by Jason Starr
I bought another hundred dollars of credits on my Visa card, then sent:
NYCRockGod2: Hey!
FUGITIVE_RED: hi
It was hard to judge another person’s mood online, but the lack of caps and no exclamation point made me feel like she wasn’t enthused. Was she upset that I’d logged off last night? If so, she’d responded immediately, so how angry could she be?
NYCRockGod2: I’m really sorry about last night. My apartment got crowded
Figured “crowded” was a more polite way to say: “my wife had walked in.”
After a long pause, she sent:
FUGITIVE_RED: ha no worries Totally get that!
FUGITIVE_RED: I was pretty nervous too Guess that’s why you took down your pic huh?
NYCRockGod2: Yeah
Like last night, I’d felt an oddly strong connection to this woman I‘d never met, whose name I didn’t know. Was it just because of my situation, because I was in an unhappy marriage? Or did we have a real connection?
FUGITIVE_RED: Makes sense You don’t want your wife to catch you online! I totally get that :)
NYCRockGod2: I told you I haven’t done this before and now you know I was telling the truth right? :)
FUGITIVE_RED: I appreciate your honesty
Paranoia hit.
NYCRockGod2: are you home now?
FUGITIVE_RED: Yes
I pictured her sitting on a deck, overlooking an idyllic backyard covered with colorful fall leaves.
NYCRockGod2: It’s a beautiful day but I heard it’s going to get cold this weekend
Ugh, what was I doing, writing to her about the weather? Could I sound any more banal?
FUGITIVE_RED: yeah im looking forward to the winter I hope we get a lot of snow this year where r u?
NYCRockGod2: my office
Leaving it vague. Figured, let her imagine me sitting at a big mahogany desk with a panoramic city view.
FUGITIVE_RED: Nice! What sort of work do you do?
I paused, wondering if I should reveal a personal detail. Then I thought, What I did for a living wasn’t really personal, was it?
NYCRockGod2: I’m a high end real estate agent
Okay, yeah, I was trying to pump myself up a little, stoke her fantasies, make her think she was chatting with some big-shot mogul.
FUGITIVE_RED: Wow very cool!
Cool wasn’t a word I’d ever use to describe my job.
Then I thought, Why am I sugarcoating it? Like I always preached in my A.A. speeches—be transparent.
NYCRockGod2: Actually I’m full of shit Im just a basic real estate agent and wish I was doing something else with my life
FUGITIVE_RED: ha you’re funny! :) But it’s sad that you want to do something else I mean if you want to do something else why not just do it?
She made it sound so simple.
NYCRockGod2: Thank you for saying that. I totally agree!!!
FUGITIVE_RED: You said u play guitar right? Why did you quit?
Angry, I typed:
NYCRockGod2: My wife wasn’t exactly supportive
About to click send, I hesitated. Maybe bashing Maria didn’t make me look good?
Eh, whatever, I thought, and I sent it.
FUGITIVE_RED: WOW
NYCRockGod2: Sorry! I didn’t mean to bash her like that I know I’m responsible for my own decisions, including marrying her
FUGITIVE_RED: I’m with you! I feel like my husband stifles me too That’s why I’m dying to escape!!!
We continued chatting. She asked where my office was; I wrote her that I lived and worked on the Upper East Side. Then she told me about the big house she lived in in White Plains. I didn’t handle property in that area, but it sounded sprawling, and I figured it had to be worth around 1.7 mil. I wondered if the money was hers or her husband’s.
Then we discussed college for a while—my time at Oneonta, hers at Oregon State—she grew up in the Pacific Northwest. She didn’t go on to explain why or when she had moved East; again, I didn’t feel it was the right time to ask.
I got so caught up in our chat I was amazed when I realized that over an hour had gone by. It was also amazing how titillating it felt just to chat with her. Our conversation wasn’t at all raunchy; her words didn’t excite me, the mystery did—wondering what she was thinking and feeling. Was she into me? Was she fantasizing about me? The unknown was arousing, the questions more exciting than the answers. She’d awakened a flirty, fun side of my personality that had been dormant for years.
