Point, Click, Love (17 page)

“Well, I’m a guy, and you’re hot.”

“Thanks, Henry. That means a lot to me,” said Katie sarcastically.

“Actually, you know what you are? You’re a MILF.”

Katie remembered reading that on craigslist and not having the slightest idea what it meant. “What does that mean?”

Henry laughed.

“No, come on. What does it mean?”

“It means ‘moms I’d like to fu—’ ”

“Stop!” shouted Katie. “Don’t say it!” and she covered his mouth with her hand.

“What? You’ve never heard that before?”

“No! Of course not. Where would I have heard that?”

“I bet a lot of guys are thinking it when it comes to you.”

“Stop it, Henry.”

“Dave also told me other stuff about you.”

“Oh, yeah? What did he tell you?”

“He said you’re very ‘experienced.’ ”

“Uh-huh.” Katie was surprised that Dave would talk about her in that way, but she’d learned not to put anything past a guy anymore.

“He said you know exactly what you’re doing in the boudoir. He said he’s learned a lot from you.”

“Really. Dave said that. I find that odd.”

“You know guys talk about that stuff.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t girls?”

“Yeah.”

“You probably tell all your girlfriends about me, huh?”

“Why would I tell them about you and not Dave?”

“Because I’m the one you’d rather be going home with,” said Henry. Then he leaned in as if he was going to kiss her but instead sniffed the side of her neck.

Katie pushed him away. Then she noticed Dave and two of his friends heading back to the table.

“Hey, baby,” said Dave, sitting down next to Katie.

Squished in the booth between Henry and Dave, Katie felt like she was going to suffocate if she didn’t get out. “Excuse me. I’ve got to go to the ladies’ room.”

Before Dave could get up, Katie pushed her way out of the booth, tripping over his leg. She practically sprinted to the restroom, went into a stall, and sat there for five minutes, trying to decide what to do. She wanted to leave but didn’t want to make a scene.

Suddenly Katie’s phone began to vibrate. It was a text from Dave.

“u ok?”

“Yeah,” she wrote. Then she decided she wanted to tell Dave right away, before Henry said something stupid. “Henry made a pass at me.”

After a few seconds, she got another text. “O … sorry.”

“Can we go now?” she wrote.

Back at Dave’s house, Katie told him what happened.

“Typical Henry” was his response.

“Are you mad?” asked Katie.

“No.”

“Really?” said Katie, not believing him.

“Honestly, Katie, this is what we do.”

“This is what you do?”

“Well, not exactly like Henry did it, but … you know, I’ve slept with girls who my friends have gone out with.”

“While they were going out?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of sketchy.”

Katie paused to process all this. “I think things are different now than when I was dating.”

“Maybe. So do you like Henry?” asked Dave.

“Yes, I like him. I wasn’t thinking about sleeping with him.”

“But now you’re probably thinking about it.”

Katie stayed silent.

“Look, Katie. I’ve done this before. People in our group, we’re not all caught up in relationship stuff. Bottom line, I can go either way. I like you a lot. I want you to be happy about this. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Katie was having a hard time following Dave’s rambling. “So you’re saying, if I want to sleep with Henry I can, and we can still keep seeing each other.”

“Yes.”

“And if I want to just be with you, that’s okay, too.”

“Right.”

“And you don’t care one way or the other.”

“You got it.”

That was what really got Katie. Dave didn’t care one way or the other. She could sleep with his best friend or not, either way, no big deal.

And wasn’t that exactly what she wanted—a “casual” relationship? Every time Katie tried to be “casual,” she always seemed to get caught up in the traditional relationship trap of wanting longevity and exclusivity. Maybe this was exactly what she needed to do to ensure that she wouldn’t become dependent on Dave. Besides, he clearly wasn’t dependent on her.

“All right, then. If you don’t care, let’s just go for it.” The moment the words came out, Katie worried that Dave would suddenly become crestfallen, that he would regret the whole arrangement.

But without another word, Dave moved closer to Katie and slid her blouse off her shoulder.

