Point, Click, Love

by Molly Shapiro

  She calculated that the best thing to do was target the lowest-level employee who had access to the bank’s computers. Ideally, this person would be young, female, not highly educated, low paid, and newly hired, so she would not have much of an investment in her job or her employer. The obvious choice was the receptionist.

  “Good morning, Olathe Cryobank.”

  Annie smiled. The woman on the other end of the line had a soft, high-pitched voice. She sounded friendly but also a little weary, probably having a hard time getting back into work mode on a Monday morning after a weekend partying with her friends.

  “Hello. May I ask to whom I’m speaking?” said Annie, trying to sound professional yet accessible.

  “This is Jill.”

  “Hello, Jill. My name is Annie Saunders.” She figured she’d better not use her real name, in case Jill tried to Google her. “I’m a writer with JoCo magazine.” Another made-up name. There were so many magazines out there, Annie figured she could get away with saying hers was a hard-to-find print publication that still had no Web presence. “I’m doing an article on local sperm banks and was wondering if I could talk to you about Olathe Cryobank.”

  “Should I put you through to the director? I think she’s in a meeting right now, but—”

  “No, that’s okay. Actually, I was hoping to first get an employee’s perspective. You know, someone who’s on the front lines, talking to customers every day, someone who really knows what’s going on there.” Of course it was preposterous that Annie would want to talk to the receptionist and not the director, but in an age when everyone—particularly the young—thought of themselves as minor celebrities in their own little worlds and had Twitter accounts with “followers,” just like the John Mayers and the Kim Kardashians, Annie hoped that this girl would readily believe she could be the focus of the article.

  “Cool,” said the girl, coming to life for the first time. “Yeah, I could tell you lots of stuff about this place. You know, the inside story.”

  “Excellent,” said Annie. “Do you get a lunch hour? I was thinking perhaps we could meet for lunch.”

  “I usually take an hour at noon.”

  “How about we meet somewhere near you?”

  “There’s an Olive Garden nearby,” suggested Jill. “I love that place.”

  “Fine, then, let’s meet there at noon. I have on a black suit.”

  “I’m wearing a bright pink shirt. Can’t miss me.”

  Annie would have liked to give Jill the royal treatment by taking her to a fancy, upscale restaurant, but she knew of no such places in Olathe, Kansas, and, besides, Jill seemed perfectly happy to get a free all-you-can-eat pasta meal at the Olive Garden.

  Annie spent the first twenty minutes of the lunch asking Jill about her life as if she were a famous Hollywood personality, and Jill was only too happy to be the focus of Annie’s attention. She told Annie about growing up in a small rural town in central Kansas and her decision to move to the “big city” to attend junior college. She spoke about her friends and boyfriends and how she missed her family back home, and Annie diligently took lots of notes. Then, finally, she asked Jill about working at the sperm bank.

  “Well, I’ve only been there, like, four months, but it’s a pretty good place to work. The people are nice and all, but sometimes I get sick of all the phone answering and the data entry.”

  “Data entry?”

  “You know, putting in the information of the donors. They write everything out by hand and I have to input it. Pain in the ass. Sorry. I keep telling them they should automate—”

  “Absolutely, they should automate,” agreed Annie.

  “I know!” said Jill, as if Annie had just introduced the idea for the first time. “They should have computers for the guys to sit at and it would be so much easier!”

  “I bet you must have a lot of good ideas like that,” said Annie.

  “Oh, I do. Like, for example, they always ask me to give my impression of the guys, but, like, I only get to say hello—goodbye, no talking. So I think they should let me sit down with each one and talk to them so I can really give my impression. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes! And I bet you could give a great snapshot of what the guy is actually like.”

  “Definitely. But I guess they don’t want me sitting down with these guys and getting to know them. They maybe think I’ll try to get a date out of it or something.”

  “Oh, now, that’s ridiculous. You would certainly never do that!”

