Chapter 28
I’m still playing the whole scene in my head because wow. I have never gone from so scared to so happy so fast. There we were in front of that damn Cosi.
I jumped out of the plane knowing I might die. I went first, yes. “I’m seventeen.”
After the longest two or three seconds of my life, we landed safe. You smiled. “You’re a teenager.”
“I got a fake ID after we met.”
You arched your back and shook like you were about to fucking come. “I am in…I mean, holy shit. My…my boyfriend is in high school. Wait, you’re not…Were you homeschooled?”
“Does any of it matter?”
“Your name is Joe, right?”
“Ha.”
“So is this like…are you into older women? Did you get expelled because you seduced some sexy math teacher?”
Girls are insane, they really are, and I laughed. “No, Vail. It’s just about you.”
And then we started walking. You said you knew I was younger, but seventeen is…You beamed. “Just don’t call the cops on me, okay?”
And then it was your turn. What a moment, what a win. I wasn’t even scared to hear about Harris Wesley Walker IV—you just called me your boyfriend—and what a relief, the way you laughed.
“You mean that picture of me and Dubs? He’s one of Cynthia’s boy toys, and I was mostly begging him not to mess with her head. But he is pretty funny; you’ll meet him if…”
I wrapped my arm around you. No if. Just us.
We walked and talked and wandered into one of those midtown Irish bars where nobody knows your name and never will. You were excited to watch me flash my fake ID.
I did hit a nerve when I teased you about being a pervert, but then I fixed it.
“I don’t think you’re a pervert. I think your impending quarter-life crisis made you realize that life was passing you by, that you needed to do something different, which is why you posted that ad on Craigslist and convinced yourself that I was a twentysomething.”
You murmured in that sheepish please-stop way. “Interesting theory, Dr. Goldberg. Very Judd Hirsch in Ordinary People meets Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting. I like it.”
I knew I was right. I also knew to leave it the fuck alone.
And then you elbowed me. “Only you would get a fake ID with your real name.”
“Hey,” I said. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
We toasted to my coming out of the age closet, which almost got us kicked out of the bar.
Yes, Vail, it’s another one for the Moleskine. We survived our first fight. I brought you home to SoHo and you put on your raspberry beret and we had makeup sex with Pop Rocks in the good way. On my CD player, not my dick. And we had yet another first!
I sucked on your tiny extra toe. And then you gushed. Best orgasm ever.
We’re on a roll. Best week of my life. And you’re right. Life should never be all good, so it’s kind of perfect that I wake up in heaven every day only to go to hell.
I still can’t fucking believe it, Vail. I can’t believe how far I’ll go for you, for us. I can’t believe I work at the Virgin Fucking Megastore in Times Fucking Square.
I love you so much that I put on a red shirt and talk to people about NSYNC.
Dick thinks I’m insane for working here, for dating you.
She has all the power, Jailbait. You gave up your job and your home for this chick, this chick who’s old enough to be your mother.
Not true, and sad that Dick doesn’t get it.
We good guys go to hell for love. I needed a job, and you wanted an employee discount, and speak of the devil…
it’s you. Breezing into the loud, dumb madness.
I smile. “Welcome to hell. How may I assist you?”
You plop your booty on the counter by the register. Two Woody Allen DVDs and a book, Fast Food Nation. You lower your voice. “Don’t worry, babe. Barry has some feelers out. You won’t be here long.”
I don’t have a care in the world and I know you and Barry won’t let me die in this plastic fucking hellhole. “I like your beret. Where’d you get it?”
“Isn’t it great? My boyfriend gave it to me…. He also made me the best mixtape….”
“He sounds like a keeper.”
You hold up Fast Food Nation. “Wanna go to McDonald’s?”
I love being in hell with you, navigating the human bumper cars, holding the door for you as we approach the golden arches.
We get burgers and fries and a side of nuggets, and I tell you that you’re insane—you like Sweet ’N Sour sauce and you hate Tangy Barbeque—and you tell me that I’m insane—I got a strawberry milkshake.
“At least I have a reason to be insane.”
You dip a fry in Sweet ’N Sour. “What do you mean, babe?”
I rant about the new woman in my life, my evil boss Petra, about capitalism. You laugh, and I pause. “Yes, my dear.”
“Nothing, just sometimes, Joe…Sometimes I’m like…there is no way this guy is seventeen. He’s a grumpy old man.”
“And sometimes I think there’s no way you’re twenty-five, but I digress.”
You ask if I’m almost done ranting, and I give you a nugget. You smile. “Go on.”