Claire and Brian had returned to the office.
NYCRockGod2: I should really get back to work :(
FUGITIVE_RED: K, no worries
NYCRockGod2: Can’t wait to chat with you again sometime!
FUGITIVE_RED: That would be great! BTW I’m Sophie :)
I hesitated. On the one hand, our names were the simplest, most basic information about ourselves—if we’d met in person, we would’ve introduced ourselves immediately—yet in the world of online extramarital dating revealing our names felt like a huge deal, as if it would somehow signify a whole new level of intimacy.
NYCRockGod2: Jack :)
I felt like I’d jumped off a cliff, but I didn’t care. I wanted to keep falling.
FUGITIVE_RED: Nice to meet you, Jack :)
I hated ending the session, but Claire was looking over from her desk, as if wondering what I was doing online that had me so entranced, and I didn’t want her to get suspicious. I wrote to Sophie that I’d love to chat again later if she was around. I added that I’d try to be online around eleven tonight, and she responded that she’d try to be free then, too.
I tried to distract myself with work—emailing, texting, making my daily follow-up calls to potential buyers. It was hard to not think about Sophie, though. How had some kind words from a total stranger had such a pronounced effect on me so quickly? Had I been more lonely and starving for attention than I’d realized? I noticed a major change in my whole attitude. Normally, when I was talking to clients, I was curt and professional and didn’t have a lot of excitement in my tone. But today I had a lot more energy and I sounded much more positive and confident, and I could tell it was having an effect. A couple of people who might’ve blown me off normally arranged for times to go out to look at apartments.
I guess there was something to the power of positive thinking because a few minutes later Megan Conaway called and made an offer on the 77th Street apartment. Although the offer was $15,000 below the asking price, I knew the sellers hadn’t gotten any offers and were eager to make a deal. I immediately called the sellers and, sure enough, they accepted the offer. I called Megan back with the news, and she was thrilled, and so was I at my first sale in months. I didn’t know if chatting with Sophie, and the surge of optimism and excitement this had given me, had anything to do with getting the sale, but it felt like it had.
Claire and Brian congratulated me. Andrew Wolf had been working in his office, but when he heard the commotion, he came out and asked what was going on.
“Jack got a sale,” Claire said.
“Which apartment?” Andrew asked.
“One-bedroom on 77th,” I said.
“Nice,” he said. Then added, “Well, let’s get a few more like that, and you’ll be back in business.”
Andrew was a nice guy—he was a good father, had two beautiful daughters—but he could also be a big-time jerk. A few more like that? Making me feel like I was, what, auditioning for my own job?
“I’ll do my best,” I said, smiling.
At two thirty, I happily left my office and headed toward Jonah’s school for afternoon pickup.
It had warmed to about sixty degrees and the sun was shining brightly. I took out my cell to call Sophie and tell her about the good news. Then I remembered that I didn’t have her phone number; I’d never even heard her voice. She was a virtual stranger, but, oddly, I already felt so close to her.
I picked up Jonah after school and took him to his karate class. A
fterward, remembering my vow to eat healthier, we stopped at Fairway on 86th and picked up vegetables, brown rice, and a couple of pounds of Alaska salmon. I’d been eating way too much meat and cheese and fried food lately. I wanted to start over, get all the junk out of body that felt like it had been building up inside me for years.
When we arrived at the apartment, surprisingly, Maria was there, too, in the bedroom, changing out of her work clothes. It was only four thirtyish and she usually didn’t get home until past six.
Ordinarily, I would have been excited to tell her about the possible sale I’d made, but she was still giving me the silent treatment, and I knew that making up before she decided she wanted to make up was practically impossible.
As Maria talked to Jonah about his day and helped him with his math homework in his room, I started cooking dinner. When I was sautéing the salmon, the apartment got smoky and the smoke alarm went off.
“Shit,” I said.
I stood on a chair under the alarm and waved a dish towel for maybe ten seconds until the alarm shut off.
Maria, who’d come out of the bedroom, muttered something.
“Did you just call me a jerk?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
I knew what I’d heard.
“Because it sounded like that’s what you said,” I said.
