“Oh, thank God,” Nick says. Interesting. We’re in tune on the divine intervention thing. Fate?
A guy emerges from the van and I recognize him as the guy who made out with the non-singing member of Nick’s band after their band’s set. I only caught a minute of their kissing before I had to look away. Sub Z is way turned on by two boys kissing. I don’t see why ogling same-sex kissing should be the exclusive domain of frat boys whacking off to lesbian action, that’s so sexist. Feminism should be all-inclusive—it should be about sexual liberation, equal pay for equal work, and the fundamental girl right of boy2boy appreciation.
If not for the really hot kissing I witnessed between those two guys, I might not have answered Nick’s request to be his five-minute girlfriend by pulling his mouth down to mine. That seems like years ago, not minutes, what with Dragonbreath and the stalled Yugo since, and WHY am I giving so much thought to being suspended in time and in Yugo with this Nick guy, anyway? He’s hung up on TRIS!
The boyfriend of the band guy—he’s so emo he’s practically a Muppet—leans into Nick’s open window. He tells Nick, “Pop the hood and we’ll try to jump-start this baby.”
“Yeah,” Nick says, like it’s their routine. “Thanks, Scot.”
Scot looks my way. He says, “Thom could use some help in the van if you don’t mind.”
What the f**k? Whatever.
I shrug and get out of the Yugo while Scot pops the Yugo hood to attach the jumper cables. I pass Randy leaning against the wall of the club and I give him a shove, just because. Then I step to the passenger side of the van and see band equipment in the back. I knew Nick’s band had a van! Why didn’t I specify—van, not Yugo, back to Jersey?
The guy sitting in the driver side of the van says, “Hi. I’m Thom. With an ‘h.’”
I tell him, “I’m Gnorah. With a ‘g.’ The ‘g’ is silent. Like ‘gnome.’”
“Really?” Thom says.
“No, not really. I have an ‘h’ too. At the end. Used to be just N-O-R-A but then I had the H legally added to my name after my dad failed to sign up Norah Jones when he had the chance. I don’t like him to forget these things easily.”
“Really?” Thom says again.
Not really. “Really,” I say. “But I can’t imagine why I am in this van to talk about H’s. What’s up?”
Thom hands me a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. He says, “Scot and I chipped in. We saw that kiss between you and Nick.” Thom’s not the singer of their band, but he nevertheless can channel the Aretha, not En Vogue, version of a song when he sings out, “Giving him something he can feel!”
“I don’t get it,” I say.
The hood of the van obstructs our view, but we can hear the rattle of the Yugo engine threatening to come to life. “No time to explain,” Thom says. “Let’s just say Scot and I hate the f**king guts of Nick’s ex and we’d like to give him a little assistance with moving on with his life. So, please, take the boy out tonight, see the city, see the backseat of the Yugo, I don’t care, just please take our friend out tonight. We’ve already decided that we like you and that you’ll be Nick’s salvation. No pressure or anything.”
Flattery could get him everywhere and I am all about salvation right now, but, “Can’t,” I tell him, though I’m tempted. Really tempted. I’m curious what would happen if I dared another leap toward Nick’s hand—or other parts, like that really tasty NoMo mouth. “Nick’s giving me and my drunk friend a ride back to Jersey. She’s asleep in the back of the Yugo now.”
Thom says, “We’ve got a mattress in the back of the van. We’ll trade you. We’ll get her home if you’ll take on Nick tonight.”
I decide some living is worth doing. “Done,” I tell him. I slip the fifty into my inside shirt pocket, then scribble the directions to my house on Thom’s hand. I tell him where to find the house key under the potted plant and not to worry about my parents—they’ll probably tip him for getting Caroline home and making me go out on a date with a live male. And I am not feeling frigid about Nick at all. I can’t remember the last time I felt anticipation—not of sex (necessarily), but of getting to know a delicious new person, even if he is a poor schmuck.
So we’re settled, and I get out of the van with Thom, who enlists Scot to help him transport Caroline from the Yugo to the van. But once I’m back inside the Yugo, I have no chance to explain to Nick the new order of this middle of the night.
Because through the windshield, I see that Randy at the wall is doing the soul-brother shake with a new arrival who happens to be the mind-fucking guy who turned me Sub Z last year. Apparently Uncle Lou’s actual nephew did not survive his year on the kibbutz in South Africa. The call of the real wild—Manhattan—must have been too great for him. And f**k, the Evil Ex has seen me and now he’s at my side at the passenger door of the Yugo and he’s saying, “Hey, baby, you ready to pick up where we left off?”
5. NICK
I never thought Jessie would betray me like this. I have done nothing but love her and treat her right. I’ve stood by her side and defended her when people called her trash and said they didn’t understand why I kept her. I thought that meant something. But no. Now when I need her most, she’s totally bailed. I turn the key and I turn the key and I turn the key and she doesn’t do a damn thing. How alone am I right now? Even my car has decided to give up on me.
