Shit. I’ve never mentioned that little detail to Josh before. I completely forgot he assumes I joined for a fun-filled month, just like he did.
“That’s hardcore, man. Damn.”
He’s right. I shrug.
“Ha!” He shakes his head, smiling. “I feel totally vindicated. Which Faraday brother is the playboy now?”
I can’t help but laugh. Of the two of us, Josh has always been tagged as the bad boy playboy, maybe because he’s always so public about his relationships and partying, when all the while it’s me who’s been burning through women like a lawnmower through tall grass.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me. Kat left a message for you—which she addressed specifically to ‘Playboy.’”
Josh looks disappointed. “She left?”
“Yeah, she had to go to work. Said she has to ‘live her life.’ But she gave me a message for you: ‘Tell
Playboy
I’d love to hang out with him some time—whenever he’s done chasing Mickey Mouse roller coasters, if ever.’”
Josh groans.
I laugh. “Hey, man, you did it to yourself. You’re the one who said all that Mickey Mouse bullshit right in front of her. Dumbass.”
Josh looks totally bummed.
“You liked her, huh?”
“Did you
see
her? Oh my God.”
“She’s just your type.”
“She’s
everybody’s
type.”
“Well, she obviously thinks you’re a total asswipe.”
Josh smashes his mouth into a hard line. “She was sassy, too. I like sassy.”
“It’s your own damned fault.”
“Fuck you. You’re the one who signed up for a whole
year’s
worth of Mickey Mouse roller coasters, not me. Pervert.”
He’s got me there. I’ve got no comeback.
“What the hell did you ask for in your application that you needed a whole
year
of it?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter. I told you—I was having some kind of nervous breakdown. What did you ask for in
your
application?”
“None of your business.” Josh’s face turns earnest. He fidgets. “Hey, man, I had no idea you were... you know, having such a hard time. I thought you were living large, being a beast. I had no idea you were... you know... ”
“Turning into Dad?”
Josh’s face flushes.
“It’s okay. Neither did I. I’d become quite the expert at distracting myself from the truth.”
Josh nods. “Turn and burn,” he says quietly.
“Turn and burn,” I agree. A series of images from the past year flashes through my mind. Turn and burn, indeed. “But then Sarah came along and kicked my ass, man. Holy shit, did she ever kick my ass. That woman can spot bullshit a mile a way—and she totally called me on mine.”
“Sounds like she was exactly what you needed.”
“She was—she
is
.”
“But next time, if you’re having a rough time, talk to me, okay? I never want you to... you know... feel like . . .”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Just don’t do something stupid.”
“I won’t. Never again. I promise.”
“I’ve always got your back. You know that, right? I never want you to—”
“I won’t.”
Josh exhales. “I can’t believe you spent a quarter million bucks on The Club—on anything, actually. It’s so un-Jonas-like of you.”
He’s right. I don’t spend money frivolously. Clearly, I was out of my mind.
“And Sarah knows you joined for a whole year?”
“Yeah, she’s the one who processed my application.” I sigh, suddenly wistful.
My Beautiful Intake Agent.
She had me the minute her email landed in my inbox.
“Wow. She knows all the ways you’re a total pervert and she still wants you?”
I nod.
“You’re a lucky bastard.”
“I know.”
“Does she know everything else, too? You know, about . . .” He pauses, suddenly unsure how to proceed.
I tilt my head and wait. But Josh doesn’t have the heart to finish that sentence.
He swallows hard.
I finish his sentence for him. “Does she know about The Lunacy?”
Josh nods.
It suddenly occurs to me Josh is the only living person (besides doctors and therapists, of course) who knows everything about The Lunacy—the euphemism we use to refer to “the time when Jonas lost his fucking mind.” There was nothing remotely funny about that period of my life, of course, nothing at all, but I’ve since learned that scoffing about it, calling it something as irreverent and light-hearted and dismissive as “The Lunacy,” effectively minimizes the pain and relegates it to a distant and containable memory.
