What's Your Number

by Karyn Bosnak

Delilah, this is Jesus again.

  Listen, after reading a little farther, we’re gonna have to take back our offer. We’re sorry, but we had no idea you slept with Roger. A braided belt? What were you thinking? Sorry for the confusion.

  looking down, looking forward

  sunday, june 19

  The next morning I lie in bed alone at the Waldorf feeling relieved, refreshed, but yes, also still sad about what happened with Colin. However, there’s nothing more that I can do except say I’m sorry, which I’ve already done. From here, it’s up to him; the ball is in his court. As much as I want to, as much as it kills me not to, I’m not going to chase after him. I’ve learned my lesson with that. Daisy’s right. If something is meant to happen, then it will. With that, I give my pink quartz Chinese love bracelet a little rub. I still haven’t taken it off.

  Daisy’s post-wedding brunch begins in an hour, so after getting out of bed, I take a shower and get partly dressed, putting on my underwear, a T-shirt, and a pair of heels. (As nice as the Waldorf is, I will never forget what that TV special said about dirty hotel rooms, so I won’t walk on the carpet with bare feet.)

  While pausing for a moment I turn on the TV. After flipping around for a bit, I stop when I get to the Soap Opera Network. After finding the information button on the remote, I push it because I think . . .

  Yes. Yes, I’m right.

  A rerun of All My Children is on. I suspected it was because while I was browsing around the Internet trying to find out when Holden Jessup would make an appearance, I learned that the big storyline on the show right now is a bunch of people being held hostage on a boat out at sea. I was unable to find anything out about Holden, by the way. After throwing down the remote, I leave the TV on and continue to get ready.

  While putting on my mascara, I hear a commercial promoting next week’s episodes of All My Children. “Next week . . .” a man’s voice says, “a new man enters Pine Valley.”

  A new man? I stop what I’m doing.

  Could Colin make an appearance as soon as next week? No, it’s too soon. There’s no way. Looking back in the mirror, I resume putting on my mascara until I suddenly hear a woman’s voice on the TV say, “Holden . . . is that you?”

  Holden? HOLDEN? That’s Colin! Well, I mean, that’s his character! Throwing down my mascara wand, I run over to the TV as quickly as I can.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I nervously bite my lip and watch as the camera slowly pans across a misty bridge. It’s a rainy day in Pine Valley. Sappy music is playing. Suddenly the camera stops moving when it gets to a pair of grubby shoes. It then slowly moves up a pair of green cargo pants, a black tank top, and then . . .

  This is it. This is the moment I’ve been dreading. I’m going to see Colin on TV and realize I made the biggest mistake in letting him go. I may burst into tears.

  As the camera continues moving up, I see his collar bone, and then his neck, and then—

  Whoa, wait.

  That’s not Colin.

  “Yes, yes it’s me,” a strange man says. “It’s Holden.”

  WTF?

  I’m so confused. I mean, I know this is the right character and I’m positive this is the right show and Michelle said she saw him leave—wait, he did leave. I know he did. I mean, he hasn’t been home. His apartment is quiet.

  Suddenly my cell phone rings. After running over to where it is, I look at the ID and see that it’s Michelle. I know she doesn’t really talk to him, but maybe she can help me figure this out. “Hey,” I say, answering quickly. “Do you know if Colin—”

  “Look out your window,” she says, interrupting me.

  “My window?” I’m thrown for a loop. “Wait, why?”

  “Just trust me,” Michelle says quickly. “Go to your window, open it up, and look down. And don’t hang up on me yet!”

  I glance over at the clock; I don’t have time for games. “Michelle, I’m gonna be late for brunch. Seriously, just tell me what’s going—”

  “DELILAH, DO WHAT I SAY RIGHT NOW,” she demands. She’s practically yelling at me.

  “Fine, Jeeeze . . . No reason to get bitchy.” After turning around, I slowly make my way to the window. “Okay,” I say, once I arrive. “I’m here. Now what do you want me to do?”

  “Open it!” she yells again.

  After finding the lock, I undo it and pry the window open. As I do, I hear music. It’s not just any music though . . . it’s “Three Times a Lady.” For a moment, my heart stops.