T
he next day, Katie got a text from Henry while she was at work. “Meet me 2nite?”

“Cant,” she wrote back. Katie still hadn’t figured out how to write an apostrophe with her outdated phone.

“Wen?” wrote Henry.

“Tomorrow. Meet me at Russillos at 7.” Even though she knew Henry didn’t make much money as a Web designer, she decided she’d make him take her to a nice dinner before anything happened.

Katie was surprised at how awkward dinner was. Henry was nervous and didn’t seem to know what to do. He kept asking her if everything was all right. Their conversation was stilted and strained. Katie figured he was probably so used to meeting women at bars and hooking up, he didn’t know how to handle himself in
such a formal situation. But when they got back to his place, an apartment in a complex almost identical to Dave’s, he relaxed.

After they had sex, Katie had to admit it was the best she’d ever had. Henry had it all—Dave’s good looks and Ed’s skills in bed. And because they had been flirting for a couple of months before getting together, the buildup was intense.

The next day, Katie got a text from Dave. “Wen can I cu?” Dave almost never texted Katie and never asked to see her outside of their standing date for Thursday at the bar. Henry must have told him they had gone out the night before, thought Katie. Dave must be stepping up his game.

“Thursday?” she texted back.

“Sooner” was his reply.

And so it went from that day on. Katie started receiving endless texts from Dave and Henry, maneuvering to see her more and more. Surprisingly, they still wanted to meet at Mike’s, knowing full well the other would be there, but they both acted as if nothing had changed. When Dave invited Katie, she was careful not to give too much attention to Henry, and vice versa. But sometimes she forgot which one had invited her, not sure with whom she’d be going home that night. So she’d have to sneak into the bathroom and check her text messages to try to figure out who her date was.

Katie’s one night out a week quickly changed to two, three, sometimes even four. Rob was taking the kids more and more, but she still had to hire Jenny to babysit, shelling out sixty dollars a pop. And she’d often arrive at work the next morning tired and hungover.

One evening, as Katie was getting ready to go out, Frank came into her bedroom and plopped onto the bed.

“You’re going out again?” asked Frank.

“Yes,” said Katie.

“Who’s babysitting?”

“Your father. You’re going to spend the night at his house.”

Frank sighed.

“What, Frank?” said Katie, turning away from the mirror to look at her son.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” she said, turning back to the mirror.

“Who are you going out with?”

“Friends.”

“What friends? Maxine?”

Katie thought for a second about lying to Frank but figured it could come back to haunt her. “No, other friends.”

“You sure are seeing your friends a lot.”

“It’s good to have friends. You have friends.”

“I don’t see them as much as you.”

“You see them every day at school.”

“Whatever.”

Katie finished putting on her makeup and went to sit on the bed with Frank. “Don’t you want me to have friends?”

“Yes. But I also want you to be with us.”

“I’m not with you?”

“Not that much.”

“Really?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, this weekend we’ll do something special, okay? We’ll see a movie and go out for Chinese food. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” he said glumly.

“Frank?”

“Yes.”

Katie wondered whether Frank knew more about what she was up to than he let on. He was only seven years old, but kids were different these days. And like his peers, Frank was more adept at technology than Katie. Could he possibly have gone onto her computer and seen something he shouldn’t have? Might he have looked at her text messages behind her back?

The next morning, since she didn’t have to bring the kids to school, Katie got to work half an hour late. When she arrived, she found a pink Post-it note on her desk from her boss, Francine. “See me when you get in,” it said. Katie couldn’t remember ever being summoned into Francine’s office during her two years of working at the bank.

“Hi, Francine,” said Katie, standing meekly at the door.

“Come in, Katie,” said Francine.

“I’m sorry I’m late. But I—”

“No big deal.”

Katie liked Francine, who was always laid-back and understanding. They had even gone out for lunch together a few times and often discussed their kids, who were exactly the same age.

“I can’t imagine this is going to come as a big surprise, Katie, but due to the economic downturn, the bank is having to let some people go.”