I could be really mad at her. But mostly I’m afraid. That this is it—terminal. That we can volt her till the lights go out in Manhattan, and she’ll just sit here. Unblinking. I can’t afford to fix her again. If this is it, then this is really it.
I’m not really paying attention when Scot and Thom remove Caroline from my backseat. After all the time it took to get her in. But I can understand the impulse to abandon ship.
I’m about to help Scot connect the cables when this guy I’ve never seen before leans into Norah’s window and says, “Hey, baby, you ready to pick up where we left off?”
What. the. f**k?
Okay, maybe I hang with a queercore crowd and all, but still—I never, ever, in a million zillion years would have imagined that a guy could use the phrase “hey, baby” and mean it. He says it like he’s whistling at some girl’s boobs as she walks down the street. Who does that?
I expect Norah to put him right in his place. But instead she freezes. She looks away, as if she can ignore her way out of it. By some logic, this should mean that she’s now looking at me, since I’m 180 degrees away from our uninvited guest. But instead she focuses on the dashboard, on the place where the lighter should be. And I guess I’m a little surprised, because it was just starting to look like we were going to go someplace together. That this wasn’t just going to be a ride home. Now it’s becoming a ride nowhere, and I’m sad that it’s so out of my hands.
“Baby, I’m back,” the guy goes on. “How ’bout getting out of this heap and saying hello?”
Now, it’s one thing to try to harass Norah out of my passenger seat. But to bring Jessie into it is completely uncalled for.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
He keeps looking at Norah as he talks to me. “Yeah, buddy. I just got back to the States and I’ve been looking for this lady here. Can you spare her for a second?”
He reaches in the window, unlocks the door, and opens it.
“We’ll be right back,” he goes on. And I’m about to tell Norah she doesn’t have to do a thing. But right then she reaches over and pops off her seatbelt. I figure this is a decision on her part…until she fails to follow it up with another movement. She just stays in the car.
“Baby…,” he purrs as he reaches in for her, as if she’s a kid in a car seat. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I turn the key in the ignition. Still no start. Scot comes over to my window, looks inside the car, and says, “Problem here?”
Now it’s Scot that Norah looks at. And for some reason, this snaps her back.
“Tal,” she says with an edge usually reserved for cutlery, “you haven’t missed me for one f**king minute. You have never for one single second in your entire pathetic life missed me. You might have missed f**king with my head, and you might have missed the satisfaction you so clearly got from demolishing me, but those are your emotions you’re missing, not mine. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“C’mon, baby,” Tal says, leaning into her. She flinches back into the seat. I can sense Scot about to say something, but I beat him to it.
“Dude, nobody puts baby in a corner,” I say. “Get the f**k out of my car.”
Tal holds his hands up, steps out of the doorway.
“Just giving the lady a choice,” he says. “I didn’t realize she was already ruining another guy’s life. I hope you have better luck than I did.”
“Asshole,” Norah murmurs.
Tal laughs. “Piece of shit car: five dollars. Value of Norah’s opinion: three cents. Irony of her calling me an ass**le: priceless.”
“Go. Away,” Norah says.
“What? Are you afraid I’m going to tell the truth?” Tal looks at me now. “Don’t be fooled, partner. She talks a great game, but when you actually get to the field, you realize it’s f**king empty.”
From somewhere beyond the hood, Thom yells, “Gentleman, start your engine!”
I cannot find a way to pray to God or some higher being. But I damn well feel comfortable praying to Jessie, and right at this moment I give her my evangelical all.
Please start. I will buy premium gas for the next month if you please, please, please start.
I turn the key in the ignition. There’s a slight catch. And then…
Jessie’s talking to me again. And she’s saying, Let’s get the hell out of here.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” I say to Tal, “but we’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Fine,” Tal says, shutting the door more gently than I would’ve expected. “Just don’t say I never warned you. You’re dating the Tin Woman here. Look for a heart, you’ll only come up with dead air.”
“Thanks for the tip!” I say with mock cheer.
He reaches in the window and touches Norah on the cheek, holding there for a moment.
“Baby, it’s you,” he says. Then he turns back to the sidewalk and heads right into the club.
“Seems like a nice guy,” I say. Norah doesn’t respond.
Scot leans in my window now.
“Don’t worry about her friend,” he says. “We’ll get her home. You two kids have fun now, you hear?”
“Sure thing,” I tell him, even though Norah looks like the only use she has for the word fun is to make the word funeral.
Thom shuts the hood and gives me a thumbs-up. Then he and Scot walk hand in hand back to the van, the jumper cables dangling over their shoulders like a boa.
Norah hasn’t moved to put her seatbelt back on. I don’t know what this means. She turns to look at the door to the club.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I honestly have no idea,” she says.
I put Jessie into reverse and give our parking space away to whoever comes next. It gives me some satisfaction to know that my departure will become somebody else’s good luck.
It’s only when I’ve pulled out onto the street that I realize I have no idea where we’re going.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask.
I take her silence as a no. Because wanting to go home is the kind of thing you speak up about.