Point, Click, Love (12 page)

“No, Claudia. I’m not taking his advice,” said Steve, with a touch of exasperation.

“What? I’m just saying—”

“Fine. It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Steve, finally turning his head to look at Claudia. “We don’t have any money to invest.”

“I know we don’t.”

“So then why did you ask if I was taking his advice? Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” asked Claudia. “I only wanted to make sure—”

“Right, you only wanted to make sure,” said Steve, turning back to the TV.

“Look, Steve, don’t start making this my fault. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything. I’m trying to protect what little we have.”

“It’s not that bad, Claudia.”

“Well, it will be soon. Sorry if I worry about it. I worry, okay? I worry about our future, the kids—”

“And you never miss an opportunity to let me know.”

“Maybe I think if I bring it up enough you’ll do something about it,” said Claudia.

“Great. Here we go again. I’m not doing enough.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I send résumés and make calls every day.”

“And then you sit on your ass.”

“What should I do?” asked Steve. “I can only make so many calls and send out so many résumés.”

“Maybe you could get a job?”

“Huh?”

“Just a job! Why not spend your time working instead of sitting around? Why not get a job at Starbucks?”

“You want me to work at Starbucks?” asked Steve, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Why not? At least it’s something.”

“And how I feel—my self-respect—doesn’t matter.”

“I would think getting out and doing something would help your self-respect.”

“Really? You think me in a green apron taking coffee orders from my friends and neighbors and former colleagues will help my self-esteem?”

“I don’t know anymore, Steve,” Claudia said wearily as she got up from the couch. “But I have to say, your self-esteem is not at the top of my list of priorities right now.”

The next day at work, Claudia found herself unable to think of anything but Fred. She thought about going back up to the fourth floor but couldn’t bear the thought that he might not be there again. And even if he was there, what would she say? What did she want? She thought it might be nice to go to lunch with Fred—just as a friend—but how would she work up the nerve to ask? How could she ask without it sounding like a come-on?

Claudia decided the best thing to do was to email him. No awkward
conversation, no stammering before responding, no embarrassing rejection. She could construct a carefully worded invitation, and he could take his time composing a response without being caught off guard.

“Hi, Fred,” she wrote. “In the interest of corporate unity, peace, and understanding, would you like to go to lunch and learn about what we ‘creatives’ do? I have a craving for Sasha’s Sushi but hate going there on my own. How do you feel about raw fish?”

Claudia hit “send” and prepared herself to wait a long time for a reply. But after three minutes, her computer dinged.

“Hey, Claudia,” wrote Fred. “Yes, as I said the other day, I would love to hear about what you creatives are up to, if only to ensure that you are truly earning your keep. And I, too, love Sasha’s Sushi. (I don’t know about you, but I find a love of raw fish to be a rare quality here in KC.) What time?”

As she read Fred’s email, Claudia’s heart began pounding. How would she possibly sit through a whole sushi lunch with him? she wondered. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so nervous and vulnerable but liked it.

“How about 12:30?” wrote Claudia.

“Great,” answered Fred. “See you down in the lobby.”

Claudia stuffed her purse with company brochures and literature, just in case Fred really did want to learn more about what she did all day. When the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, she saw Fred standing there, tall and lanky with his crisp white shirt and slate-gray pants. Fred was probably in his early forties, but he had a full head of thick black hair, no trace of belly fat, and an unlined face.

“Ready?” said Fred, without a bit of nervousness. Claudia was grateful for how easy he was making this.

The restaurant, which was only half a block from the office, was packed. “Should we sit at the bar?” asked Fred.

“Sure.” As Claudia walked toward the bar she quickly scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, but didn’t find one.

“You come here often?” asked Fred as he pulled out a chair for Claudia.

“Not so much. But I love it. They say the owner is some Russian guy.”

“Sasha,” said Fred. “You don’t know Sasha?”

“You mean there really is a Sasha?” asked Claudia.

“Of course. That’s the name!”

“I thought they called it that because it sounded good,” said Claudia. “See, that’s the thing about us creative types. We assume that nothing’s true. That everything’s marketing.”