“No self-respecting bookstore has neon fucking signs. People are lazy, so lazy that they want the bookstore and the T-shirt store and the junk store to be in the same place, and Petra…”
You elbow me and giggle. “I love her for you.”
“You’re just happy that she’s into girls.”
“Well, yeah, babe. I mean, I don’t miss Virginia, but you…Never mind.”
I know you well enough to wipe my hands and avoid another misunderstanding. “Vail…”
You turn a little red and close your Fast Food Nation. “Okay. The thing is…”
You need a second, so I give you a second. For a girl, you’re not that good at talking, but this is how we are now. Open and honest. Direct. “Okay,” you say. “I know what I mean when I tell you that there is no way you’re seventeen.”
“Because intellectually and physically I am at my peak. Thirty-five.”
“Ha. Okay, but the real thing is…When you say there is no way I am twenty-five…I just…What do you mean by that? Do you mean I seem older? Younger?”
I don’t know. “I don’t know.”
“Right…. That’s the thing, Joe. You can’t…Don’t mirror me. I know you’re into me. And when you say things just because I said them, as if you want to match me, I’m trying to say…I am so twenty-five. You are so not seventeen. Do you get what I mean?”
We’re not in McDonald’s. We’re in heaven. I can’t help it. I have to say it again. “I love you.”
“Me too, babe.”
I said it first like three days ago and you haven’t said it, not the words, but me too means you love me so much that you’re afraid to jinx it.
“So are you still good for tonight? The comedy club?”
I must do something funny with my face, because you laugh. “Oh, come on. One night at Caroline’s won’t kill you.”
“Unless I have a heart attack and die from pretending to laugh.”
“Dubs is actually pretty funny.”
I remember that picture of you and Dubs, the way he made you laugh. But it’s okay. Cynthia’s with him, and you are with me. You sip my strawberry shake.
“All right,” I say. “I’m in.”
“And if Dick and Schlitz or any of your friends wanna come, Cyn can get a bigger table.”
Friends. Dick and Schlitz are not my friends, and they’re not yours either. Dick referred to you as an old maid and told me I should bail because all older girls do is get older. Schlitz…I forgot he exists. “Nah,” I say. “Honestly, I’m taking a little break from those guys.”
You chew on my straw. “Oh, okay, well, if there’s anyone else, then…”
There is always a little crack in the ceiling of heaven, a little room for Satan to slip in.
I can literally feel you thinking that the business guys to our left who belong at Cosi are normal just because there are four of them.
You want me to be more like that. Crewed up.
Walking in slow motion with my bros. Fuck it.
I need to give you what you want. Or at least a version of it.
“It’s a shame my buddy Jeremy moved to San Fran. He loves stand-up.”
“Oh yeah! Jeremy. You have to show me his blog.”
I can’t do that—it’s like him, it doesn’t exist—and I dip a fry in BBQ. “I’ll find it. He’s coming to visit soon.”
You light up and smile. “Yay! When? I am just dying to meet someone from your world who isn’t the man we do not speak of, you know?”
It’s the sugar and the chemicals and the human feces in the food. I am high on you, on bad things, and I can’t help it. I have to make you happy. “Actually, I think he’s coming soon. And he’s bringing his girlfriend.”
And now you are on fire. You want more. You cannot wait to meet Jeremy and his girlfriend. You are the opposite of unsettled Carrie Bradshaw, so content to be at a little plastic table sharing a little plastic meal with your one true love, better than Big, me.
“Ooh,” you say. “Before I forget. Would you ever work at The View?”
I am a man. No. “Of course. I love that show.”
You frown because I am lying, but this is the good kind of lie.
“I mean, it’s not a great job and you don’t need to lie.
This guy I know works there and he says there might be a PA gig.
It’s not a lot of money, but someone like you…
” Don’t call me an assistant. “Well, we know the ladies of The View will see your potential.”
You are my girlfriend, my human resource. You have to work, and I have to race back to hell. You give me a little kiss. Sweet and sour strawberries. “Caroline’s at eight.”
“You do know you’re sending me from one hell to another….”
You gasp. Sarcasm and sex appeal. “Ah yes, but you do know that I know you would only run from one hell to another for meeeeeee.”
See, there it is. You don’t need to say the words. You love me.
“This is true, my dear.”
I watch you disappear into the throngs of people who are not you, and I’m not back in hell for two minutes when Petra calls me out. Buzzkill. “You’re late, Joe.”
Poor Petra. She needs to get laid. Held. Loved. “Sorry.”
“I need you to set up the SpongeBob display.”