  “No, I guess not. But I must say, they’ve got some real hotties coming in there. And it’s funny to think they’re in those little rooms looking at porno and doing their business. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, that must be kind of weird.”

  “Kind of. But you know, I’m sure I’ll meet my soul mate someday,” Jill said dreamily. “And I don’t think it’ll be after he jacks off into a cup. Sorry.”

  Annie couldn’t help but like Jill, and she was starting to feel guilty about what she was doing. How could she take this innocent young thing, fresh off a central Kansas farm, toiling away inputting the vitals of sperm donors into a database, dreaming of one day meeting her soul mate, and fool her into betraying her employer and risking her future?

  “Of course you’ll meet your soul mate someday,” said Annie. “Don’t settle for anything less.”

  “You say that, but I see all these desperado women in their thirties and forties, no husband, not even a boyfriend, coming in ’cause they figure it’s their last chance to have a baby, and they’re just going to pick some random sperm from some stranger. I mean, it’s pathetic. So they’re going to have a baby on their own? And I think, Are you having this baby because you can’t get a man? ’Cause you’re lonely? Well, what about the baby? Doesn’t that kid deserve a real family, with a mom and a dad? And brothers and sisters? Not be stuck with some old maid who’s probably all bitter and who’s going to make this kid crazy someday? When I see that, I get a little worried, you know?”

  Annie sat motionless, never averting her gaze from Jill, but, inside, her heart was racing and her shoulder muscles were tightening. She began taking deep breaths through her nose, trying to calm down. She wondered if she’d have to excuse herself to go to the restroom and splash water on her face. But she could see that Jill was waiting for a response to her last “you know?” and she didn’t want to raise any suspicions.

  “Of course,” Annie said, taking a sip of her water. “Of course you must worry a bit when you see all that.”

  No longer conflicted about what she was doing, Annie went in for the kill. “You must know that you’re better than those women, Jill. What kind of values do you think they have? How were they raised? You’ve got the right values because you were raised by wonderful, caring, down-to-earth parents. You would never find yourself in that sort of situation. Besides, these women are probably in this mess because they concentrated too much on their jobs. I’m sure you won’t give up your dreams of a husband and a family—a real family—for a silly job.”

  “Oh, you are so right, Annie. Thank you!”

  Annie’s affection for innocent little Jill had turned into all-out repulsion. Who did this girl think she was? Did she really think she was better than all those women who came to the sperm bank looking for one of the greatest gifts life had to offer? And did she honestly think that just because she was twenty-two and cute she would avoid the fate of all those intelligent, accomplished women whose only crime was an unwillingness to let their aging bodies dictate the course of their lives? Not only did Annie want Jill to hand over confidential information, she wanted this girl to throw away her chances of a meaningful career so she could meet some asshole who she would marry and have children with, only to one day become unhappy and disillusioned and realize that she’d given up her life for nothing.

  “Jill, I cannot tell you how helpful this has been! You’ve given me so much insight. I can’t imagine what this article would have bee
n like without you!”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure.”

  “Really. I’m thrilled we met. You’re so wise for your young age. But surely you’ve been told that many times before.”

  “Yes, I have,” said Jill, smiling. “I do think I’ve got lots to say. Sometimes I think I should start a blog.”

  “Definitely, you should!” said Annie. “Listen, Jill. There’s one more thing. Of course I’m going to need to get a donor’s perspective in this article, and, well, I don’t know how I can do that without some help.”

  “Oh sure, I can help with that,” said Jill. “In fact, I have a friend who just donated for the first time. He could—”

  “Actually, I’ve been doing a little research in your database, and I came across one donor in particular who seems perfect for this story. Let’s see,” she said, flipping through her notebook. “I think I’ve got … Here it is. His number is 59873. I think he—”

  “Wait a minute!” Jill shouted, her eyes widening. “Did you say 59873? Is that the one who wants to be a politician?”

