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When the video Ava made of Maryanne and her household goods hit the web, it had gone viral too quickly. Other people had become intimately familiar with it before she’d even known what it was. But after a 24-hour incubation period, the virus was all too familiar now, a burning sensation that refused to go away.
As Maryanne reached out to grab the bottle of tequila, she paused, feeling that familiar sensation again. She spun around, just in time to see the checkout girl at the liquor store counter quickly whip her phone out of sight. Maryanne was certain that a moment ago the phone had been recording her.
“Was I just snapchatted?” Maryanne asked as she handed the girl the bottle.
“Yeah,” the girl said, grinning too widely, probably to seem less embarrassed than she actually was, “My boyfriend loves your meme. Guess I kind of invaded your privacy though, hunh.”
Maryanne grinned charitably at the girl’s non apology and said, “The last girl who snapchatted me stepped on my foot. That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“That sucks,” the girl said, “But on the other hand, you’re sorta famous now, so that’s something.”
“Is it?” Maryanne asked, “I don’t know if it is something.”
The girl shrugged and said, “I saw that thing on Vulture though. All those companies and whatnot trying to imitate your video. That’s huge for you.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t make the video,” now Maryanne was the one grinning too widely, “It was just my face. And some of my stuff.”
“Hm,” the girl said, and after a moment’s consideration cancelled the order. She slipped the bottle into a bag and handed it to Maryanne, “No charge.”
Maryanne hurried out of the store, but kept the bottle cradled firmly in the crook of her arm like a newborn. She walked to the corner and after pausing there for a moment, took out her phone and called Glen.
“Hey,” he answered, “Where are you?”
“Stopped in a rut at the intersection of depressed and drunk,” she replied, “You the roadside assistance guy?” She forced a laugh and continued, “I don’t actually know where I am. But I did just get a bottle of tequila for free. Of course I don’t have a blender or margarita glasses, any glasses really, or even any limes. While we’re at it, I don’t have a couch either. Anyway, that’s me. What’s new with you?”
“I’m looking at some video,” Glen replied.
“What of?”
“Hard to describe,” Glen replied, “You want to see it?”
“I’m sort’ve focused on my own video at the moment. Have you checked it lately?”
“Somebody tweeted that you hit a million views.”
“Ava hit a million, not me,” Maryanne replied. She turned back around and walked past the liquor store, toward the other corner. “I got 37 texts though. Granted, mostly from frenemies who always wanted to piss on my blog but never had a socially acceptable opportunity to do so.”
“That sucks,” Glen said, “I’m sorry,”
“I know you are,” Maryanne replied, once more grinning as widely as she had at the liquor store.
“I love you,” Glen said.
“I know you do,” Maryanne replied, then turned around and started walking back toward the other corner. “I wonder if there are any homeless guys around? We could share the free bottle of tequila and our possession-free existence.”
It was a moment before Glen spoke again, “You’re not near your office.”
“No, that’s the best part,” Maryanne replied, “Tiffany gave me a leave of absence before I left for lunch, so that I could ‘deal with all of the distractions.’So yeah, that job’s over. The other assistants just took me out drinking, and assistants don’t pay for your drinks unless somebody died.”
When she returned to the corner she’d walked away from only moments ago, Maryanne paused, then glanced at the corner she’d just come from and said, “Fuck.”
“What?” Glen replied.
“I’m trying to decide what to do now, and I’m doing a shitty job.” All around her sober professionals were popping out for their late lunches, shirts still crisp and hair still made. “It’s just really, painfully awkward feeling this drunk,” she continued, “in the middle of a wednesday, anyway.”
“Why don’t you just come home,” Glen said.
“I think,” Maryanne said distractedly as she squinted at the impossibly bright sunlight being kicked off of every car that zoomed by, “I think I need to sleep in an actual bed tonight. I was leaning toward the Fairmont?”
“Aren’t rooms at the Fairmount like, $500?”
“Yeah,” Maryanne replied as she unconsciously opened the bottle of tequila, “But collapsing into a perfectly made bed, in a perfectly anonymous, upholstered room. That would be heaven, with a lock on the door.”
