Blogger Girl

by Schorr, Meredith

  I gave him a timid smile. “That’s nice of you to say. But book writing is not for me.”

  Nodding, Nicholas said, “Duly noted. So, on to new topics. Been emailing your newest friend on Facebook?” Nicholas asked with a glint in his eye.

  “Not exactly. And by the way, what makes you think she’s my newest friend? You don’t think I’ve had any friend requests since then?” I teased, silently cursing myself for flirting. Again.

  Nicholas put down his knife and fork. “I know you have.”

  I looked at him curiously. “You know I have what?”

  Holding my glance, he said, “I know you’ve had at least one friend request since then. Have you been on Facebook yet today?”

  I stared at him a second before reaching into my handbag for my phone. When I clicked on Facebook, I saw that I had in fact received a new friend request. I looked at him again before opening the request.

  He shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

  I opened the request. Nicholas Strong wants to be friends on Facebook. From his profile picture, Nicholas’ brown eyes peered at me and his sexy smile seemed to say, “Come hither.” I looked back at him, my heart beating rapidly.

  Laughing, he said, “I hope accepting my request won’t be as difficult as your friend from high school.”

  “Hannah is not my friend,” I argued. “But of course not.” I secretly wished it wouldn’t be rude to confirm the request later, after I had untagged myself from all unflattering pictures and brainstormed the decision with Bridget and Caroline.

  “Cool,” he said taking a bite of chicken.

  “Speaking of which, I found out why Hannah friended me in the first place.” If Nicholas insisted on being “friends,” I figured there was no harm in giving him an update.

  Nicholas dropped his fork and smiled. “So it wasn’t to reminisce all your good times back in senior high?”

  “Not so much,” I said, shaking my head.

  Nicholas leaned forward. “What happened?”

  I took a deep breath as I prepared to tell the story again. “My friend Jonathan told me she’s writing a book. A chick lit book.” I gave Nicholas a knowing look. “You make the connection.”

  Understanding washed over Nicholas’ face. “Oh. You think she’s hoping for a great review, huh?”

  Nodding, I said, “I know she is.”

  After downing the rest of his water and chewing a piece of ice, Nicholas said, “I agree. She’s definitely trying to work you. Can you blame her though? I mean, she knows you, apparently you have some clout in the biz, why not?”

  Despite being humored by his use of the word “biz,” this was not what I wanted to hear.

  “What’d she say when she asked you?” Nicholas asked.

  “She didn’t. She’s way too slick for that. Or at least she thinks she is. But she friended me on Facebook the same week I received an email from her PR person asking me to review the book. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  Nicholas smirked. “Doubtful. You must be at least a little curious about the book though, no?”

  I threw my napkin on my plate. “Not even a little bit.”

  Nicholas laughed. “Okay, then.” Glancing at his watch, he returned his empty plates to the tray and stood up. Smiling he said, “Once again, you have distracted me into taking way too long of a lunch break.”

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I could use the distraction,” he said with a wink before walking away.

  As I watched him disappear into the crowd, I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face until, paranoid that people might be watching me, I looked around, cleared my throat and turned back to my blog post.

  ***

  At home later, after I unwound with some television and read a few chapters of the newest book in my queue, I did what I had been willing myself not to do ever since I got back to my desk after lunch. I logged onto Facebook to check out Nicholas’ profile.

  I appreciated that Facebook could be a wonderful thing. I had reunited with old friends from senior high and college and gotten back in touch with colleagues from my days at the advertising agency and my first law firm. I was able to easily keep in touch with friends who resided too far away to actually see on any regular basis. And, of course, Facebook was great for promoting Pastel is the New Black. But in some ways, I truly believed Facebook was created by Satan as a way to turn completely sane people into obsessed stalkers. I had seen it happen to my friends and didn’t want to join them in their insanity. What good could come out of seeing what other girls wrote on Nicholas’ wall? I knew that I would start hypothesizing his relationships with these women and even though I’d have no way of really knowing what was real and what was invented by my overactive, not to mention paranoid, imagination, it wouldn’t matter. If Facebook suggested he was dating or hooking up with someone, I would believe it. On the flip side, what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.

