Her Web Master Read online

  A guilty pleasure, so to speak

  But they sure wanted a lot of information on these dating sites. Hmm. I didn’t know how to describe myself. Dark-haired schoolteacher with hazel eyes who has a tendency to speak too loudly when she gets overly excited? Nah. Bookworm who likes to celebrate the month of her birthday rather than just the day, and has always wanted to learn to dance the tango? Nope. Reality TV addict who loves dogs and hates to work out? Definitely not. That sounded lazy. Really, I just like watching Survivor.

  The forms they required me to fill out were daunting, and I didn’t really want to go on any dates. I just wanted to browse and fantasize about going on dates with handsome men. You know, like shopping an internet catalog. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything that easy.

  After jumping through hoops, filling out several forms, and creating an email account just for my new “hobby,” I still hadn’t seen any guys I would be interested in dating… or even daydreaming of dating. The antique mantel clock dinged three o’clock in the morning, and I wished I could throw rotten tomatoes at the screen.

  All those hours of lost sleep and nothing to show for it. Crap. I dragged myself back to bed, lay down next to Spencer’s snoring form, and finally fell asleep.

  The next morning was rough. By the time I woke up, Spencer had already left for work. It was probably better we didn’t see each other. On a typical day he left for work before I got up and came home from work after I was asleep. Some marriage.

  My lack of sleep showed in the mirror. I had bags under my eyes that made me look like I’d taken a punch or two. Rummaging through my makeup drawer, I finally found the hemorrhoid cream, a trick I’d learned from a Texas beauty queen during sorority rush years ago. The stuff worked wonders on puffy eyes.

  I plopped some drops into my bloodshot eyes and tried to recall if you were supposed to wear pink eye shadow on tired eyes, or was it that you were never supposed to? I sighed. Unable to remember, I applied a serviceable brown and threw a brown eyeliner stick into my bag.

  After tossing on a shirtdress and a pair of low heels, I ran a brush through my wavy, unruly hair and walked out the door. The makeup could be applied in the car during the red lights. It was already shaping up to be that kind of day.

  A few hours later, the colorful little classroom was filled with the sounds of merry children singing to a song that played on the outdated CD player in the corner.

  A blond-haired little boy ran up to me. When he talked, air whistled through the empty space where his front teeth used to be. “Mthh Davenport, look! I got paint all over my sthirt!”

  He certainly had. A big green splotch covered the belly of his shirt. His mother was a stickler for neatness. I sighed. “What happened to your paint smock, Thomas?”

  “Dunno.” He shrugged adorably, and I stopped feeling cross with him.

  “Well, let’s go see if we can get that out before your mommy comes to pick you up.” Thomas nodded and I took him by the hand to the sink in the corner of the room, where I beckoned for my teacher’s aid to help Thomas wash out his shirt.

  Monday through Friday, I spent seven a.m. to four p.m. teaching kindergarten at the Southfield Country Day School. My days were filled wiping snotty noses, herding chubby-faced children, and teaching them their ABCs and 123s. However, these days we were supposed to be teaching children to read in kindergarten as well. This was fine in theory, but unfortunately the ability to read is a developmental skill that some children would not be able to grasp until they were in first or second grade. Those who didn’t “get it” right away weren’t necessarily less intelligent, they just weren’t ready yet, the same way some children weren’t ready to be toilet trained by age two.

  But I understood that there had to be a framework for all children, so I went along and taught the curriculum as best I could.

  That afternoon, when the children had all gone home, my friend and fellow teacher Jackie popped her head in my room. “Hey. Wanna grab a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “Not today. Can I get a rain check?” I replied. Jackie taught first grade across the hall and I’d known her since we had been in grade school ourselves. She got married around the same time I did—six years ago. She had a set of two-year-old twins she’d have to pick up from daycare soon.

  “Sure. Maybe I’ll run some errands before I go pick up the twins.” Jackie tried to find “adult time” whenever she could, and we had coffee together most days after school before she went home to her second job, being a wife and mother to a pair of whirling dervishes.

  “Sounds good. Bye.” She left and I gathered up my things and headed to the parking lot. Most of my friends had children, and sometimes I felt like I was the only woman of reproductive age who didn’t. Spencer and I had never gotten pregnant naturally, and just about the time it occurred to me that one of us might have a plumbing problem in the reproductive realm, I realized I didn’t really want to have children with Spencer. I wasn’t convinced he would be a good father, and our marriage wasn’t a happy one. Having children seemed more likely to make things worse than make them better.

  I knew plenty of people who had babies to save their marriage, and from what I’d seen it never seemed to work. It only put off the inevitable. And even though I knew I was in the middle of a marriage that would inevitably dissolve, I didn’t have the courage to end it, but neither could I delay it by bringing a baby into the world.

  It was a simple case of inertia. A body in motion stays in motion, while a body at rest stays at rest.

  That was my marriage. A marriage that sucked and would continue to suck.

  A couple of hours later I curled up with some Chinese takeout, Felix, and Netflix. Felix enthusiastically agreed to the arrangement, snuggling up next to my legs and wriggling under my arm to be petted and maybe snatch a bite of shrimp fried rice. The evening I’d planned suited my mood perfectly, and I’d practically decided I didn’t need a man when Spencer came home and spoiled everything.

