Wife 22

I watch William clenching his jaw. Why is he so stressed? The clients are smiling and drunk. There’s a lot of press. The launch is a success as far as I can see.

“Can we get out of here, Alice?” asks William.

“Now? But the band hasn’t even started. I was really looking forward to hearing some live music.”

“Alice, I’m tired. Let’s go, please.”

“William!” a trio of attractive young men circles around us—also members of William’s team.

After William has introduced me to Joaquin, Harry, and Urminder, Urminder says, “So, I was ego surfing today.”

“And the day before,” says Joaquin.

“And the day before,” says Kelly.

“Will you allow me to finish?” asks Urminder.

“Let me guess,” says Harry. “1,234,589 hits.”

“Dumb-ass,” says Urminder.

“Way to steal his thunder, Har,” says Kelly.

“Now 5,881 sounds pathetic,” pouts Urminder.

“10,263 definitively does not sound pathetic,” says Harry.

“Or 20,534,” says Kelly.

“You’re all lying,” says Joaquin.

“Don’t be jealous, Mr. 1,031,” says Kelly. “It’s unbecoming.”

“50,287,” says William, silencing everybody.

“Dude,” says Urminder.

“That’s because you won that Clio,” says Harry. “How long ago was that, boss? Nineteen eighty—?”

“Keep it up, Harry, and I’ll take you off semiconductors and put you on feminine hygiene,” says William.

I can’t hide the startled look on my face. They’re having a competition over how many hits their names bring up. And the hits are all in the thousands?

“Now look what you’ve done. Alice is appalled,” says Kelly. “And I don’t blame her. We’re a bunch of petty narcissists.”

“No, no, no. I wasn’t judging. I think it’s fun. Ego surfing. Everybody does it, don’t they? They’re just not brave enough to admit it.”

“What about you, Alice? Googled yourself lately?” asks Urminder.

William shakes his head. “There’s no need for Alice to Google herself. She doesn’t have a public life.”

“Really? And what kind of a life do I have?” I ask.

“A good life. A meaningful life. Just a smaller life.” William pinches the skin between his eyes. “Sorry, kids, it’s been fun, but we’ve got to go. We have a bridge to cross.”

“Do you have to?” asks Kelly. “I hardly ever see Alice.”

“He’s right,” I say. “I promised the kids we’d be home by ten. School night and all.”

Kelly and the three young men head for the bar.

“A small life?” I say.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t be so sensitive,” says William, scanning the room. “Besides, I’m right. When’s the last time you Googled yourself?”

“Last week. 128 hits,” I lie.

“Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Alice, please, I don’t have time for this. Help me find Frank. I need to check in with him.”

I sigh. “He’s over there, by the windows. Come on.”

William puts his hand on my shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

There’s no traffic on the bridge and I wish there was. Heading home is usually something I relish: the anticipation of getting into my pajamas, curling up on the couch with the clicker, the kids asleep upstairs (or pretending to be asleep but likely texting and IM’ing away in their beds)—but tonight I’d like to stay in the car and just drive somewhere, anywhere. The evening has been dislocating, and I’m unable to shake the feeling that William is embarrassed by me.

“Why are you so quiet? Did you have too much to drink?” he asks.

“Tired,” I mumble.

“Frank Potter is a piece of work.”

“I like him.”

“You like Frank Potter? He’s such a player.”

“Yes, but he’s honest. He doesn’t try and hide the fact. And he’s always been kind to me.”

William taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the radio. I close my eyes.

“Alice?”

“What?”

“You seem funny lately.”