I’ve gotten quite adept at compartmentalizing that stuff into a lidded box inside me, in fact, and now that I’m sane and in control of my mind and body and soul, now that I’ve come to realize that my father was fallible—that he wasn’t God, for fuck’s sake, or the supreme arbiter of my worth as a human being, that his suicide note was just fucking
malicious
and not reflective of the objective truth—now that I’ve figured out how to choose serenity and enlightenment and sanity through visualizing the divine originals and striving for excellence, I’m reborn—a totally different person. I’m a man now, a fucking beast, just like Josh always says—not a mute and frozen boy in a closet or some kind of pathetic pussy-ass seeking his father’s forgiveness that will never come. I’m strong now. Especially now that I’ve found my Sarah.
I put down the muffin I was holding. “Well, I told her about... what happened... you know, on that day when we were kids,” I say quietly. The levity of our conversation has instantly vanished. He knows what day I’m talking about, of course—the day that changed both our lives forever, the day that fucked us up irreversibly, especially me. The day we’ve both tried, in vain, to overcome our whole lives.
Josh looks surprised. And it’s no wonder—I never, ever talk about what I witnessed from the cowardly safety of my mother’s closet. I’ve certainly never told any of my other girlfriends about it.
“I also told her about Dad—what he did. You know, just the basics, no details.”
Josh nods, clenching his jaw. His eyes flash with sudden hardness.
“But I didn’t tell her about... everything that happened right after that. To me.”
Josh nods his agreement. “The Lunacy.”
I nod.
The Lunacy.
It’s my penultimate shame, second only to my life’s greatest and most inexcusable disgrace—my unforgivable failure to move from that damned closet and come to my mother’s rescue.
“That’s good, Jonas. Nobody ever needs to know about that.”
“Yeah.” I exhale loudly. “I mean, it’s irrelevant, right? I’m different now. I’ve conquered myself.”
“Oh, yeah. You totally have. You’re a badass now, bro. Just look at you. You’re a beast.”
Emotion is welling up inside me. I suppress it. I pause, considering my words carefully. I need him to understand what Sarah means to me. “Josh, I’ve told Sarah things I’ve never told anyone—not even you.”
Because I love her,
I think—but, of course, I don’t say it.
“Wow,” Josh says. “That’s good, Jonas.” He gets it. I know he does.
“She understands me.” I absentmindedly touch the tattoo on my right forearm.
Visualize the divine originals.
“Sometimes better than I understand myself.” I think about Sarah touching this very same spot on my arm and my skin electrifies. “I’ve never felt like this before,” I say softly.
I love her,
I think.
I love her, Josh.
My heart is pounding in my ears.
“Yeah, I can tell.” He nods, smiling. “I’ve never seen you like this about a girl before.”
My heart pounds.
Because I love her.
“So don’t fuck it up.”
“
I won’t.” God help me, I won’t.
Josh exhales loudly and slaps his own face. “Okay, crazy-ass-motherfucker. You know what you gotta do, then?”
I mimic his loud exhale and slap my own face in reply. “Fuck yeah, pussy-ass motherfucker.” Slapping ourselves is what Josh and I have always done when we’ve unexpectedly found ourselves engaged in a conversation about our fucking feelings. It’s our mutual way of signaling that it’s time to stop acting like crybabies and sack up. I motion to the Club-issued iPhone on the table. “I know exactly what to do.”
Josh frowns.
“Hey, I’ve got to start connecting the dots somehow. I’ll start with the only dot I’ve got. Stacy the Prostitute.”
“Jonas . . .”
I scoff. “I’m not gonna
fuck
her, Josh.” Even saying those words about Stacy makes my stomach lurch. “Give me some credit.”
Josh looks uneasy.
“I’m just gonna check in on the app so I can
talk
to her. I’ll butter her up and get her to lead me to her boss. Connect the dots—that’s what we said, right?”
Josh grimaces.
“Why do you look like I just gave you a fucking enema? It’ll entail nothing but a drink and a quick chat in a crowded bar. Simple.”
Josh shakes his head. “Don’t kid yourself. It won’t be that simple.”
“Sure it will. Stacy the Prostitute is just a mercenary—she’s chasing the mighty dollar and nothing else. When people are motivated by money, it makes things incredibly simple.”
Josh sighs. “But what about Sarah?”
“What about her?”
“She might not think things are as ‘simple’ as you do.”
I stare at him.
“Jonas, think. Sarah might not feel quite so it’s-no-big-deal about you meeting up with a woman you’ve slept with, even if it’s just for a ‘simple’ drink and a chat. Girlfriends are kinda funny that way.”
