Point, Click, Love

by Molly Shapiro

  “I thought she was all into Facebook.”

  “She is, but she uses Twitter for more mundane stuff, like ‘I’m getting my nails done at Rose Nails.’ ”

  “Got it.”

  “So I can give you a call when I know exactly where she is.”

  “You’re awesome, Heather. Thanks.”

  A few hours later, Heather called Claudia to report that Marjorie had just gone to the Starbucks at 119th and Metcalf to have a Mocha Frappuccino and work on her laptop. Claudia immediately left work, hopped in her car, and raced to confront Marjorie.

  As she opened the glass door to the Starbucks, Claudia realized she had no idea what she would say, but she had faith that the right words would come to her. She scanned the store and spotted Marjorie sitting alone at a long table toward the back.

  “Hi, Marjorie,” she said, taking a seat across from her, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “Claudia,” said Marjorie, pasting on a smile to hide her nervousness. “How are you?”

  “I wanted to talk with you.” Claudia figured it was pointless to pretend this was a chance encounter.

  Marjorie eyed Claudia suspiciously. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Everyone knows you’re here,” said Claudia.

  “Do you follow me on Twitter?” asked Marjorie, trying to hold back her smile as she imagined her public to be far greater than she had thought.

  “I want to talk about that posting.”

  “Forget about it,” said Marjorie, in a way that made it clear she would never forget about it.

  “I wish I could,” said Claudia. “I want to know if you told Steve about it.”

  “Why are you asking me? Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Because I … Can’t you help me out here, Marjorie?”

  “You know, maybe if you talked to your husband more, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “I am going to talk to Steve, but I thought that since you guys have been so tight lately—”

  “What are you saying, Claudia? Are you implying that—”

  “I’m not implying anything. I just know that Steve’s been confiding in you.”

  “Right. And that’s all. I would never have an affair,” said Marjorie, her voice dripping with disdain.

  “So does Don know about how close you and Steve have been getting?”

  “My husband knows everything I do.”

  “Really? He knows about Steve and whoever else you’ve been compulsively emailing and IM’ing and whatever else you do?”

  “I’m not compulsively doing anything.”

  “Because there’s more to having an affair than sex. Right? There’s the emotional connection. There’s the sharing of feelings and personal information. Do you really think Don would be okay with that?”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong, Claudia. And just because you have gives you no right to start accusing me.”

  “All I want from you is to know if you told Steve.” But Claudia wondered if that was all she wanted.

  “That would be violating his trust.”

  “A simple nod would do the trick.”

  “Don’t forget, Claudia, I’m the one who pointed out your stupid mistake, remember? I’m the one who saved you a lot of embarrassment.”

  “Right. And after that, how many people did you go and tell?”

  “No one!”

  “Really? You can’t get a cup of coffee without letting five hundred people know about it and you’re telling me that you didn’t tell one person that the wife of a friend of yours accidentally admitted to having an affair on Facebook?”

  “You know what’s so crazy about this, Claudia? It’s that you’re sitting here chastising me when you’re the one who screwed around behind your husband’s back.”

  “Right. So you know I’m probably not in the best state right now, and here I am, asking for one little bit of information, and all you have for me is a whole lot of disapproval.”

  “Sorry, Claudia, if I’m not full of forgiveness.”

  Is that what Claudia wanted? Forgiveness from Marjorie Gooding? Forgiveness from the person who had unintentionally been her confessor?

  Suddenly Marjorie’s cell phone began to vibrate. She picked it up to take a look. Then she started pressing buttons, as if she had forgotten that Claudia was sitting right there in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” asked Claudia.

  “Nothing,” Marjorie said distractedly.

  “What are you doing?!” Claudia demanded.

  “I’m updating my Facebook status, if you must know!”

  “My God!” Claudia shouted, causing everyone nearby to turn and look. “Do you ever stop? What are you writing? Are you writing about me? Are you writing about this conversation?”

  “None of your business,” said Marjorie, continuing to punch away.

  “It is my business!” yelled Claudia, her voice getting louder and her face turning red.

  “No, it’s not!” said Marjorie, her voice also getting louder.

  “Stop it!”

  “No!”

  Claudia reached across the table and snatched the phone out of Marjorie’s hand.

  For a split second, the two of them stared at each other in shock. Then Claudia, realizing what she had done, grabbed her purse and ran with the phone into the bathroom.

  Claudia quickly locked herself in, and while Marjorie pounded on the door, Claudia read the message Marjorie was writing: “Wondering how a person can be so rude, especially when they’re the one who just admitted to breaking one of the 10 commandme—”

  Claudia pressed the “delete” button until all that was left was “wondering how a person can be so” and then added: “judgmental and unforgiving, especially when you’re most weak and vulnerable. Maybe it’s time we all got off these stupid machines and smiled at the next person we meet, no matter what kind of sin they just committed.” Claudia hit “share” and, when she was sure the message went through, dumped the phone in the toilet.