  “Yes, I think so. I think he did say that, yes,” said Annie.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but last week I must have gotten, like, ten calls from people asking about 59873. That’s how come I remember that number!”

  “That’s amazing!”

  “Too funny! Oh, but I can imagine why all these women love Marcus.”

  “Marcus?”

  “Yeah, that’s his name. Marcus Reynolds. Nice sound. But he might want to go with Marc when he runs for office.”

  “Sure. Good idea.”

  “He’s gorgeous. And so charming. I would have gone for him. These women are nuts because they can’t get ahold of his sperm anymore.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he just got too busy to come in. Maybe he got a good job so he doesn’t need the money anymore. They should take down his profile, but they leave it up there for the women who already have his sperm,” said Jill. “Sure, I could find out his info for you.”

  “Actually, wait one minute,” said Annie, pulling out her iPhone. “Hold on. Hmmm … Here we go. Marcus Reynolds, Kansas City, Missouri.”

  “That’s right. He lives on the Missouri side. I remember ’cause he always complained about having to drive, like, half an hour to get here.”

  “Great,” said Annie, scrolling down a list of “M Reynolds.” She smiled when she saw there was only one Marcus. “Here we go. I found him.”

  “Well, if you can’t reach him, give me a call.”

  “Will do, Jill,” said Annie. “And thanks again for all your help.”

  The fact that Jill had no idea that she was doing anything wrong by disclosing Marcus’s identity made it even easier for Annie. Kids today, she thought. No boundaries. No rules.

  Back at the office, Annie spent the afternoon refining her plan of action on how she would meet Marcus. Every time her mind wandered toward the question of how she would procure a vial of his sperm, she stopped herself. One step at a time, she repeated, one step at a time.

  A Google Maps search revealed that Marcus lived in a small bungalow, so as long as he didn’t have a roommate, Annie could find out what he looked like and follow him with ease. Eager to begin the stalking phase, Annie decided she would take the next day off so she could get a full-day glimpse of Marcus Reynolds’s comings and goings.

  Marcus lived in Brookside, a neighborhood Annie always admired for its unique old houses and yards filled with huge maples, oaks, and elms. His street was lined with modest, well-kept homes where newlyweds, students, and young professionals lived.

  She arrived at his house at six in the morning, just in case he left early for the gym or a morning run. She parked three houses away, using her binoculars for a better look. She kept her eyes peeled on the front door, not wanting to miss his inevitable exit. At seven, she longed to open her New York Times, but she couldn’t risk diverting her attention. At eight she considered sneaking a peek at her email, but decided against it. At nine she wondered if maybe he had left the house at five-thirty.

  Finally, at ten o’clock, a tall man with brown hair, dressed in a blue oxford shirt and khaki pants, walked out of the house. His back was turned to Annie as he locked the front door and walked to his car, parked in the driveway. She got only a brief view of his profile when he opened the door and slid into a dark green Honda Accord that looked about twenty years old. She quickly started her car and followed him down the street, traveling a good fifty feet away.

  Annie smiled when she saw the back of the car covered with bumper stickers of Democratic presidential candidates from the last four election cycles. She liked Marcus’s choices—his neighborhood, his home, his car, his political leanings. The more she learned, the more certain she was about what she was doing.

  In less than five minutes they arrived at the University of Missouri—Kansas City campus. Marcus pulled into a parking lot and Annie waited on the street. She watched as he got out of the car and walked toward a large stone building, then disappeared into a quad. Annie decided that all she could do was wait by his car until he left, so she found a space on the street and parked where she could clearly see the green Honda.

  Then Annie waited. Always keeping the car in the corner of her eye, she read the paper, played around on her phone, answered emails, ate the sandwich she’d brought with her, and drank a Diet Coke. At one point she had to pee, so she got out of the car and sprinted to a nearby Porta Potti that had been set up for a construction crew working on the road. When she felt herself drifting off to sleep, she turned on the radio. When the sound of pop music started to grate on her, she switched to NPR and listened to three afternoon news/talk programs. Then, an hour into All Things Considered, as she was listening to an in-depth report about mad cow disease, Marcus finally appeared.