I pause, considering. “Why does she even need to know about it?”
Josh rolls his entire head, not just his eyes. “Oh, for Chrissakes, Jonas, yeah, not telling Sarah would make your fantastic idea even better. Never mind. Forget I ever said a thing about it.” Clearly, he’s being sarcastic.
“No, really. What’s the point in telling her? I’ll go meet Stacy at The Pine Box tonight. I’ll tell her what she wants to hear—get her to lead me to the next person up the totem pole. Then I come right back home. Done. Simple.”
Josh is clearly uneasy. He shakes his head.
“Trust me. Simple.”
He exhales. “Just be careful.”
“With Stacy?” I laugh. “I’m not afraid of Stacy.”
“No, you dumbfuck. I don’t mean be careful with
Stacy
.” He shakes his head for the hundredth time at me. “I mean be careful with
Sarah
. Don’t fuck things up with her. I think you’re misjudging this.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m not.”
Why is he worried? This is a great plan. Yes, granted, in a perfect world, Josh’s hacker buddy would find these bastards the way he found Sarah for me, and I’d never have to see Stacy again as long as I live. But I can’t count on that—Josh himself said so. So I’ve got to work on Plan B—connecting the dots on my own, one dot at a time, through whatever means necessary.
“Whatcha doin’, boys?”
Oh shit. How long has Sarah been standing there?
She’s showered and dressed—and, as usual, looking gorgeous.
“Hey, baby,” I say, quickly closing my laptop. I stand to greet her. “Just plotting world domination.” I smile.
She squints at my closed laptop and then at me, her mind instantly whirring and clacking like the well-oiled machine it is.
I embrace her, leaning in to whisper right into her ear. “Last night was incredible, baby. Epic.” I kiss her and my entire body starts tingling. She smells delicious.
“The woman wizard strikes again,” she whispers, kissing me back. She leans into my ear. “I’m horny as hell this morning, baby—just thinking about last night.” Her eyes drift over to Josh and she instantly pulls away from me.
Fucking Josh. I’m glad he’s here, of course—I’m the one who called him and asked him to come, I know—but why the fuck is he here?
“Good morning, Sarah Cruz,” Josh says politely.
“Good morning, Josh Faraday,” Sarah says. She looks at me again. “Thanks for doing my laundry. Wow. You never cease to surprise and delight me, Jonas Faraday.” She winks, and I know she’s referring to more than her laundry with that compliment.
“You’re very, very welcome. It was my supreme pleasure to do your laundry.”
“You’re exceptionally good at folding clothes, you know that? Impeccable creases.”
I smirk. I love it when my baby talks dirty to me.
“If being a business mogul doesn’t pan out for you, you could totally work at The Gap.”
Josh laughs.
I glare at him. Fuck Josh. Why is he here?
“Did you
iron
my clothes? They’re absolutely perfect, like new.”
“Of course, I did.”
“Babe, that’s insane. Are you secretly a housewife from the fifties under there?” She lifts up my T-shirt and peeks at my abs, her knuckles lightly grazing my bare skin as she does. Just this brief touch of her skin on mine gives me goose bumps.
Josh laughs again, making me wonder, yet again, why he’s here.
“Excellence in all things,” I say softly.
“Absolutely.” She smiles at me. She lowers my shirt but doesn’t let go of it.
There’s a beat. I want her so much it’s taking all of my restraint not to clear off my kitchen table. I can’t be in this woman’s presence for five minutes without wanting to rip her clothes off.
“So,” she says, shifting her weight, “besides creating the perfect form of
laundry-ness
in the ideal realm
,
what else have you been doing with yourself this morning, my sweet Jonas? You’ve been a busy bee, I presume?” Her eyes drift over to my laptop on the table and unmistakably land with a crashing thud onto my Club-issued iPhone. It’s sitting smack in the middle of the table, a fucking beacon of my degeneracy. Fuck. She lets go of my shirt. Her eyes dart back to me. Oh, wow, shit, her eyes are burning like hot coals right now.
“What have you been up to, Jonas?” There’s a sudden edge in her voice.
“Just brainstorming a few things with Josh.”
“Why’d you close your laptop when I came in?”
I hesitate.
Her eyes dart back to the iPhone again.
“What’s that doing there?”
Leave it to Sarah to go straight for the jugular. No fucking around.