  When Claudia opened the door, Marjorie, who was still pounding away, practically fell on top of her. “Where’s my phone?” she screamed.

  Claudia pointed to the toilet. “Don’t worry. I have a friend at Sprint. I’m sure she’ll give you a good deal on a new one.”

  As Claudia drove home, surprised that she’d managed to get out without sustaining any physical harm, she realized that she would now have to accept—even embrace—her new persona. Surely Marjorie would tell as many people as she could what had happened, and there would be no way for Claudia to deny it. Not only would she be known as the adulterer, she would be known as the lunatic adulterer.

  But she couldn’t worry now about what the world thought of her. First and foremost, she needed to deal with Steve, the one person she’d been avoiding and neglecting for far too long.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and instead of going back to work, Claudia decided to go home and talk to Steve before the girls got home from soccer practice.

  She found him in the kitchen, trying to lift a whole chicken out of a steaming stockpot. On the counter sat two pans of freshly baked sugar cookies. Ever since Claudia’s weeklong sojourn in bed, Steve had stepped up to the plate and started cooking regularly. Not only that, but he seemed to be graduating from the no-fuss recipes of Sandra Lee and Rachael Ray to the more challenging concoctions of Martha Stewart and Bobby Flay.

  “Whatcha making?” she asked.

  “Just some chicken stock for a white bean and escarole soup.”

  “Yum,” said Claudia. “And cookies?”

  “Those are for a caramel sandwich cookie I saw Martha do yesterday. Do we have any powdered sugar?”

  “I think so,” she said as she went to the pantry to look. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” said Steve. “Why are you home so early?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” said Claudia.

  “Uh-oh,” said Steve, as he began to remove bones from the chicken. />
  Claudia smiled, appreciative of Steve’s ability to lighten things up. “First, I want to say I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” asked Steve, his hands still deep in chicken skin and flesh.

  “Where do I begin?” said Claudia, mostly to herself. “For being a bitch? For being unsympathetic? For spending an entire week in bed?”

  “Look, Claudia. I need to apologize too. I mean, look at me. This is what I should have been doing all along, ever since I lost my job. I should have been cooking, taking care of the house, taking care of you—”

  “Steve. Please don’t apologize to me right now.”

  “Why not? I know what kind of a husband I’ve been and I just—”

  “Steve! Stop. Please. Nothing you’ve done compares to what I’ve done.”

  “Claudia—”

  “I had an affair.”

  Steve looked up and wiped the chicken fat off his hands with a dish towel. “I know.”

  “Marjorie told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  “A week or two ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I figured I should wait till you were ready to tell me.”

  “Wow,” said Claudia.

  “Marjorie told me what you wrote. I could see that you regretted it.”

  “You must have been angry.”

  “I was hurt.”

  “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

  “But it’s not like I wasn’t hurt already. I’ve been hurting for a long time.”

  “I know,” said Claudia.

  “We both have. It hasn’t been good.”

  “No, it hasn’t.”

  “So I know why you did it. For the same reason that I was getting so close to Marjorie.”

  “Did you and Marjorie—”

  “No. We never even met in person.”

  “Really?”

  “It was all on Facebook, a little on the phone.”

  At that moment, Claudia finally saw the value of Facebook: the ability to connect with people while keeping a safe distance. Yes, she had heard about old high school sweethearts reuniting there and leaving their husbands and wives in a quest to reignite a past flame and give a spark to their dim lives. But more often than not, people were using Facebook as a way to work through their fantasies without causing any harm. They could “friend” the captain of the football team or the head cheerleader they had a crush on and carry on a simulated relationship full of pictures and postings that led everyone to believe they were much happier and more successful than they actually were. People had affairs to boost their egos or to get the attention that they weren’t getting from their spouse. Isn’t that why she got together with Fred? So maybe it was better to get that ego boost or that extra attention from five hundred fantasy friends than one real live human being.

  “I never even considered having an affair, Claudia. And, honestly, I wish you hadn’t done it.”

  “I do too!” said Claudia pleadingly.

  “But I understand. You were weak. And you probably wanted out but didn’t know it.”

  “I don’t know that—”

  “I do. You took the cowardly way out,” Steve said matter-of-factly.

  “I know I did.” It felt good to hear Steve talk like this to her, to call her weak and cowardly. Not since the day they first met at Kinko’s had Steve been so willing to call out Claudia’s deficiencies. She wondered if things would have been different if Steve had dealt with her like this more often.

  “But that’s what people do,” said Steve. “They have affairs because they don’t have the guts to say to their partner that they want out.”

  “I don’t know if that’s what I wanted. I still don’t.”

  “I think it is,” said Steve. “And, to be honest, I think I felt—feel—the same way. I was a coward too, only I just sat around playing on Facebook, waiting for you to do something.”

  “So you want out?” asked Claudia, a lump developing in her throat.

  “I don’t see any other way,” said Steve. “I feel like too much has happened between us. We’ve gone too far. And neither of us has had the motivation to do anything about it.”

  “But maybe we do now.”