  “Michelle, what’s going on?” I ask.

  “Do you see anything?”

  “No . . .” I say slowly. “I hear something though.”

  “Music?”

  “Yeah,” I say nervously. Something’s not right here. “Michelle, where are you?” I can hear that she’s talking to someone in the background.

  “Tell me when you see something,” she says, once again ignoring my question.

  “See something where?” I’m so confused.

  “In the street!” Michelle yells. “In the freaking street, Delilah! Look down!”

  “I am,” I yell back at her, “but there’s nothing there!”

  And then suddenly, there’s something.

  Coming from the left, I see a white van of some kind slowly pulling forward. As it does, I begin to see letters that are written on the side of it. They appear to me backwards, one by one. D . . . P . . . Y . . . N.

  Wait, NYPD. It’s a New York Police Department paddy wagon.

  Suddenly I see someone standing on the top of it and—

  Holy shit.

  It’s Colin. Dressed in a T-shirt and yet another pair of sexy-ass Levi’s, he’s standing tall with his arms held high in the air holding what appears to be a boom box.

  No, wait . . . it’s a karaoke machine.

  I drop the phone.

  As the van pulls forward just a little bit more, I see that all of the Jimmys are standing next to him. When Colin sees me, the worried look on his face fades away and he smiles. And then I blush. Turning away from me for a moment, he says something to Jimmy O’Shaughnessy and the van stops. When it does, Jimmy picks up a police megaphone and talks into it.

  “Ladies and gents of Park Avenue,” he bellows. He sounds like he works at a carnival. “I’d like to thank you all in advance for allowing this good-lookin’ fella to bother you yet again. What some of you might not know is that this is actually his second Park Avenue appearance. The first took place at a much less convenient hour, when he woke up half the block celebrating the Mother Earth, and—”

  Jimmy Callahan rips the megaphone out of his hand. “Gimme that, you asshole!” As a small crowd gathers around the paddy wagon, he speaks into it. “Everyone, please don’t let this man’s past influence your feelings on what he’s about to do today. He’s got a slight wild streak in him, yes, but he’s a fine gentleman. One of the best, actually. With that said, I’d like to introduce to you the one, the only, Colin Brody.” The crowd claps.

  Colin hands Jimmy Murphy the karaoke machine but hangs on to the microphone. As Jimmy Callahan holds the megaphone up to the speakers, Jimmy Murphy pushes play. As “Three Times a Lady” pours out of the speakers, Colin begins singing.

  “Thanks for the tiiiime that you’ve giiiiiiiven me, the memories are all in my miiiiiind . . .”

  Oh my . . . he’s such a bad singer. He’s the most gorgeous, perfect man, but he’s an awful singer. But I can’t stop smiling. I can’t believe this is happening!

  “You’re once,” Colin sings, getting to the chorus. “Twice . . . TWENTY TIMES a laaaaaady!”

  Twenty times . . . I burst into laughter.

  “And I luhhhhve you! I luhhhhve you.”

  Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

  As the music continues, Colin passes the microphone to Jimmy O’Shaughnessy and takes a large contraption of some sort from his father. As he puts a strap around his neck and attaches it, I realize what it is and bring my hand to my mouth to stifle
a giggle.

  It’s a button accordion.

  As Colin begins playing his squeaky accordion along to the music, all of the Jimmys sing the lead vocal and dance in unison.

  “When we are together . . .”

  Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!

  “The moments I cherish . . .”

  Squeak! Squeak!

  “With every beat of my heeeaaaart!”

  As Colin continues to squeak—I mean play—and the Jimmys continue to sing, everything becomes so clear to me. What was I thinking with Nate? Why was I willing to settle with someone when this is so right? I don’t care that I’m taking a chance. I don’t care that I may get my heart broken. If I don’t at least give this a chance, I’ll never be able to live with myself. I love this. I love this because it’s funny. I love this because it’s silly. I love this because I love Colin. I do. I love him, I love him, I love him! And just like that . . . my heart goes boom. When it does, I don’t even close the window. I just run.

