I thought, Good for you, Uncool and So Afraid. You made it here anyway. Maybe that’s half the bat le?
I wondered what happened to that person. I wondered if I could leave him or her a red notebook to nd out.
My favorite scrawl was writ en in black Magic Marker. It said:
The Cure. For the Exes. I’m sorry, Nick. Will you kiss me again?
Because suddenly, on the night-(horah-)mare after Christmas, as I sat on a lthy toilet in a stinky bathroom, dripping in sweat from dancing, I
real y real y wanted that certain someone to kiss. In a way I’d never wished for in my life. It wasn’t about the fantasy. That was now replaced with
hope and belief that it could happen, for real.
(I’ve never kissed anyone for real, in a romantic way, before. I hadn’t lied to the drag-on lady. I don’t think my pil ow counts.
(Should I confess this to Snarl in the notebook? Ful disclosure, so he had a fair chance to run?
(Nah.)
There were so many messages on the bathroom wal that I might never have found his, except I recognized his handwriting. The message was a
few lines down from the Cure kiss message. He’d painted a strip of white paint as background, then alternated the words in blue and black Magic
Marker—a nice Hanukkah-themed message, I guessed. So Snarl was secretly a sentimentalist. Or maybe part Jewish?
The message said:
Please return the notebook to the handsome gumshoe wearing the fedora hat.
Wel , just dreidel me verklempt.
Was Snarl here?
Or was I going to meet a kid named Boomer again?
I stepped back out into the club. In al the black jeans and black T-shirts and bad lighting, I nal y identi ed two men in a corner by the bar
wearing fedora hats, although one had a yarmulke pinned over it. Both guys wore sunglasses. I noticed the one not wearing the yarmulke lean
down and scrape a piece of gum from his shoe with a paper clip. (I think he used a paper clip. Gosh, I hope he didn’t use his ngernail—gross.)
In the club’s darkness, it was impossible to make out their faces.
I pul ed out the notebook, then changed my mind and put it in my purse for safekeeping, in case I had the wrong guys. If they were the right
guys, shouldn’t they be saying something to me like, Hey, we’re here for the notebook?
They shot me their glazed, punky hipster glares instead.
I was struck mute, panic-a icted.
I ran out of the club as fast as I could.
Mortifyingly, I ran right out of one of my boots. Real y. I’d neglected to wear socks over my tights so the too-big boots would t properly, and
like a Shril y Cinderel a at the indie-gayjew re bal , I slipped right out of one of my boots.
No way was I going back for it.
Only when the cab dropped me o at home and I took out my wal et to pay the driver did I realize:
I’d left the gumshoe a boot and no notebook.
The notebook was stil in my purse.
I’d given Snarl no clues how to nd me back.
nine
–Dash–
December 26th
I was woken up at eight in the morning by a banging on the door. I stumbled into the front hal way, squinted into the peephole, and found Dov
and Yohnny peering back at me, fedoras askew.
“Hey, guys,” I said after I opened the door. “Isn’t it a lit le early for you?”
“Haven’t gone to sleep yet!” Dov said. “We’re al Red Bul ish and Diet Coked–up, if you know what I mean.”
“Can we crash here?” Yohnny asked. “I mean, soon. Like, in two minutes.”
“How could I turn you away?” I asked. “How was the show?”
“You should’ve stayed,” Dov said. “Sil y Rabbi was awesome. I mean, they’re no Fistful of Assholes, but they’re about eighteen times bet er than
Ozrael. And let me tel you, your girl busted some moves, man.”
I smiled. “Real y?”
“She put the ho in horah!” Dov exclaimed.
Yohnny shook his head. “It was more like the rah. I mean, she was more like the rah.”
Dov hit Yohnny on the shoulder with what looked like a boot.
“Bitch, I’m talking here!” Dov cried.
“Someone’s not get ing to break the glass tonight,” Yohnny mut ered.
I stepped in. “Guys! Do you have something for me?”
“Yeah,” Dov said, holding out the boot. “This.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Dov looked at me atly. “What is it? Wel , let’s see …”
Yohnny said, “There wasn’t any notebook. I mean, she held it out to Dov, but then she ran away with it. Only, she lost her boot in the process.
Don’t ask me how—it seems to defy the law of physics for a foot to fal out of a boot. So maybe she wanted to leave it behind for you.”
“Cinderel a!” Dov cried. “Let down your hair!”
“Yeah,” Yohnny went on, “I think it’s time for bed. Mind if we crawl into a cave?”
“You can use my mom’s room,” I said. Then I took the boot from Dov and looked inside.
“No notebook,” Yohnny said. “I thought that, too. I even checked the oor, which was not a pleasant experience. I can honestly say, if the
notebook had fal en out, it wouldn’t have got en far—it would’ve stuck right where it landed.”
“Ew. Sorry. I mean, thanks.” I led them to my mom’s room. It felt a lit le wrong to loan out her bed, but it was also Giovanni’s bed, and I loved
the idea of casual y mentioning to him that two clubbed-out gay unorthodox Jews had caved there together while he was gone. I removed the
bedspread while Yohnny kept Dov propped up; just the sight of a sleeping place had drained al the Red Bul from his veins.
“What time do you want a wake-up cal ?” I asked.
“You going to Priya’s party tonight?” Yohnny said.
I nodded.
“Wel , wake us up a lit le before that.”
Delicately, Yohnny removed his hat, then Dov’s. I bid them good night, even though the morning was just get ing started.
I examined the boot. I pondered it. I searched for secret messages etched into the leather. I removed the insole to see if there was a note
underneath. I asked the boot questions. I played with its tassel. I felt that Lily had outriddled me.
If she hadn’t left anything, I would’ve thought, Wow. That’s it. It’s over. But the boot was a clue, and if there was a clue, that meant the mystery
was stil intact.
I decided to retrace my steps. I knew Macy’s had probably opened early for the day after Christmas, so I cal ed them right away … and was put
on hold for fteen minutes.
Final y, an exasperated voice answered, “Macy’s—how may I help you?”
“Hi,” I said. “I was wondering if Santa was stil there.”
“Sir, it’s the day after Christmas.”
“I know—but is there any way to track down Santa?”
“Sir, I don’t have time for this.”
“No, you don’t understand—I real y need to have a word with the man who was Santa four days ago.”
“Sir, I appreciate your desire to speak to Santa, but this is our busiest day of the year and I have other cal s I must at end to. Maybe you should
just write him a let er—do you need the address?”
“One North Pole?” I guessed.
“Precisely. Have a nice day, sir.”
And then she hung up.
The Strand, of course, didn’t open early for the day after Christmas. I had to wait until nine-thirty to get through to someone there.
“Hi,” I said, “I was wondering if Mark was around?”
“Hi,” I said, “I was wondering if Mark was around?”
“Mark?” a bored male voice asked.
“Yeah. Works at the information desk.”
“There are about twenty of us named Mark. Can you be more speci c?”
“Dark hair. Glasses. Ironic detachment. Scru .”
“That doesn’t narrow it down.”
“He’s a lit le heavier than the rest of you?”
“Oh, I think I know the Mark you mean. He’s not here today. Let me see—yeah, he’s on tomorrow.”
“Could you tel me his last name?”
“I’m sorry,” the guy said, pleasantly enough, “but we don’t disclose personal information to stalkers. If you want to leave a message, I can get it