Chapter 13
Thanks to a Xanax I bummed off a customer, I slept like Tom Hanks in his granddad’s boat. I reach for my phone because that voicemail was my best work yet, and…Nothing. You didn’t call.
Okay. That’s okay. Seriously. I won’t panic. Last time I panicked, I was wrong. You love my voicemails. You’ll call soon and I’ll tell you about the sleeping Virgo on the floor and maybe you’ll put her in your sitcom.
But two hours into my shift…Nothing. Radio silence. Worst silence.
We are supposed to fuck in a bowl of frozen hot chocolate in a matter of hours and did I wreck it?
Was the clothesline too much? No. Stop it, Joe, stop it.
Everything is fine. It’s still early, and we have plans to meet at seven.
Ish. I keep you in my back pocket and you don’t call, but you are having the week from hell.
Or maybe not. Was it too much? Did I turn you off with my mother’s drippy ice-cold lingerie?
Lunchtime. Mooney and me. Two ham sandwiches. No cheese. No voicemail. Were you wrong about food poisoning? Was it something worse?
I want to call you to see how you are, but I can’t. Our game is ping-pong. Back and forth. I can’t go back if you don’t come forth, and it’s 3:12 p.m.
Are we on? Are we eating frozen hot chocolate and fucking our brains out?
I leave the shop without your Amy Sohn—I am slipping on the slush—and it’s been twelve minutes and eleven hours since I let you in on the clothesline, since I (maybe) killed us with frozen bras.
Or is it about your voicemail? Drumroll, please.
Is that what this is about? Are you mad that I blew off your drumroll?
I am just about to lose my fucking mind when you emerge from the shadows like a white knightess riding my black Motorola.
I pick it up on the first ring. Fuck it. I love you. “Vail!”
“Joe! Omigod I’m so sorry I’ve been MIA, but work is out of control.”
Relief and no mention of bras, drumrolls, or my mother. “That stinks, baby.”
The baby was maybe too much, and you cough. “Anyway, Barry is a mess over this big scene coming up. A party with six thousand extras in costume in our most important episode ever and shooting with a baby now that Miranda had Brady and—”
I AM SICK OF YOUR FUCKING JOB.
“Sounds like someone needs some frozen hot chocolate.”
You didn’t like that, but Christ. Aren’t you thirsty? Don’t you want me? “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m a mess. And I think you left me a voicemail, but in the craziness, I think I deleted it.”
SCORE ONE FOR HANKS. “Oh, that’s cool. It was nothing. Just checking in.”
“Anyway, I have to be downtown for work, but I was thinking…I am so not up for going out-out, but would you wanna watch Hannah at my place? I have it on VHS and DVD.”
“Of course you do.”
“Ha. So how about we meet at the Beanery at like seven?”
YOU WANT TO FUCK ME YES YOU DO. “I will be there at six fifty-nine.”
“Well, I will be there at sixty fifty-eight.”
—
I am a man of my fucking word.
At 6:56 p.m., I open the door to the Beanery. My messenger bag is loaded. I have your scarf. I went back to the shop for your “signed” Amy Sohn, and I got you another book too, the script of Hannah and Her Sisters. I drop my messenger bag on a chair and wait my turn.
Dick nods. “ ’Sup?”
He said that like he’s the Piven to my Cusack, and I do the same thing. “ ’Sup.”
I look good for you, Vail. Second-first-date kind of good. I am Romeo in black jeans, and I open my Motorola. 7:02 p.m.
Dick hands me a coffee. Black. “So, how’s it going?”
“Good,” I say. “Vail’s on her way over, and we’re gonna hang out.”
He winces like this is bad news—he is insane—and he walks off to grind beans. It’s 7:09 when he finishes, and a girl at the counter licks her lips. She stares at Dick. I am invisible. And that’s okay—I want you—but it’s 7:14 and where are you? Are you okay?
The girl bats her eyelashes at Dick after he delivers her a latte. Paper cup. No lid. She leans over toward the barista. “I have to know…. Are you a Sagittarius? Because I’m a Sag…”
It’s yet another astrology slut with too much makeup, and I hope that’s not the reason you’re so fucking late. It’s 7:21. You are perfect. You don’t need that black shit on your eyes and neither does the Sag, and Dick claps back. “I’m an animal,” he says. “No sign.”
The astrology slut laughs like that was funny and come on, Vail. It’s 7:25 p.m. Get here.
Dick goes back to work, and the Sag stays where she is, staring at his butt, at his shoulders, as if he seemed remotely fucking interested, and I check my phone again.
Nothing. Dick cracks his knuckles. He cracks his back.
Everything goes crack and at some point I have to deal with my crackhead overlord who called again today but not until I go to heaven with you. You. Where are you?