  After I press the down elevator button a hundred million times, a car finally stops on my floor. As soon as the doors open, even though it’s jam packed, I quickly jump inside and begin pressing the close door button repeatedly. Everyone is staring at me, but I don’t care. The doors close and the car begins to move.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry!

  Even though it’s a short trip, it seems to take forever to get to the lobby. Once the car finally stops, when the doors finally open, I’m the first one out. Running as fast as I can to the Park Avenue entrance, I don’t notice the allegory murals or the silk curtains—I don’t notice anything—I just run. In a flash, I’m there; I’m down the stairs, out the door and in the street. When I look to where the paddy wagon is parked, my stomach drops when I see Colin.

  Holy smokes.

  “Hey, Darlin’,” he says.

  “Hey . . .” is all I can manage to say back because just like that, my heart goes boom again.

  Looking around, I see that my mom, Victor, Daisy, Edward, my grandpa, Gloria, Ruth, and, yes, even Ally Hathaway are standing in the crowd. Just as I smile, the music stops playing. When Colin and I both turn to see why, we see his dad standing next to the karaoke machine with a guilty look on his face.

  “Sorry,” he whispers to Colin, “but it was ruining the moment, son.”

  Laughing, Colin turns back to me. As he jumps off the paddy wagon, I run and jump into his arms. He catches me and doesn’t even drop me (which, with my luck, would happen.) As he picks me up and twirls me around, our lips instantly lock. Again. And oh my . . . his lips are still so soft. And then . . . boom. It happens again.

  While I’m kissing Colin, I hear people cheer and begin to feel like I’m in An Officer and Gentleman, like Colin is Richard Gere and I’m—

  No, no—wait. I take that back. This moment is nothing like that.

  It’s SO. MUCH. BETTER.

  “Where’ve you been?” I ask Colin, when we finally stop kissing.

  “LA.”

  I’m confused. “But you didn’t take the soap opera role, I just saw—”

  “No, I didn’t take it,” he says, “I didn’t settle. I went for something else.” A smile creeps across his face.

  “Irish gangsta thug movie?” I’m practically screaming.

  Colin nods big. “Irish gangsta thug movie!”

  And then we kiss again.

  When Colin finally puts me down, the two of us turn and walk towards the entrance to the Waldorf. (No, not to do that, but I do need to get my things and get my dog). “Do I have to beat up someone upstairs?” he asks, as we step in the elevator. “Because I’m prepared, you know, I got the Jimmys as my back up.”

  “No, no,” I tell him. “I didn’t settle either.”

  As the doors close, he turns to me. “By the way, nice legs.”

  “Huh?” I’m confused.

  “I said ‘nice legs,’” he repeats as he glances down.

  Looking down as well, I realize that I forgot to put my pants on. All I’m wearing is a T-shirt, underwear, and a pair of heels.

  Oops. Now I really look like a tramp.

  But I don’t care, I just laugh. Life is funny; it really is.

  epilogue

  the first, the last, the everything

  Okay, fine. Colin might not be my first, but he’s definitely my everything. I think. I hope . . . because he’s right, you never really know.

  Oh scratch that—I know, I so know.

  Two weeks later I wake up at Colin’s to both our phones ringing yet once again. (Yes, I made him wait two weeks—what do you think I am, a tramp?) Everyone’s been calling us lately, if not to ask me about my new job as a designer at Vintage Vogue, then it’s to ask me what I think of Elisabeth being found innocent, or to ask Colin about his new role, or to ask the two of us how we feel about making the front page of the New York Post the Monday after Daisy’s wedding.

  Yes, I was wearing my underwear in the picture, but the photo was taken from the side so it’s not as bad as it could’ve been had it been taken from the back. I have my arms and legs wrapped around Colin while he’s holding me, and we’re kissing. Next to us is an article about finding love in the most unlikely places, like the article I read so many months ago about finding love on the F train. It’s funny how things come around.

  Even though it’s Colin’s phone that’s ringing, I answer. I don’t have to worry about things like this with him.

  “Uh . . . hi . . ..” says an unfamiliar male voice when I do. “I’m looking for Colin? Or actually, a girl named Delilah.”

  “Uh . . . this is Delilah,” I say.