“Wow,” said Fred. “That’s kind of a scary world you live in.”

“Very scary.”

“I come here a lot, so Sasha’s my buddy,” said Fred. “When you’re a single guy who doesn’t cook, you tend to make friends with a lot of restaurateurs.”

Hearing Fred come right out and call himself “single” sent a wave of dread through Claudia’s body. She couldn’t allow one more minute to pass without letting Fred know she wasn’t single.

“Well, when you’re a working married gal with two kids and a lazy husband, you tend to make friends with the pizza-delivery guys.”

Claudia searched Fred’s expression for a sign of surprise, disappointment, or even annoyance, but saw nothing.

“Lazy, huh?”

Claudia smiled to herself. Fred could have easily said, “Husband, huh?”

“That’s not very nice, I know,” said Claudia. “It’s just that he’s out of work with a lot of time on his hands. I mean, he could go out and learn how to make sushi!”

“Is he Japanese?” asked Fred.

“No.”

“I don’t like sushi unless it’s made by a Japanese person.”

“In a restaurant owned by a Russian,” said Claudia.

“Yes.”

“All right, then I won’t invite you over for sushi night at my house.”

“Fine,” said Fred. “It would probably be kind of awkward anyway, with your husband and all.”

“I can’t have a friend who’s a man?” Claudia asked innocently, although she couldn’t think of one male friend she’d had since getting married.

“I find that women my age don’t usually want to make friends with single men,” said Fred. “Usually they’re married and their husbands don’t take kindly to the idea. They kind of treat me like I have the plague.”

“It might help if you were less good-looking,” said Claudia. Now that she had established her marital status, she felt safe in making such an observation.

“That’s nice of you to say,” said Fred, a little embarrassed. “But I don’t think that’s it.”

“Sure it is,” said Claudia. “The women are afraid that their husbands will be threatened by you. And they’re also afraid that they’ll be tempted by you.”

“Really?” said Fred with pretend fascination. “So why then would it be okay for you to be my friend?”

“Steve—my husband—he’s not the jealous type. And me—I’ve never had a wandering eye.”

“That’s good to know,” said Fred.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t you married?”

“I don’t mind. I was married, actually.”

“Kids?” asked Claudia.

“No,” said Fred.

Claudia could tell Fred didn’t want to take the discussion any
further. “So here’s to trusting husbands and faithful wives,” she said, lifting her glass of water.

Fred lifted his glass and said, “I’ll drink to that.”

T
he next day, Fred invited Claudia to lunch. And the next day, Claudia invited Fred. Soon there were no more invitations. The two simply always had a default lunch date. Sometimes one of them brought leftovers from home but always enough to share with the other. If Claudia had a lunch meeting or was too busy to take a break, they would meet for an afternoon coffee.

Claudia hadn’t spent that much time with one person since college, but Fred was so easy and fun to be around. From their first lunch date, they clicked. The conversation always flowed, but when there was a moment of silence, they waited it out comfortably, without a trace of self-consciousness. It was obvious to both that they found each other attractive, even remarking freely on each other’s good looks. But it was okay, because Claudia had made it clear that she was a loyal wife who was simply going through a rough patch in her marriage, and Fred was a single guy simply wanting to have a female friend his own age.

In fact, Fred even counseled Claudia about her marriage, telling her things she could do to improve the strained dynamic.

“Don’t bring up the fact that Steve’s out of work,” he told her. “It doesn’t help and only aggravates the situation.

“If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” he advised. “Just go to your room and relax until you can be civil.

“And maybe you should try lowering your expectations a little,” he said. “Then you won’t constantly feel disappointed.”

Claudia took Fred’s advice and it worked. She and Steve had stopped fighting and were actually getting along pretty well. But Claudia felt like it also had something to do with the fact that she
now had Fred in her life. She felt calmer and happier and more hopeful. And even though their relationship was platonic, she enjoyed having a man to interact with—to joke with and spar with and discuss common interests. She was able to let go of her anger and dissatisfaction with Steve because she got fulfillment from Fred.