  But I did it anyway.

  Holding my breath, my eyes immediately went to the top of his profile page under relationship status. When I saw it said “single,” I allowed myself a small exhale. So even if he was dating the girl from the Shake Shack it probably wasn’t serious. At least not yet. I twirled some hair around my finger and put it in my mouth. Then I checked to see how many friends he had. 972. Almost three times the number of friends I had. I shook my head in disbelief and spit the hair out of my mouth. I held my hand steady on the mouse while I contemplated what to look at next. Pictures. The first was a picture of him asleep at his desk with a cute caption about sleeping in the office again. He looked so peaceful when he slept and I wished I could reach into the computer and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. I chewed on my cuticles as I wondered who had taken the picture. Was it another associate or had he brought someone with him to the office late at night? In the second picture, Nicholas sat in a rocking chair with a toddler on his lap. The adorable, chubby-faced toddler was wearing a Duke baseball cap. From the comments, all girls of course, I deduced that it was his nephew. The next few pictures were of him at a bar or a party with some friends making funny faces and clearly having a grand ole time and when he smiled, I felt like he was smiling at me. Not only was he beyond painfully cute to look at in person, he was photogenic too. Somehow I doubted that, like me, he only posted those pictures that made him look good. I had a feeling he always came out good in pictures. The bastard. I frowned at the screen until my eyes were drawn to one of the pictures of Nicholas with his friends, one friend in particular: a tanned blonde girl wearing white denim shorts and a red and white checkered sleeveless shirt knotted at the navel. I was positive she was the girl from the elevator and Shake Shack. I frantically scrolled through his list of friends until I found her thumbnail picture. Mary Jones. Could she have a more generic name? I clicked on her picture but her profile was private and I couldn’t find anything that would tell me whether she was dating Nicholas, just his friend or his friend with benefits. I had one of those, why wouldn’t he? Feeling a headache coming on, I pressed my fingers to my temples until I forced myself to snap out of it. The only way to know for sure what this girl meant to Nicholas was to straight out ask him. And I had no intention of doing any such thing. According to Facebook, Nicholas was single. That was all I needed to know for the time being.

  Afraid that continuing to look at his albums would do more harm than good, I decided to do a brief perusal of his recent wall posts. I vowed to only check what was visible on the first screen and not under any circumstances, scroll farther down by clicking “older posts.” It made me feel better to impose at least minimal conditions on my stalking experience.

  It was interesting to note that he did not update his status too often. At least from what I could gauge from my limited investigation, there were no updates about what he ate for dinner, or a play-by-play of his daily activities. The last update was that he practically ran smack into Brett Michaels walking down Sullivan Street. I sort of hoped he’d show signs of being at l
east slightly dorky so I wouldn’t feel immensely less cool but no, he had perfected subtlety to a science. But at least he hadn’t tagged himself in any status updates with Mary Jones.

  My stomach grumbled and I decided it was a sign that I should quit while I was ahead and make something for dinner before his status suddenly changed to “in a relationship.” But as I stood up, I noticed a new notification at the top of my page that I’d received an email. When I opened the message and saw it was from Hannah, my mouth went dry. Opting not to put off the inevitable, I read it:

  Hi Kim,

  Long time, no see! Thanks for accepting my friend request. I hope all is well and look forward to catching up with you at the reunion. You’re going right? Can’t wait!

  Best,

  Hannah

  My heart was pounding. She didn’t even mention Cut on the Bias. Did she think I was stupid? Like I hadn’t put two and two together as to why, after ten years, she would suddenly initiate a friendship with me? I shook my head in disbelief. If she had any respect for me at all, she would have come clean and at least mentioned our mutual interest in chick lit. It might have even made me question my reluctance to review her book. After all, it had been a decade since we shared the same hallways in high school. She might have matured from the girl who enthusiastically urged me to join the drama club the year they were performing The Wizard of Oz since I was so talented, but also because I wouldn’t even need a costume to play one of the munchkins. Instead, her transparent phoniness convinced me that time had not changed her one bit.