“You sure you’d rather sleep there?”
“No I’m not sure!” Maryanne shouted, and took a slug of the tequila. “Shouldn’t you be though?! You’re supposed to be my goddamn husband. We’re like newlyweds, and I just said I’m not coming home tonight! Shouldn’t that bother you!?”
“It does.”
“Then act like it! What if I never came home?!”
“If this is about Ava, I’d rather we not talk about it on the phone.”
“Why the fuck not?” Maryanne replied, “Honestly, either you screwed her in college, or a year ago, or whatever. I don’t care anymore. God only knows how many guys I fucked a year ago. I just don’t want to hear her name for a day. One day!”
“I’m really not trying to avoid this conversation,” Glen said, “but there’s some video I think you should—“
Maryanne hung up and started walking without bothering to look where she was going. Which brought her immediately into the street, into oncoming traffic. She heard the screech of tires before she turned toward the car. It was trying to stop, but it was too close to able to stop in time.
The impact threw her to the ground, but when she opened her eyes a moment later, she saw it wasn’t the car that had hit her. It was Glen, who’d somehow figured out where she was, raced to the intersection, and thrown them both to the curb in just enough time to evade the car.
“You smell like a free bottle of tequila,” he said with a grin.
It was true. Her free bottle of tequila was smashed on the ground next to her and seeping into their clothes. As they eased themselves onto the curb, the motorist who’d almost hit them glanced from the shattered bottle, to the disheveled pair and started rolling away with a shake of the head. A moment later though, he threw on the brakes, looking to have finally recognized Maryanne. He snapped a photo with his phone, took a moment to post, then drove away without another glance in their direction.
When the motorist was gone, Glen held up his phone to show Maryanne the two blue dots in the middle of a map, signifying their shared position.
“Remember when were stuck at the airport and I put our phones into ‘stalk me’ mode?”
Maryanne rested her head on his shoulder, “Looks like it worked.”
She looked down at her knees, freshly bloodied from the fall, and said, “It was insurance fraud. The whole thing. I agreed to let a guy rob our apartment while we were on vacation.”
“Was he about five feet, nine inches?” Glen asked, “Shaved head, big glasses?”
Maryanne lifted her head up and looked at him in silence for a moment before saying, “How the fuck did you know that?”
“Just found out actually,” Glen said, sticking the phone into his pocket and getting up.
“What?”
Glen reached his hand out to help her up and replied, “I really think you should see this video.”
————
Ava sat on the bed and studied the family tree. She followed the branches of various ancestors down the paper, letting her hands trail along each life lived and pruned away, until she finally arrived at her own branch. She covered it with her hand for a moment before finally removing it. As the hand came away, she unconsciously wiped it on her pants as if the memory was sticky and contagious yet somehow preventable if she could just wipe it away.
With the paper still in her hand, she stood up and carefully scanned the apartment, retracing her steps from the kitchen and back to the living room, where she turned a full 360 on her heel to see if she’d moved anything out of place.
Ava picked up her purse from where she had tossed it on the bed and dug through it until she found the burner phone labeled “assistants.” She flipped it open and dialed the first number on speed dial.
When a male voice answered, she said, “Did you book the downtown one bedroom?”
“I did, usual price,” the voice replied, “Everything okay?”
“No, the apartment needs to be cleaned,” she said into the phone.
“Cool, I’ll get somebody there in an hour.”
Ava couldn’t place the voice and so asked, “Have we had sex?”
“Nope,” the assistant replied.
“I am really letting myself go,” Ava said.
“How’s that?”
“Nothing,” she replied, “I’m talking to myself and you happen to be on the phone.” She looked around the apartment once more, then asked, “Whose renting this?”
“Let me see…,” the assistant said, “Kira and Steven Wong. She’s a designer, he’s a trainer.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ava replied, “The place is too messy for anyone to be renting. Their rating would go down the toilet. It’s a fake listing.”
“I don’t think so,” the assistant replied, “Cause I picked up the key myself actually, and left them there for you under the plant. The guy was in the apartment when I got it.”