  “Hi, this is Jim Nukerson. This is weird, but I got a message to call you. It was a while ago. I’m sorry to return the call so late, but I’ve been traveling for work.”

  “Jim Nukerson?” I sit up.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “The Jim Nukerson? As in Nukes?”

  “Yep.”

  Oh my God. Nukes. Too many Coco Locos.

  “Do you remember me?” I ask. “Cabo San Lucas? Spring Break 1997?”

  “Uh . . . yeah . . . yeah! Yeah, I do! Delilah from the—”

  “Trampoline,” we both say in unison, and then laugh.

  “Yes! It’s me.”

  “What’s up? What do you need?”

  “Well, the funny thing is, I don’t need anything anymore.”

  And then in one big giddy breath I tell Nukes the whole story.

  When I finish talking and exhale, Nukes doesn’t say anything.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  “Uh . . . I’m still here,” he mumbles. “I’m just a little taken aback and confused.”

  “Confused? Confused why?”

  “Confused because . . . well, Delilah, I know we were both drinking heavily the night we were together, but you must’ve been a little more out of it than I was, because the thing is . . . we never had sex.”

  Never had sex? Come again?

  “We came close,” Nukes proceeds to explain. “But don’t you remember? The trampoline was too bouncy. To be honest, we never even got naked.”

  “We didn’t?”

  “No.”

  Suddenly the night comes back to me and by God, Nukes is right—we didn’t get naked. He was just wearing a really tight Speedo, that’s all.

  “So you and I never had sex?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  Oh my God . . . this means that Colin is . . . I can’t believe it. After everything I just went through.

  “Nukes, I have to go,” I say. “Thanks for calling back though. And good luck to you.”

  When I hang up the phone, a smile creeps across my face. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that after all this, now that I finally realize that it doesn’t matter anymore . . .

  I turn to Colin, still sleeping next to me. Leaning over, I kiss his eyelashes, and then his nose, and then his lips. He opens his eyes and looks at me. As he reaches over and pulls me in closer, I snuggle into him, my #20
. . . not that it matters anymore. I hope he’ll stay forever, but even if he doesn’t, even if he leaves tomorrow, I know I did the right thing. This moment, right now, right here, is better than living up to someone else’s average.

  I still find the thought of the sixty-year-old woman who’s had sex with seventy-eight men a bit unsettling, but if I end up like her one day, I hope I will have stopped keeping track by then.

  And now I have an announcement to make.

  Drumroll please! (Drumroll begins.)

  My name is Delilah Darling. I’m thirty years old, I’m single, and . . . I’m easy!

  (Deafening applause.)

  Thank you, thank you very much.

  Acknowledgments

  To my family—Mom, Dad, Mick, Todd, and of course, my big sister, Lisa—thank you for always standing by my side. To my three best friends—Tracy, Naomi, Mark—thanks for being so supportive. (Mark, I mean that literally to you and David.) More thanks goes to Cristin Moran, Corey D. Wells, Dan Wells, Rod Pineda, Amy Shapiro, Sam Jacobs, Scott Woldman, Julie Wulf, and of course, Chrissy Blumenthal, for being a fabulous mentor.

  I’d also like to thank the glorious Alison Callahan, Jeanette Perez, and everyone at HarperCollins, as well as the magnificent Linda Evans, Kate Marshall, and everyone at Transworld. To everyone at RLR, especially my agent Jennifer Unter, thanks for your input, insight, and friendship. More thanks goes to Jordan Bayer and everyone at Original Artists for always having faith in me.

  A funny endnote . . . while writing this book my sister, editor and agent all had beautiful babies. Sex, sex, sex—it can be blood-tingling and hair-raising, or lackluster and lifeless. But when done with the right person at the right time, it can give you the greatest gift in the world!

  About the Author

  KARYN BOSNAK grew up in the suburbs of Chicago and attended the University of Illinois and Columbia College. Now residing in New York City, she has spent her career working as a daytime television producer for a variety of nationally syndicated shows. Her first book, Save Karyn, has been translated into many languages and serves as an inspiration to shopaholics and people in credit card debt worldwide. This is her first novel. If you are incredibly curious as to what her number is, please visit www.karynbosnak.com.