  When he walked into the bedroom, Felix barely looked up, and I kept my eyes trained on the television.

  “Hey!” Spencer said, clearly looking for a response.

  “Oh, hey.” I did my best to look uninterested in his sudden presence. Sure it was evil, but I couldn’t help myself. Unbidden, my brain conjured up an olfactory memory of last night’s perfume that would linger much longer than the original.

  “Uh, have you eaten?” Spencer’s voice dripped with irritation.

  I made a big show of pausing the television show and looking up at him with undisguised annoyance. Spencer stood at the end of the bed, one hand on the substantial wooden structure. One of his chestnut curls fell carelessly onto his forehead, but I refused to let him affect me. “Yes, I have eaten. Because you are never home. So… Yeah. I’ve eaten. If I waited for you to eat, I’d starve.” Then I glanced back at the television, purposely pressed PLAY, and went back to ignoring him.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Spencer’s jaw drop. “I don’t believe you! So we don’t do anything together anymore?”

  “I guess not. But that’s hardly my fault, now is it, Spencer? You’re the one who rarely even sleeps here,” I responded, raising my eyebrows but keeping my eyeballs glued to the screen.

  “Un-FUCKING-believable!” he shouted, then turned and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

  “Funny, that’s what I think every day,” I said to the empty space where Spencer had stood. I scratched one of Felix’s favorite spots under his chin. “Good riddance,” I whispered into his soft fur.

  CHAPTER TWO

  On my way to work the next morning I ruminated over the discord between Spencer and me the night before. This morning, no evidence appeared to show that he came home after I fell asleep, so I assumed he stayed out all night. Every day it grew clearer to me that my marriage was a sinking ship.

  But even though I knew that was the case, I was floored when I checked my phone during my one free period, while my clas
s had gone to P.E., and I read this text from my husband.

  I want a divorce.

  I wish I could say I was surprised, or that it made me want to cry, but instead all I thought was, What a jerk! It was bad enough to break up with someone via text, but to end a marriage that way was unconscionable.

  Utter douchebaggery.

  Spencer in a nutshell.

  For me, divorce had never been an option. I was a Davenport, and Davenports did not divorce.

  Divorce was admitting failure, and Davenports did not fail.

  Oh, there had been times I secretly wished Spencer would hit me, because that would have been grounds for me to leave him. My family would understand that, I thought. But Spencer would have never done that, instead he abused me emotionally with infidelity and neglect.

  And now there was his text.

  Was it really over? My hand started to shake a little, the result of anxiety mixed with fear and elation.

  To say my family would be disappointed would be putting it mildly. My mother would have a field day, listing all my inadequacies, all the steps I could have taken—no, make that should have taken—to save my marriage. Suddenly I felt the urge to vomit, but I sat very still until it passed.

  A minute later my class returned from P.E., the grassy, sweaty smell of children who had been outdoors filling the room, and I steadied myself to deliver their math lesson.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur and when the final school bell rang, I slumped into my chair and sent a text to my friend Shelby Carr.

  I need a good divorce lawyer.

  I had only been home a few minutes when Shelby knocked on my door. I opened the door a crack, but she pushed inside and started giving me the third degree. “What the fuck happened?” Shelby had never been one to mince words, but sometimes she could be a little “much”.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I countered. Shelby was an heiress who had recently gone through her second divorce, which was why I contacted her. Her father had been a hotel magnate, and when he died several years ago, she inherited an unknown sum that was rumored to be in the neighborhood of nine figures. If anyone knew how to protect their assets it was Shelby and her legal team.

  “Pfft.” She waved me off. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I want to know what happened.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Spencer and I have been on different paths for a while, but today he sent me this.” I showed her the text on my phone.

  “That rat bastard. I’ll bet he’s knocked up one of his little whores.” She made herself at home on my couch and tapped her long, crimson fingernails on the chest that served as an end table.

  “You think?” I asked, feeling kicked in the gut. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to me.

  “Oh yeah. That’s the only reason he’d leave you.”

  I stared at her, not comprehending.

  “Your name, your family’s money. Spencer is in love with that, Sophie. Face it, if it wasn’t for that you two would have broken up a long time ago.”

  Ouch. “Gee, thanks, Shelby. That makes me feel so much better.”

  Shelby’s big blue eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be glad to be rid of him. I didn’t know this was a pity party. I thought it was a strategy-planning session.” She bit her lip. “Oops. Didn’t get the memo.”

  “It’s okay. I guess a part of me is relieved. But I’m so embarrassed, and I feel like such a loser.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “Enough. That man is an asshole, and he has been an asshole since the day you married him. This is a blessing. Trust me. You were wasting time on him. Now you can find a real man and get on with your life. But first we have to make sure he doesn’t get anything.”

  I nodded. “Want something to drink?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. What have you got?”

  “Wine.”

  “All right.”

  I went into the kitchen, poured us both a glass of Prosecco, and handed one to Shelby.

  “What if he tries to come back?” I took a sip, enjoying the bubbles fizzing in my throat. “Maybe this is only temporary.”