  I fucking hated Facebook.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I’LL BRING THE PROSECCO,” Bridget said.

  “Cool. I’ll pick up cheese and crackers and some frozen hors d’oeuvres at Fairway.” I was on the phone with Bridget discussing the pre-game party for the reunion.

  “Sounds good, but don’t bring anything too filling. I don’t want to be so full from food that the booze has no effect. I must be pleasantly tipsy when we get to the main event! And I also don’t want my dress to feel tight or show any gut from too much eating.”

  Picturing Bridget’s size-4 body, I rolled my eyes, “What gut?”

  “Everyone looks fat compared to you, K.”

  “Bridge, I might be about 15 pounds thinner than you but I’m also 4 inches shorter. That makes us equally thin and I’m actually bigger since my tits probably weigh about 5 pounds each.”

  “Oh, please rub that in while you’re at it,” Bridget said sarcastically. “You’re still wearing the black wrap dress with the plunging neckline and long slit down the side, right?”

  “That’s the plan.” Since I couldn’t show off a husband and kids or brag about a high paying and exciting career, I wanted to at least look hot.

  “Cool. I wanted to confirm before I aired out my racy number.”

  “I can’t wait to see you in that dress! You’re gonna look smokin’! Even Hannah will be left speechless.”

  “Speaking of Hannah, did you respond to her email?” Bridget asked with a catch in her voice.

  “Nope! And I’m not going to.” After mulling it over ad nauseam, I realized that for once, I had the power over Hannah. Although I had never needed her back in high school to propel me to popularity since I was quite happy with my social status, it would have been nice if she hadn’t constantly found something to rag on about Bridget and me. And she always found a way to say things discreetly enough so as to not bring any negative attention to herself in the process. I remembered one instance in gym class when we were choosing teams for softball. Hannah was captain of one team and one of my friends was captain of the other. Our friend had already chosen me for her team and was probably going to select Bridget on her next turn. Even though some of Hannah’s cronies were eager to be on her team, Hannah shocked almost everyone by picking Bridget. She loudly told her pouting groupies that Mrs. Dervish, our gym teacher, had asked her to pick some of the “less popular girls” first to make them feel important, but I always knew she had done it to purposely keep Bridget and I apart. Ten years later, I quite liked the thought of making her sweat over the book review.

  “Atta girl! I’m high-fiving you through the phone,” Bridget said happily.

  I raised my left hand in a one sided high-five. “Back at you. By the way, I know you’ve got the Prosecco covered but I doubt Jonathan will drink it. Do you have any beer? Or vodka? Or anything that doesn’t sparkle?”

  As I heard the flick of a lighter, Bridget asked, “Jonathan’s definitely pre-gaming with us?”

  “Yeah. Pete and Andy had no desire to meet up first and Jonathan was too lazy to plan his own tailgate so I talked him into joining us. That way, we’ll walk in a united front. You don’t mind, do you?” I had forgotten to mention it to Bridget assuming she’d be okay with it, but since it was her apartment and not mine, I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt.

  “No worries,” Bridget said, exhaling deeply. “The more the merrier. And we’ll be a united drunk front.”

  “True that.” Relieved she wasn’t annoyed I had invited Jonathan, I decided not to complain about her smoking again.

  “Nothing that sparkles though, huh? I guess that leaves out ‘Goldschlager?’”

  Smiling, I said, “He’d probably drink it but I’ll tell him to bring his own alcohol just in case, okay?”

  “’K, K.”

  “Watch it. One more K and you’d be in trouble!”

  ***

  “Stepping away,” I said to Rob over speaker phone.

  “I’ll try to hold down the fort without you,” he replied dryly.