The Sag fluffs her hair, preening. Dick doesn’t look at her. He looks at me.
“The fuck’s going on in that bag, son?”
The barista doesn’t intimidate me, Vail. He probably thinks the cool one in Swingers was Vince Fucking Vaughn. I show him my bag of tricks. He strokes his comic book chin. “Yikes.”
“Well, we haven’t seen each other in a bit. Me and Vail.”
“And she left the scarf at your place?”
“She hasn’t been to my place.”
“But you’ve been to her place. As in you’re banging this chick?”
Chick and my face does all the talking—it says no—and it’s 7:36 p.m. “Yikes,” he says. “So let me get this straight. She’s blowing you off. She’s not blowing you, and you…you’re blowing money on her.”
“No, it’s not like that. The book was free. It’s a galley. The scarf is hers, and the screenplay was on clearance….”
Why am I explaining myself to this guy? I know why, Vail. Because you’re not here. “Anyway,” I say. “We said sevenish, but she’s stuck at work. She’ll be here.”
He shakes his head like I am the kid and he is the adult, and I go with it, pleading my case, telling him about our voicemail and our plans for tonight. “Oh, and we also talk on IM.”
“Instant Messenger?”
“Well, we did, but her boss made her stop.”
It sounds dumb when I say it out loud, but a lot of things about technology are like that.
Dick sighs. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
I need to learn to do that with my face, to make it unreadable.
It’s 7:48 p.m. and it’s dark out there, and Dick kicks back.
“And how long you been seeing this Vail chick?”
The Sag with the black eyes and the latte clears her throat. “Oh, excuse me. Barista…”
Dick winks. “Watch and learn, kid.”
He saunters up to her like he’s Tom Cruise in Cocktail, and he folds his arms. Big and buff.
Not like mine. Soft and snuggly. The Sag asks Dick for another lid—My first was too loose—and he tosses a lid on the counter instead of handing it to her.
She taps it like it’s a diamond necklace.
“So,” she says. “I feel like I’ve met you before… .”
Dick spreads his legs and yawns like he’s in line at the fucking bank. He looks out the window. Is that you out there? No. He shrugs and winks at me as he answers her. “It’s possible. I get around….”
The Sag sips her latte and smiles. “I’ll bet you do….”
I’m going to throw up and the lid is still sitting there. I am still sitting here. Where are you, Vail? Where?
Dick tells the Sag to have a good night and looks at me like do you believe this chick, but she calls him back like the horny bad business lady in Cocktail. “Oh, barista…One more thing.”
He smiles at me. Watch and learn. Fuck that.
I’m not Dick. I am Tom Fucking Hanks. I am your type, and you are my type.
I adjust my Portnoy as the Sag writes her cell phone number and her work email and her Hotmail on a napkin.
She gives it to Dick and says he can even call her right now if he wants, you know, so she has his number too.
“Yeah,” Dick says. “Sure.”
But then he doesn’t do it. He doesn’t call the Sag.
I have to stay calm. We’re not like them, Vail. We’ve got Mail—8:14 is not late-late. It’s just girl late, and cell phones don’t work underground. Dick comes back.
“Look,” he says, spinning the dog tag he wears as if he went to war. He didn’t go to war. He tries to make little movies, and obviously, he’s not even that good. “Joe,” he says. “You’re not asking for my advice, but I’m gonna give it to you anyway. Scram.”
“Leave?”
“Skedaddle. Fuck off.”
I would never. And he squares up like we’re about to fight.
“Are you banging this girl?”
We won’t bang. We’ll make love. “We’ve been intimate.”
He grins like he knows I got a half a hand job. “So when did you last see her?”
“I dunno, Sunday, I guess.”
He scratches the back of his neck and where are you, Vail? Why are you doing this to me? “Joe, come on. Be real. She leaves you hanging in a coffee shop…. And you’re sitting here with your bag of…Don’t you get it? Even if she does show up, you’re toast.”
My hands are shaking, and Dick says he gets it. He’s been where I am, pussy-whipped.
“That’s not me. I’m not…” I don’t use that fucking word.
“It’s cool,” he says. “It happens. Mine was this model from France. Never seen anyone hotter….”
I feel bad for the Sag. She’s reduced to pretending to read an errant Voice and her castaway lid is still on the counter and is that what I am? A lid?
Dick snaps his fingers at me. “Look,” he says. “It’s simple. It’s girls. If you want any chance with this girl…”
“I do.”
“Then you gotta leave her in the wind. Make her hope like hell that she didn’t lose you, show her that you’re the prize, the money, the catch.”
Another girl arrives, just as hungry for Dick, and I look out the fucking window and my phone rings—finally—but it’s not you. It’s him.
Angus.