  Shelby shot me a look. “Seriously?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Shelby crinkled up her patrician nose. “Change the locks, babe. Don’t you let him come back. Soph, I hate for you to keep getting fucked over by that asshole. Why don’t you come out with me tomorrow night? Maybe if you see what’s out there, remember what it’s like to be single, it might make getting a divorce seem more attractive.”

  It had been years since I’d been out partying with Shelby. I was way too old for that, but I had to admit that curiosity was what made me get on the internet the other night.

  “Okay, twist my rubber arm.”

  “Yay!” Shelby wiped her hand across her brow in mock relief. “We’ll show that husband of yours, and we’ll have a great time in the process. Show him you know how to have a good time, too. He’s not the only one. I’ll send a car for you at nine.” Shelby downed her drink. “Look, I hate to run, but I’m meeting some people for happy hour. Ciao!” Then she exited as quickly as she had arrived, leaving me all alone and wondering how I’d sunk so low, so fast.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next day was Friday, and school dragged on at a snail’s pace. I tried not to think too much about going out with Shelby that night so I wouldn’t get anxious. It had been a while since I’d gone out partying and I was a little intimidated. The fact that Shelby was practically a professional party girl made me feel better because she could show me the ropes, but worse because I knew I’d feel like a dufus next to her. But by the time the day was over, it felt like summer vacation was finally here, even though it was really a couple of weeks away.

  I stopped at the dry cleaners on the way home, hoping I had something decent in the pile of clothes I brought them earlier in the week. My clothes wouldn’t be nearly as stylish as what Shelby and her crew wore, but I thought I might look okay, if a bit more on the conservative side. I tried on a few things and finally settled on a black skirt and a sexy V-neck blouse with cutouts where the shoulders should be. It was made of a silky fabric that not only looked lush and sophisticated, but also felt divine to the touch.

  Earlier that morning Spencer texted me that he would come by to pick up some of his things while I was at work. I texted back that it was fine. When I arrived home, I noticed the shaving kit and toothbrush he usually kept on the bathroom counter were gone. His closet looked more bare, and I noticed some of his shoes he kept in shoe trees on the floor of his closet were missing. It felt strange, but I didn’t see Spencer much anyway, so it felt more like he was on a business trip. The fact that my marriage might finally be ending was an adjustment for sure, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d been grieving the loss of my marriage from the moment I first found another woman’s panties in our bedsheets, five-and-a-half years ago.

  I moved over to my closet and chose a pair of heels higher than I was used to wearing, slipped them on and tottered around, practicing like a little girl playing dress-up.

  Shelby’s town car pulled to a stop in front of my house around nine p.m. My hair fell in tight curls, a result of my curling iron, but I wasn’t finished with it yet, so I invited Shelby inside. To my embarrassment, she brought a guy in with her. J.J. was tall with dark hair that fell in his face, and he wore a long-sleeved polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up and navy shorts with boat shoes. He grinned at me sheepishly and seemed totally casual about my hair being half-done. I offered them both a glass of wine and they followed me into my bedroom, chatting with me room-to-room while I finished my hair in the bathroom.

  Shelby made a big fuss over Felix as he jumped all over her white Chanel jumpsuit, and I couldn’t help but smile seeing Shelby sitting on the floor playing with my dog.

  “Okay, I’m finally ready.” I gave Felix a quick pat, and we headed out the door.

  The stocked bar in the town car kept the party going.
Shelby gave her driver Sam directions, then turned to check with her guests as an afterthought. “Mexican sound okay to y’all?”

  “Always,” I said.

  “Fine by me,” J.J. said.

  “Y’all want anything to drink?” Shelby asked.

  “No, thanks. I’ll wait for a margarita.” I wanted to watch my alcohol intake as much as possible since I’d gotten way out of practice holding my liquor.

  “Me too.” J.J. feasted his eyes on Shelby’s cleavage and put his arm around her shoulders. Shelby snuggled closer to him.

  “How do you two know each other?” I asked, feeling like a third wheel.

  “J.J. plays football for TCU. Wide receiver.” Shelby elbowed J.J. and grinned at me. “I guess he can’t help it, he’s not a Longhorn. But at least he’s local, so that’s a plus.” She giggled and touched her finger to the tip of his nose. “He’s kinda cute. Some of his friends will be meeting us later.”

  I held back a groan. Great. Twenty-year-old hunks. Just what I needed. Guys almost ten years younger than me.

  “What’d you say?” Shelby asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “If you say so,” Shelby said breezily.

  The car drove into the restaurant parking lot.

  “J.J., would you be a dear and go get us a table, please? Sophie and I need just a minute.” Shelby batted her eyelashes at him.

  “Sure, babe.” J.J. slid out of the car, and Sam closed the door behind him.

  “Okay, now what is your beef? Spill.” Shelby glared at me.

  “Shelby, if you want to hang out with guys that young, go for it, but I’m still married. I mean, really. I’m just not comfortable with that. It just makes me feel so Mrs. Robinson-ish.”

  “Oh my God, you are old! What are you, like fifty?” Shelby asked.

  “Shelby, we’re almost thirty.”