“Well, you’re good at making things up,” she said as she went into the bathroom.
Jonah, nearby, had overheard this.
I was furious. Again she was starting with this crap, right in front of Jonah? I didn’t want to live like this anymore.
Jonah and I had dinner alone.
“Where’s Mommy?”
“Resting,” I said.
“Oh,” he said.
Maria and I avoided each other for most of the evening. I thought about going to an A.A. meeting, but I wasn’t in the mood. When Maria finally went to sleep, I logged on to Discreet Hookups.
Like the other times, I felt a rush, but this was more intense. I didn’t just want to get online; I needed to get online.
I went right to Sophie’s page, felt the disappointment when I saw the message: FUGITIVE_RED is offline.
Paranoid thoughts crept in: What if she had disabled her account? What if I never heard from her again?
As my thoughts continued to spiral, I imagined how devastated I’d feel if I never chatted with her again. Of course I knew, rationally, that all of this was ridiculous—I was acting like some heartbroken high school kid about a woman I’d never met—but I couldn’t deny how I felt.
It seemed ridiculous to just sit at the dining room table, staring at the laptop, hoping for her green dot to appear. I tried to distract myself by reading Facebook posts and scrolling through Instagram, but I couldn’t let more than a minute go by without switching back to the Discreet Hookups page to see if she was there.
At 11:15, she still wasn’t there. I was cursing to myself, shaking my head, wondering what I could have written to scare her off. Had the mention of my son freaked her out? Yeah, probably.
Then at 11:31 the notification appeared: FUGITIVE_RED is online.
I actually said, “Yay,” but, thankfully, not too loud.
NYCRockGod2: Hey!
I felt relaxed and free, like a huge burden had been lifted.
FUGITIVE_RED: Hey!!
Two exclamation points—that had to mean something.
FUGITIVE_RED: How was your day?
When was the last time Maria had asked me how my day was?
NYCRockGod2: Awesome. I sold an apartment.
FUGITIVE_RED: That’s so amazing!! Yay! I’m so happy 4 U!!
Her enthusiasm felt great.
I gave her more details about the sale and she seemed genuinely happy for me. It felt good to smile again. It also felt nice to communicate with someone who wasn’t calling me an “idiot.”
Then I asked her how her day was.
FUGITIVE_RED: Not as good. I don’t want to upset you I’m very emotional right now :(
NYCRockGod2: You don’t have to apologize for emotion.
Could I sound more like an alcoholic?
FUGITIVE_RED: Sometimes he hits me I’ve put up with it for nine fucking years. I don’t know why I don’t just leave, run away. I’ve tried, but I can’t. I just can’t get away.
NYCRockGod2: You can’t blame yourself. Sometimes it’s not easy to get out of a bad situation.
Platitudes, I know, but at A.A. meetings I was used to counseling people in domestic abuse situations. Also, it had always been much easier for me to help solve other people’s problems than to work on my own.
FUGITIVE_RED: When I was single I didn’t understand why unhappily married people stayed together I thought if you aren’t happy why not just get a divorce? But then when you get married you find out how much more complicated it is
NYCRockGod2: Yeah I totally get that!
FUGITIVE_RED: Do you like Van Gogh?
I loved Van Gogh. Could this woman be any more perfect?
NYCRockGod2: Yesssss!!!
FUGITIVE_RED: Same. :)
NYC RockGod2: He’s my favorite artist! I mean I know that it sounds like a total cliché because everybody likes Van Gogh, but his art really speaks to me
Ugh, I wished I’d reworded that—I sounded like some pretentious fuck—but I’d already clicked send.
FUGITIVE_RED: That’s why I chose my name FUGITIVE RED :) There was an article a few weeks ago in the NYT magazine They say the reds in his paintings have faded
I’d read that article, too.
NYCRockGod2: Right fugitive reds!!!
FUGITIVE_RED: They were bright and vibrant for a short time then faded
NYCRockGod2: I read that article too Yes!
FUGITIVE_RED: To me that’s what love is
NYCRockGod2: You think love fades?