  “Why? Because you had an affair? That’s the end, not the beginning. At least it is for me.”

  “Some people work things out after an affair.”

  “I know, but I can’t. I just don’t think it works.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ll never be able to forget about it. I know myself.”

  “Oh, God,” said Claudia, beginning to cry. “I feel like I’m damaged goods. That no one is ever going to want me again!”

  Steve walked over to Claudia and put his arms around her. “You’re not damaged goods, Claudia. You made a mistake. People make mistakes.”

  “I broke a commandment. That’s what Marjorie said.”

  “Marjorie?” said Steve, pulling away.

  “Oh, I ran into her. Long story,” said Claudia. “I hate her, by the way. Please don’t marry Marjorie. I don’t want her to be Sandy and Janie’s stepmom.”

  “I’m not going to marry Marjorie. I’m not going to marry anyone,” said Steve.

  “How do you know?”

  “I need a break from marriage right now.”

  “Me too,” said Claudia.

  “And I’m in no hurry to find another wife.”

  “Me neither,” said Claudia, smiling. “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry if another man ever wants to look at me again. Who needs men anyway?”

  “That’s right. We’re all a bunch of good-for-nothings.”

  “Right.”

  “Speaking of that, I just got a call from a job prospect. They’re having me back for a third interview.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Yeah, it’s looking good. I think they want to talk money at this point.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing news.”

  “Thanks. Listen, Claudia. I want to do this differently.”

  “What?”

  “The divorce. I want to do it right. I’m not angry with you. I don’t hate you. And I hope you don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t. Of course I don’t.”

  “I wish people could learn how to break up amicably,” said Steve. “Without all that venom and ill will.”

  “We can,” said Claudia.

  “I know we can.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Normally, when Annie was going to a place she’d never been before, she’d punch the address into her GPS and allow herself to be guided effortlessly to her destination, guaranteeing that no time would be wasted. But when she set out to find the purveyor of smoked fish where she was to meet Marcus, she decided to forgo that convenience. It had been so long since she’d explored the city for something new or got lost in a strange part of town.

  When she arrived at Stanislav’s and saw Marcus’s old green Honda Accord parked out front, she could feel her stomach churn in an oddly pleasant sort of way. She’d been anticipating this meeting for days, in a way she hadn’t anticipated seeing another human being in a very, very long time.

  Marcus was nowhere in sight, so Annie took a moment to peruse the deli case. It was nothing like the one at Barney Greengrass or Zabar’s, where huge slabs of fish sat glistening in their own fat, adorned with strategically placed olives, sliced tomatoes, and sprigs of parsley. Here there was a rather puny stretch of salmon and a platter of whole whitefish surrounded by large bowls of unidentifiable salads swimming in mayonnaise.

  Annie looked up at the man behind the counter. “No sable?”

  The man smiled. “Ah, sable. You like sable?”

  “Yes, I like sable. Doesn’t everybody?” said Annie.

  “Very difficult to get,” said the man, shaking his head. “Also, not so many people want.”

  “Crazy,” said Annie, shaking her head too.

  “I tell you what
,” the man said conspiratorially. “You give me your name and I see what I can do for you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Annie smiled.

  “So what can I get for you today?”

  “I should wait for my friend.”

  “Oh! You with that nice boy?”

  “I think so.”

  “He went to the restroom. Nice boy. Very nice.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Annie figured that Marcus inspired this reaction in everybody he came into contact with, and he probably didn’t even have to open his mouth to get it. She wondered what it would be like to move through the world in that way, leaving hordes of admirers in your wake. Annie knew she would never know that feeling, but she was excited by the possibility that her child might.

  “Hey!” said Marcus, giving Annie a hug as if she were an old friend.

  “Hey, there,” said Annie, awkwardly hugging him back. “Bad news. No sable.”

  “I know,” said Marcus with exaggerated dejection. “But I wasn’t real hopeful they’d have it. We’re not in New York, after all.”

  “I guess I just wanted to believe.”

  “That’s what I love about you. You’re so optimistic.”

  Hearing the words “I,” “love,” and “you” fall from Marcus’s lips so close together made Annie feel light-headed.

  “What are you gonna get?” asked Marcus.

  “I think I’ll get one of those whole whitefish and put it on a bagel with cream cheese. Want to share?”

  “Sure.”

  Annie stood on her tiptoes, lifted her head up to Marcus’s ear, and whispered, “The whitefish salad looks a little soupy.”

  “I know,” Marcus whispered back.

  When they got their food and sat down at one of the small tables lined up in front of the window, Annie took charge of beheading and deboning the fish.

  “I’m impressed,” said Marcus. “Ever thought of becoming a surgeon?”

  “Never. Blood freaks me out. Besides, I felt like I could really give back as a marketing director.”

  “It’s a shame more people don’t go into marketing,” said Marcus, shaking his head.

  “All right, all right. So I’m a complete sellout. But you’re getting a business degree, for God’s sake. What are you going to do with that? You can’t fix cleft palates in India with an MBA.”