  Annie followed him to a nearby commercial district and watched him go into a coffee shop. She knew that this was her big chance. She knew she wouldn’t be able to take off another day and spend it sitting in her car—watching and waiting. She had him cornered in a public place, a café where it was common for strangers to converse. She needed to go in and make a move.

  After waiting in her car for ten minutes to make sure he wasn’t just getting a take-out coffee, Annie walked in the door and headed straight for the counter. She got in line and noticed Marcus sitting at a communal table with his laptop open. There were two tables of people, all on laptops, and it seemed like they were there because the tables were close to a wall of outlets. Marcus looked so comfortable, even leaning over to one of the other computer users to ask a question, leading Annie to conjecture that he came there often to work. She realized that she needed to come back, with her laptop, and somehow find a place next to Marcus.

  Rather than leaving, driving half an hour in rush-hour traffic to go home and get her computer, and then returning to find Marcus gone, Annie decided to come back the next evening, hoping his time spent at the coffee shop was a daily ritual.

  The next day, Annie left work at four and headed straight to the café. When she arrived, there was plenty of room at the computer table, so she grabbed a seat and placed her sweater on a chair next to her, hoping she could arrange for Marcus to sit there. But although Annie spent two hours waiting, Marcus never showed up.

  Annie hoped that it was perhaps an every-other-day ritual, so she returned the next evening, once again saving an extra place. This time, at five-ten, Marcus walked through the door. While he stood at the counter ordering, she slipped her sweater off the chair next to her and deftly tossed it across the table onto an empty chair that would not have afforded her easy access to her prey. Two people at the other table looked at her quizzically, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about what anybody thought of her at that point—she cared only about Marcus.

  The only two places available at Annie’s table were on either side of her, but there was also an open spot at the next table. When Marcus got his coffee and walk
ed toward the tables, Annie focused on her computer, holding her breath, praying that he would choose the right spot.

  He did.

  Not only did he sit right next to her, but he actually spoke. “Can I reach over and use that outlet?” he asked.

  Annie lifted her head and took the opportunity to look straight into his eyes. For a brief moment, she didn’t answer, mesmerized by his warm, inviting face. His eyes were a beautiful green, his longish, wavy hair brown with subtle streaks of blond. His lips were pink and full, his olive complexion perfectly smooth. He was one of the most beautiful men Annie had ever seen in person—or even not in person, for that matter—and she was afraid she would break out in an inexplicable grin at any second. But instead she forced herself to answer: “Sure.”

  She was nervous but relieved—relieved that he’d already broken the invisible boundary between them. Now if she was to say something it would be okay and not come off like she was hitting on him.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Annie sat composing the perfect opening line. First she wrote down the requirements this sentence would have to fulfill. It would have to be casual. It would have to make sense within the context of the café, the neighborhood, the time of evening. It would have to be nonthreatening and not make her seem needy or on the make. Most of all, it would have to play to Marcus’s interests, something Annie knew a lot about.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, eyes still on her computer, as if she was addressing anyone in the coffee shop who cared to listen. “Is there a Thai place somewhere around here? I can’t seem to find it on this restaurant map.”

  Marcus immediately leaned toward her screen. “There.” He pointed at an intersection. “It should be right there.”

  “Thanks,” said Annie, looking up at him for a second and then back down. For some reason, every time she looked into those big green eyes she had to turn away, as if she were staring right into the sun. But then she steeled herself, glanced up again, and said, “Is it any good?”

  “Yeah, it’s the best in town.”

  “Great. I’ve got a friend coming in from New York and I can’t take him to a bad Thai restaurant. I’ve got to prove I don’t really live in the boonies.” Annie was happy with this line. The New York mention made her sound cosmopolitan, and the reference to a male friend made her sound unavailable.