FUGITIVE_RED: Yes People meet for a short time have great connection and maybe that’s all there is
NYCRockGod2: Interesting maybe I agree!
FUGITIVE_RED: Can I ask you a personal question?
NYCRockGod2: K
FUGITIVE_RED: Are you in love with your wife?
I paused, considering how to word my response. Then I sent:
NYCRockGod2: No
FUGITIVE_RED: I’m sorry That sounds rough :(
NYCRockGod2: It is what it is
I was tearing up a little, as I sometimes did on the podium at A.A.
FUGITIVE_RED: So now you have all my baggage? If you want to run now’s your chance.
I never ran from baggage, even baggage I should’ve run from. Call it my fatal flaw.
NYCRockGod2: I’m not going anyway
NYCRockGod2: Anywhere I mean :)
FUGITIVE_RED: :)
FUGITIVE_RED: I wish I could see u right now I want to look into your eyes
NYCRockGod2: Me too
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask to Skype. That seemed too risky.
FUGITIVE_RED: We seem so right for each other
NYCRockGod2: I know! we have everything in common
Pause, then:
FUGITIVE_RED: I have an idea
NYCRockGod2: K
FUGITIVE_RED: Maybe we should meet up Just to see what it’s like
My pulse accelerated. Although I knew this could lead to nothing good, the idea of meeting her, actually seeing her, was turning me on.
NYCRockGod2: What do you mean?
Of course, I knew exactly what she meant; it was just hard to think clearly.
FUGITIVE_RED: Just meet and you know be with each other.
I imagined a glimpse of us in an elegant Midtown hotel room, attacking each other. Why not do it, just go for it? I hadn’t had sex with Maria in years and my marriage was on life support. What was the alternative, living the rest of my life without ever having sex again?
NYCRockGod2: Thats probably not a good idea.
FUGITIVE_RED: Why not? You think I’m sexy don’t you?
I thought she was incredibly
sexy. It wasn’t just her looks; it was how she made me feel. And it was true—we did have everything in common; she truly got me. I know, I know—I barely knew this woman. But it didn’t matter—the feelings felt real.
NYCRockGod2: Yes.
FUGITIVE_RED: So if we don’t find out what it’s like, we’ll never know. And isn’t not knowing worse than anything?
It was hard to argue with this logic, especially when it felt so good chatting with her. How amazing would it feel to actually be with her? To experience her?
FUGITIVE_RED: Come on, let’s just go for it. How about Friday eve? My husband has plans and I can say I’m going into the city to meet a friend.
NYCRockGod2: I really don’t think it’s a good idea
FUGITIVE_RED: ???
NYCRockGod2: I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean we’re both still married. And I have a kid
NYCRockGod2: I’m sorry :( :(
FUGITIVE_RED: You don’t love her so that’s why you went on here, right? To hook up discreetly with a married woman?
Was that why I went on? Or did I just want attention, or a distraction?
NYCRockGod2: My situation’s complicated.
FUGITIVE_RED: Everyone’s situation complicated. But it would be more complicated if we were single
Now I was confused.
NYCRockGod2: ??
FUGITIVE_RED: We’re both married and unavailable so it’s not complicated at all. Don’t you see? You can trust me, I can trust you. We both have just as much to lose!
Jesus, now she sounded like Rob McEvoy. Worse, the skewed logic made sense.
Wanting her, I wondered if I was just overthinking all of this. Why couldn’t I be Mr. Casual like Rob? He’d probably had dozens of affairs and claimed he was in a happier marriage because of it. I’d never cheated on Maria, but had it made us happier? Was it true that an affair could save a marriage? And I wouldn’t be having multiple affairs, I wouldn’t be philandering. It wouldn’t even be an affair; it would be a fling. Everybody had a fling once in a while, right? Only in America people treated it like a big deal. In other parts of the world, like in France, everyone “took a lover” every once in a while. If I were French, I could be just like Rob—have carefree flings. My father, I’m sure, had had flings, and anyone who traveled on business had had at least one fling. I was a forty-four-year-old man trapped in a sexless marriage for God’s sake. Didn’t I deserve some happiness?