“Yes, but was it Steven…whatever his name is?”
“No, he said he was his friend.”
Ava looked back down at the paper, at her own name, and then to the name immediately to the right of hers, Glen Esposito.
She traced two fingers over the two lines, and then followed them down to a single, unmarked line beneath them, “Did you get his name?”
“No,”
“What’d he look like?”
“I don’t know,” The assistant replied, “Young guy, medium height I guess, shaved head. And he had these really thick glasses on.” After a moment, the assistant asked, “You really think it’s a fake listing?”
“This was my apartment in college,” Ava replied, “And somehow, years after I left it, it looks exactly the way it was when I left it.”
“That’s random,” the assistant replied.
“No, actually it’s the opposite of random,” Ava said as she continued to stare down at the family tree. Then, realizing something, she immediately looked up at the ceiling.
And there it was, a camera so small it could have been a nailhead.
—————
“That’s the guy,” Maryanne replied with a shake of the head, “The guy I let break into our apartment,” she leaned back onto the floor and said, “I wish I hadn’t dropped that tequila.”
Maryanne was finally watching the video Glen had wanted her to see, footage from one of his cameras set up to watch a city corner. On that corner, looking down at his phone intently, stood the man who had robbed their apartment.
Glen cycled through a number of screen shots from other cameras. The man was in every one, in each image, looking directly at the camera.
“He’s visited almost every camera I’ve still got active,” Glen replied, “How did he get you to agree to the break in?”
“Honestly, I’ve been pitched stupider ideas,” Maryanne replied, “You have no idea how many shitty ad agencies and content sites reach out to you because they want to do a partnership. Basically steal your ideas. But this guy actually had, like, actual vision.”
“How so?”
“He was just fucking omniscient,” Maryanne replied, “He knew my site traffic. He knew it was down. He knew which sites might pick up a story about my stuff getting stolen and why. He even knew which shit to steal so it would pagerank higher in search. And even if we got zero pickup, he’d still get the stuff and I’d still get the insurance money.”
“Do you need money?”
“Of course I need money!” Maryanne said, sitting up, “I’m a fucking assistant! My phone’s on a pay-as-you-go plan! Obviously sitting here now in our empty apartment, yeah it was a stupid, like impossibly stupid, idea. But he didn’t say he was going to take EVERYTHING. And I didn’t think our dopey coolsurance broker from bumble-town was going to accuse me of fraud. Because technically I wasn’t even in on it. He broke in on his own.”
“But the police said there were no signs of a break in.”
“How is that my fault?” Maryanne, said, “I mean, technically yes, it’s completely my fault. But I mean, who in real life could actually do that? No sign of entry?” She glanced back to the video, where the man was still looking at whatever was on his phone.
“I’m assuming you never got his name,” Glen said.
“He said the less I knew about him, the less likely I’d be to let something slip. And why are you asking me? You’re the one taping him.”
“I’m not.”
“You just happen to have footage of him on every camera you’ve got up?”
“The guy who gave me my suitcases back described this guy as the one who dropped them with a delivery. I figured since I’ve got cameras up all over town, maybe one would have a hit. But they all do. He hit every one.”
“Fine, so we just wait around on one your corners until he comes back and we’ve got him.”
“This footage isn’t recorded,” Glen replied, pointing at the window on his laptop, “It’s live.”
“Live?” Maryanne stood up excitedly, “Where?”
“About 15 blocks away.”
“Then let’s go.”
Glen shook his head and said, “The moment we leave this apartment he’ll be gone.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll know we left.”
“How would be know that?”
“Have you noticed,” Glen said, pointing at the video, “He’s been staring at his phone this whole time, but his thumb hasn’t moved. He’s not scrolling, so he’s watching something.”
“So he’s binging his favorite show.”
Glen shook his head and said, “Not on a street corner with no headphones. Do me a favor and raise your right hand, slowly.”
“Fine,” Maryanne said impatiently as she raised her arm in the air."
“Now, slowly,” Glen said, “Swing your arm side to side, like you’re waving.”
Maryanne waved, and a moment later on Glen’s laptop screen, so did the man on the corner.