At that moment, Katie wanted to get up and go. She knew what the next sentence would be and didn’t want to hear it. “Oh, God,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Katie. Just so you know, we’re having to lay off Janet and Sam too. I’ve already told them.”

“Did I do something wrong, Francine? I know I’ve been late a few times recently. I’ve been kind of under the weather—”

“No, Katie. You’ve been a great employee, but we had to make cuts and … well, let’s just say the decision was not based on job performance.”

Intellectually, Katie knew that the bank was struggling. She also knew that Francine liked her. Even in the past few weeks, with Katie’s questionable work habits, Francine had been as friendly as ever. But Katie couldn’t help but feel like this was happening now because she was being punished—punished for being a bad worker, punished for being a neglectful mother, and, most of all, punished for being a slut.

Chapter Twelve

F
rom the moment her trip began, from the drive to the airport to the plane ride in first class to walking into the Chateau Marmont, Maxine was in heaven. The anticipation of spending an entire week all alone in a beautiful, luxurious hotel a thousand miles from home was beyond thrilling. It left her feeling like a woman reborn. Throughout the day, it was as if she were having an out-of-body experience—watching herself from above. She didn’t recognize this other woman, who appeared to be husbandless and childless and consumed with herself. Before, she probably would have found such a woman selfish and self-centered. Now she embraced her.

When Maxine entered her room she immediately shed her clothes, climbed into bed, and turned on the TV, flipping through
the channels. She finally settled on a movie about love and chance encounters, which she figured was the theme of roughly half of all movies in existence. After it was over, she took a hot bath, emptying every perfumed bath product she could find into the tub. When she got out she wrapped herself in the plush hotel bathrobe and relaxed on the settee by the window.

It was getting dark, and she thought she should probably call the gallery to confirm her appointment for tomorrow morning but decided not to. Then she thought she should call Jake and let him know she’d arrived safely—or at least text him.

Yes, before leaving for L.A., Maxine had called Sprint and asked to add texting to her cell-phone service. She realized that if she hoped to compete—whether it be in the world of art or marriage—she would need to have all the necessary tools at her disposal. But at that moment Maxine didn’t want to use even a detached form of communication like texting with Jake.

What about the kids? she wondered. Would they want to hear from her? They were probably happy with their various friends and activities. Better to just leave them be. Instead, she called up room service and ordered a bottle of champagne, a shrimp cocktail, and a cheeseburger. After she was done eating, she climbed back into bed, settled on a rerun of
Friends
, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Maxine was picked up by a Town Car and brought to the Susan Shackelford Gallery. Riding in the car with a wet bar at her side and a chauffeur in a gray suit and hat in front of her, she wondered how the gallery could afford all this. Weren’t they struggling in the bad economy like everyone else?

When she arrived, Maxine was greeted at the front desk by a slender, boyish young man named Ted.

“You must be Maxine Walters,” he said. “Susan will be right down. Can I get you something while you’re waiting?”

“No, thanks.” Maxine looked around the gallery and saw her paintings scattered around the room, some leaning against the
walls and some already hung. She liked this series, which she called “Farm.” It was full of cartoonish renderings of pastures, cornfields, barns, tractors, cows, and other farm animals. She’d never done anything so completely midwestern, and here she was about to show it for the first time in Los Angeles.

“We’re hoping to get everything hung by tomorrow,” said Ted. “And Susan definitely wants your input.”

“Great.”

“I love your stuff,” said Ted. “It reminds me a lot of Wayne Thiebaud.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said a woman in a red suit as she walked down a staircase. “Thiebaud is much too … obvious. I think she’s more Diebenkorn. A mixture of the abstract and figurative. Thiebaud completely lacks Ms. Walters’s expressionist bent.”

Maxine couldn’t believe that she had already been compared to two of her favorite artists within thirty seconds of her arrival.

“Hello, Maxine,” said Susan, holding out her hand. “So nice to finally meet you.”

“My pleasure,” said Maxine. “It’s a thrill to be here.”

“I see you’ve met my assistant, Ted. He’ll be attending to all your needs. I hope you’ve found your accommodations adequate?”