did to me, what he did to us, all I want to do is help him. I feel…sorry for him, Vail, same way I feel sorry for you.

You were so intimidated by my sincerity and my decency that you went behind my back and pretended to stab me. But that doesn’t change the way we were in real life, in private. You prepared me for this moment, showing me Good Will Hunting and Ordinary People. Stories where lost dicks get schooled by super-ass-smart good guys. Robin Williams didn’t write off vicious Will Hunting and Judd Hirsch didn’t put whiny Conrad Jarrett out of his misery. You see Dick’s pain and think it’s your duty as a female citizen to let him take his shit out on you. But that’s not how it works, my dear. Only a man can fix a man. And come on. This is New York Fucking City. The towers hit the ground and we bounce up like round ball. We chin up like Carrie Bradshaw, and we take care of our own. We help the mom with her stroller and yes! Yes, we help the bald, guilt-ridden leftover lesser fucking brother.

I peel the duct tape off his face. I feel like God. Reading; it really does elevate the soul! Dick spits the sock out, kinda like how you spit me out…No. I won’t go there. Love is all or nothing and the novel that the two of you co-fucking-wrote is like those forgotten teenybopper books from the ’80s where the Hardy Boys teamed up with Nancy Drew. It’s in the trash, obsolete. Gone. I’m the lucky one, Vail. You and Dick need two faces to get through the day. I only need one. Yours.

“Goldfuck,” he says. “What the fucking fuck?”

I roll up my sleeves. Dr. Goldberg in the hizzy.





34


You know that Beatles song about how you get by with a little help from your friends? That song always kind of annoyed me. I dunno, Vail. I like the Beatles better when they sing about holding hands and long, winding roads and taking sad songs and making them better.

Look at Dick, look at you. People with a lot of friends and big fat families are usually the most fucked-up, if you ask me. Dick’s laptop has a million pictures of Dick being loved and adored and he’s never alone but he is alone.

He never learned how to carry his brother’s death and do his friends fucking care? Not even a little bit. From the look of his pictures, I’m the only real friend Dick ever had. You tried to help him, but Sally’s Harry said it: Men and women can’t be friends. True friends like (fake) Jeremy are rare. They see you suffering and they toss you in the basement. Tough love is real love and I’m picky about people because if it ain’t Piven and Cusack or Carrie and The Others who stand by no matter what, why fucking bother?

I light a candle—thank God I brought a candle!—and our “friend” Dick screams, totally misreading the candle, same way you misread song lyrics. He cries for help and pledges that he’s going to kill me, that he won’t put up with my satanic cult bullshit. Don’t worry, Vail. I remain calm, centered. And then it’s my turn to lead.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Dick. I’m here to help you. It’s kind of like a memorial.”

“You’re a dead man, Goldberg.”

“No, but that is why we’re here today.”

“I’m sorry, asshole. Is that what you want? ’Cause I get it, kid. If I found out my girl was stepping out I’d lose it. But now you know. So you’re welcome. We’re good. You can go ahead and let me the fuck out of here.”

People are fascinating. He really thinks I’d drag him here out of revenge? “Are you religious, Dick?”

“Jesus Christ, Goldberg.”

“Me neither. But I always did like the sound of shiva. Do you know about shiva?”

“I know I’ll make a shiv and cut you if you don’t undo this fucking…She’s a slut.”

I won’t dignify that—you’re a lady—and it’s not your fault. He Seduced you. He Destroyed you. You work very hard to keep it all a secret from me, and you wouldn’t do that if you didn’t love me. Dick calls me crazy. But that’s what people drowning in guilt and self-loathing do when faced with true love. I sigh. Back to brass tacks. “I lit the candle because that’s what you do at a shiva. It’s a mourning ritual. You cover the mirrors. You don’t shave, you don’t shower. You shut everything out and you do nothing but honor the dead for seven days.”

“You’re insane.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Dick. This won’t take seven days. But we are going to mourn your brother David so that you can move on, you know, so you can stop being such a fucking dick.”

He throws back his head and screams. “Aaaaah!”

I run at him and do the same thing. “Aaaaah!”

Primal screams feel like they belong in a shiva, but he just stares at me. “You need help.”

“Yes, I do, Dick. I need you to help me. Tell me about David.”

“You don’t know shit about me or my family.”

“I went on your computer, Dick, so I do know a little.”

Poor Dick claims he’s been violated—ha—and says I’m gonna pay for this—I am already paying; I’m here—and it’s tempting to lecture him about teenage girls, but I can’t save the whole world at once. He’s scared of me, Vail. I’m pretty sure he’ll tread carefully from now on. So if you think about it, I already saved a fuck-ton of misguided horny young girls!