  “Not possible, boss man. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

  Rob laughed. “Don’t forget that the next time I need you to oversee a large copy job.”

  “Hardy har har.” I hung up the phone and stood up, wincing when my toes pressed against the front of my new leopard printed flats. It was casual Friday and I decided to leave my heels at home, wrongly assuming that flats would be more comfortable. They weren’t. Steve Madden shoes had historically disagreed with me but these were so cute and looked perfect with my skinny jeans.

  After limping down the hallway, I stopped in front of Nicholas’ office, tried to breathe easily despite the fluttering of my heart, and knocked lightly on his door.

  He looked up and gave me a wide grin. “Come on in.”

  I sat down, my heart still thumping at an annoyingly fast rate. “So, it’s Rob’s 54th birthday next week.”

  Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Damn, I can’t believe he’s that old. Seems so much younger.”

  “Must be the trophy wife.”

  Nicholas offered a bemused smile. “That or the running with the bulls. Seriously. Who does that at his age?”

  “Who does that at any age?” I giggled. “Anyway, I wanted to plan a lunch for him and figured you might have some suggestions as to where we should go.” Looking at him, I swore he had gotten even cuter overnight. And his trademark scruff, always irresistible, was slightly thicker than usual giving him a sexy, “just rolled out of bed” look. I genuinely wanted his advice regarding the birthday lunch and didn’t want to ask him over the phone in case Rob overheard. I probably could have emailed him instead of discussing it face-to-face, but his face was just so damn cute.

  Nicholas looked pensive for a moment before responding. “Well, we should definitely go somewhere around here. Rob doesn’t like to stray too far from the office. What about Primehouse? Or that new Lebanese place down the street? Or Duo? How many people are we including?”

  “We? Who said you were invited? I asked for your input. Doesn’t mean I want your company,” I joked.

  “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be? Exploiting me for my foody expertise?” Feigning hurt, he curled his lips into a frown.

  I was momentarily mesmerized by the thought of nibbling on his pouty lips but forced myself to stop staring. “Yeah, I heard you were a walking Zagat guide.”

  “Nah. But I do wr
ite many reviews for Yelp. They even gave me Elite reviewer status.” Nicholas smiled wide as if amused by what he’d said.

  His grin was contagious and I smiled back. “Impressive! See I might be just a secretary, but I’m a very resourceful secretary.”

  Narrowing his eyes at me, he said, “You’re not just a secretary, Kimmie.”

  My stomach flip-flopped at his use of a nickname. “Oh yeah, I’m also a stellar book reviewer.”

  Placing his elbows on the desk and leaning towards me, he said, “I bet you could also be a stellar book writer if you tried.”

  Raising my voice, I said, “I told you I wasn’t interested in that!” I felt my face get warm and decided that emailing him would have been a much better idea.

  Nicholas squinted at me. “Yes, you did. Sorry.”

  I slipped my feet out of my shoes for temporarily relief. “Anyway, what about you? Was it your lifelong dream to be an attorney?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Not quite.”

  Good. Time to turn the tables. “So how did you get here?”

  His eyes twinkling, Nicholas said, “The condensed version or the truth?”

  “The truth please,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Nicholas chuckled and then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “The truth is I always wanted to be like my dad when I was little. He’s a doctor, though, and I get queasy at the sight of blood so that wasn’t an option.” Nicholas blushed and scratched his head. “Since I’ve always been a good liar, I figured law was a good match.” He laughed again. “Anyway, it’s a good fit for me and I honestly like what I do. The hours suck but at least the salary is good. Minus the loans I’ll be paying off for the next thirty years.”

  I looked at Nicholas in admiration. I had never thought too much about being successful. Many teachers had told my parents my Bs could be As if I applied myself but I never wanted to prove them wrong and was more than happy to get by without killing myself or letting anyone down. I wasn’t about to admit that to Nicholas. Pointing at the law school diploma hanging on his wall, I said, “And so here you are. Nicholas Strong, Esquire.”