One day, Claudia came home early to find Steve at his computer, his Facebook account open. From a distance she could see that he was having a lengthy exchange with someone but couldn’t tell who. So she decided to try something.

“Steve? Would you do me a favor?”

“What’s up?”

“I meant to pick up some cereal and milk on my way home but completely forgot. Would you mind running to the store?”

“Sure,” said Steve. Claudia noticed that he clicked on his MSN home page without logging out of Facebook, then closed his laptop.

The moment Claudia heard Steve’s car pull out of the driveway, she ran to the computer. She figured she had at least fifteen minutes—five minutes to the store, five minutes in the store, and five minutes home. She opened the laptop and pressed the space bar. Then she clicked on the “back” button and found herself in Steve’s Facebook account. And there she was: Marjorie Gooding.

“That must be so hard for you, Steve,” was Marjorie’s last message.

What was so hard for poor Steve? wondered Claudia. She didn’t have the patience to read the entire string from the beginning so she went right to Steve’s last comment.

“Claudia’s definitely been better, not on me so much. So I don’t feel so angry like I used to, so pissed off at her. But now I feel … just empty, like nothing. I don’t feel anything, you know?”

Claudia scrolled up, scanning the ten or so messages that preceded
this one. Her eye was caught by the words “Café Bella,” a coffee shop a few blocks from the house.

“Maybe we should meet at Café Bella sometime?” wrote Marjorie. “It would be nice to talk in person for a change.”

“I’ve got a job interview Thursday morning,” wrote Steve. “Maybe after that? I’ll give you a call.”

He has a job interview? thought Claudia. Why didn’t he say anything to me?

Claudia stared blankly at the rest of the conversation but couldn’t bring herself to read any more. She knew what she was doing was wrong and knew she had to stop. Yes, part of her wondered what else lingered in Steve’s inbox. But another part of her didn’t want to know.

On Thursday, Claudia suggested to Fred that they go to a Mexican restaurant about fifteen minutes away by car, in a neighborhood neither had been to before. They rarely drove to lunch, partly to save time and partly because there were plenty of places to go within walking distance of the office. But sometimes either Claudia or Fred had a hankering for a certain type of food or they simply felt like they needed to get away.

“Where’d you hear about this place?” asked Fred as they sat down.

“There was a review in the paper last week,” said Claudia. “They said the tamales are amazing. And the margaritas are to die for.”

Fred looked at Claudia and smiled, tilting his head in mild disapproval. That was one thing about Claudia and Fred’s lunches: No one ever drank. Somehow, they both implicitly knew that going down that road would lead to no good.

“Oh, come on,” said Claudia. “Just this once, I promise. I love margaritas, and the article said these are the best!”

“Okay,” said Fred. “Just this once. But I want the Gold. On the rocks. With salt.”

“You got it,” said Claudia.

The first drinks went down so easily and so fast—before their food even arrived—that they decided they needed another one to accompany their tamales and enchiladas. Not until their sopaipillas and café de olla arrived did they really start to feel a buzz.

When they got into the car, Fred paused before putting the key into the ignition. “Hmmm. I still feel a little tipsy. Maybe I shouldn’t drive.”

“Me too,” said Claudia.

“You see?” said Fred, smiling. “You are naughty!”

“I know.” Claudia smiled. “I’m sorry. Sort of.”

“Let’s sit here for a minute,” said Fred. “Maybe it’ll wear off.”

“ ’kay,” said Claudia, leaning her head back on her seat, facing Fred.

Fred also put his head back against the seat, sank down low, and twisted his body to face Claudia.

“I’m drunk,” said Claudia.

“You’re a lightweight.”

“You are too, buddy.”

“I know,” said Fred.

After a minute of silence, Claudia said, “I like you.”

“I know,” said Fred.

“You know?” said Claudia, lifting her head slightly in indignation.

“Yes, I know,” said Fred. “I like you too.”

“Duh,” said Claudia.

They sat for a moment, looking at each other and smiling.

“Fred?”

“Yes?”

“I’m dying to kiss you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”