Rachel Cohn - Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

Except that would never happen to me. How did such a reputedly smart girl get herself in this predicament, on the brink of adulthood, with no future to grab on to? These last few weeks I've been missing Tal as much as I've been bemoaning him as the Evil Ex. I've held on to the hope of surprising him by showing up in South Africa, yet when he was RIGHT THERE in front of me in Manhattan, what did I do? I froze. Suddenly all my fantasies of reconciliation were gone, suddenly all I could remember was how I was never good enough for him, Jewish enough, political enough, committed enough. Tal wasn't a lying cheating skank like Tris, but who had I been kidding? He had been, as Caroline likes to remind me, a "controlling fuckface." So right there, in a fucking Yugo, next to the poor schmuck I introduced myself to by making out with him, I finally had the moment of clarity that Mom and Dad and Caroline have been waiting for me to have since I was fifteen: ENOUGH! Caroline has been right all along. Tal and I are better off living our lives apart from one another.

Oh fuck.Did I just say that aloud? I'm trying to pay attention to the Nick guy but I can't get Tal's words in front of the club off repeat playback in my mind: She talks a great game, but when you actually get to the field, you realize it's fucking empty.

The Tin Woman! Tal called me the fucking Tin Woman! I lost my virginity and my whole youth to him, and that's his review of me? At least I can be grateful that when Tal took off from South Africa back to Manhattan without telling anybody, he couldn't possibly have received my letter yet; I only just mailed it. I was so hell-bent on the sentiment, I posted the letter international fucking snail mail when I could have just e-mailed him. I drew smiley faces on the outside of the envelope! Oh, God, I want to be sick right now.

Norah, why are you such a regression bitch? One night last weekend spent holding Caroline's hair back while she puked in the toilet, feeling lonely and lost-for me, not for Caroline; she had an army of dudes outside the bathroom waiting for her to sober up-and I let the dark side of my mind, the Tal side, win out. As Caroline slept it off later that night in the extra twin bed that's been in my room for her since kindergarten, I wrote to Tal. Was it all the caffeine I consumed riding the night out with Caroline, or the leftover ganja haze of the reggae club where we'd passed the night? Secondhand smoke may be deadlier than firsthand straight-edge inhale, at least when it comes to impairing my ability to distinguish between lonely longing for the Evil Ex and actually trying to get back together with him.

I hope Tal never finds out the Tin Woman was ready to compromise. I didn't outright say I wanted to get back together. But I said I was willing to consider it. I told him I could be vegan. I could be more Jewish. I could be kosher fucking vegan! I could learn to care about saving the sea otter and only drinking fair-trade coffee. I could believe that Tal and his brothers in Tel Aviv actually have talent and will become the next big thing, an older, punk-infused, pro-Israel, fuck-Europe, politicized version of Hanson. I would at least consider living with his miserable controlling psychotic mother in Tel Aviv once Tal starts his mandatory Israeli Army service next year, and oh alright fine, she could teach me how to cook the meals he likes and how to hang linens on a line in the sun so his sheets would always be crisp and fresh.

That fucking letter! Shit! I was like Saddam Hussein in the South Park movie, professing to Satan, I can change! I can change!

No. I can't change. I shouldn't change.

Caroline may be a lush and a slut but she's not a complete moron. She begged me not to post the letter, but I wouldn't listen to her. "What the fuck do you have to change for?" she said. "Heshould fucking change, uptight bastard. Why are you doing this? If you need some end-of-adolescence protest, couldn't you like just wreck your dad's Jaguar on the Palisades Parkway or something? Are you really going to put us through you and Tal, the nightmare couple, one more time? And lose out on Brown for it? Norah, you know you'll meet someone else, don't you?" Only I didn't believe her-until tonight.

What good is Caroline now, passed out in Nick's friend's van? I wonder if her cell is turned on. I need to tell her Tal is back! And I fucked up but now I have officially woken the fuck up.

"Norah?" the Playboy Bunny bouncer responds to my pronouncement of oh fuck, which is no small relief because I don't have a fake ID. When your dad is the well-known head of a major record label, it tends not to be necessary at most clubs in Lower Manhattan.

"Toni?" I say. S/he grabs me in a hug. Toni interned for Dad last year while deciding whether s/he wanted to pursue a career in the music industry; s/he was also my biggest advocate in my futile campaign (thus far) to convince Dad to produce an all-punk band tribute album to the Spice Girls. "Still working on that demo?"

S/he pulls out a CD strapped inside the bushy tail at her back. "Just finished it! Will you pass it on?"

"Sure," I say, hoping Nick will not interrogate me about who am I, some eighteen-year-old flannel-shirt-wearing BandT girl, to be passing on demos.

"Go right on over to the VIP area," Toni says. "I'll make sure your drinks are on the house."

"I don't drink," I remind Toni.

"Oh, live a little," s/he says, bumping me at the hip. "Miss Straight Edge, bend 'round the corner for once in your life." Toni turns to Nick. "Illinois? Twenty-three years old? Give me a fucking break. But have fun, kids."

S/he gives Nick a playful slap on the ass as we walk in and Nick doesn't react like Tal, who would have pounced back at a drag queen daring to touch him. Instead, Nick laughs and turns back around to return the gesture on Toni's ass. S/he gives him a butt shimmy dance in return. "I like this one, Norah!" s/he says. "Big improvement. Good egg."

As opposed to what-nasty, fermented egg, the kind one naturally would assume Tris would pass off?

We sit down at a small table that miraculously vacated of bodies as we approached it. For fuck's sake, my heart actually flutters for a moment when Nick pulls out the wooden chair for me. Who does that? And why does that simple gesture for a moment make me forget I am REALLY PISSED OFF and MY LIFE IS OVER. I am distracted from my Tal malaise by the nuns making out to "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" on the stage, and find myself chuckling, all of a sudden having a mental image of me and Nick in a threeway with E.T. I feel the crack of a smile on my lips and a non-frigid buzz spreading through my body. In the flashing neon lights, and with the distraction of the stage show, I finally have the opportunity to truly appraise Nick. I admire his vintage gas station attendant jacket with the name "Salvatore" stenciled under the Texaco logo, and I admit to wanting to run my fingers through his mod mess of shag hair. He seems to have an ironic but sweet half-smile stenciled on his face, despite his Tris hangover.

Nick waves thanks in Toni's direction at the door. He says, "Nice seats your friend hooked us up with. I have to admit, between your drunk girlfriend and your Yugo-insulting ex-boyfriend, it's a relief to see you have some nice friends." He winks at me and why won't that kind smile leave his face because I know if we are ever going to make it through this night/morning/whatever we have going, eventually I am going to have to tell him about Tris and that smile will be gone and I don't want to be the person responsible for killing it.

I don't owe him an explanation or anything but I do say, "I'm sorry about Tal." Only what I'm really sorry about is what I said about Tris, but I can't find it in myself to speak that apology. Yet.

Nick tells the cocktail bunny who approaches our table to please bring us drinks with little umbrellas in them, we don't care what, we're from Jersey, we won't know the difference anyway. He says to please just make sure the drinks are of the virgin variety.