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  From that night on, Maxine and Jake never lived apart again.

  Maxine had planned on going back to Cleveland and staying with her parents until she figured out what to do, but instead she went to Boston with Jake. From his first year in medical school, Jake was a star, so he was always getting exciting opportunities to study and work in the best hospitals in the country. Maxine was excited to be able to live in so many great places—from San Francisco to New Orleans—but it was impossible for her to hold on to a job for more than a year, making it hard to establish herself and her own career. When she thought about it, she realized that summer in Europe was the first and last time Jake followed her instead of the other way around.

  After they got married and Jake finished school, Maxine hoped they’d settle on one of the coasts. But Jake’s best offer was at a teaching hospital in Kansas City, so Maxine agreed that’s where they should go. She knew not to complain. How many struggling artists had rich husbands to support them? She could take classes, build a studio, and have plenty of time to paint without having to worry about getting a job.

  Not only that, Jake started to get invitations from around the world to speak at conferences and seminars, and he always brought Maxine along. Sometimes they would take months off at a time to do charity work in Africa or Southeast Asia.

  Yes, it was all pretty spectacular. So what was the problem? The problem was that, at a certain point, they stopped having sex.

  Literally—no sex. None.

  When Maxine allowed herself to think about when and how this could have happened, she knew the answer right away. It was when she got pregnant with her first child, Matthew.

  Jake was a doctor, and he always said how beautiful women were when they were pregnant. But when it happened to Maxine—when her belly ballooned and her ankles swelled and her ass widened and her face got plump and she was constantly chewing on Tums to relieve her indigestion and little patches of brown formed on her face—it all seemed less beautiful to Jake. By the fifth month, he barely touched her, which was fine with Maxine, who felt miserable, ugly, and not at all sexual. Then came breastfeeding. When the weight came off, Jake was ready to go, but Maxine was dry as a bone, so she held him off for six months until she decided to stop, partly because she worried her marriage wouldn’t survive.

  But while the sex resumed, it wasn’t quite the same. Maxine wondered if it had something to do with childbirth, with Jake standing over her as she lay sprawled on a hospital bed, her legs spread and a variety of multicolored tubes hanging out of her. Yes, seeing their son’s head emerge from her vagina must have been an amazing experience, but wouldn’t that vision change the way he saw that particular body part—no longer a locus of pleasure but now simply a component of a larger baby-making machine?

  It was subtle, but Maxine detected the difference right away. Jake kissed her less when they had sex. He avoided looking into her eyes. He developed a preference for doggy style. Maxine thought about saying something to Jake, but they had never been a couple who talked about sex. And what would be the point anyway? Maxine hoped it was only a phase.

  Then she got pregnant two years later with Abby. This time during pregnancy, she felt more horny than she ever had in her life, but Jake’s abstinence started even sooner—at four months. So she satisfied herself with Jackie Collins’s entire oeuvre and a few early-morning sessions on her own when she had the chance.

  Maxine breastfed Abby for only three months, figuring it was better to get back to having sex with Jake sooner rather than later. But this time he was even more distant, and they were doing it less and less. Then came baby number three, Suzanne, two years later. By that time, their sex life had become so erratic, so detached, so unsatisfying, that the gradual progression to no sex at all was practically a relief. Besides, they were both too tired to even think about doing it, and it seemed that there was always at least one kid in their bed almost every night.

  So there they were, the perfect couple, without the sex. Jake made up for it by jacking up his public displays of affection, as if he wanted the rest of the world to believe they had a loving, healthy physical relationship. He held her hand, rubbed her shoulders, gave her long soft kisses. Maxine’s friends would comment on how amazing it was, how Jake was so clearly still madly in love with her, and Maxine would just smile and shrug her shoulders. How lucky she was!

  She couldn’t bring herself to talk about it with her friends, not even her best friend, Katie, to whom she had always told everything. Maxine couldn’t let herself think about it too long either, so she threw herself into parenthood and painting, determined to not only be a great mother but also to find real success as an artist.

  And she did.

  It started with shows in the best local galleries. Then she began showing in galleries in New York and L.A. Soon, invitations from contemporary museums all over the country started coming in. There were talks with visiting artists and fancy dinners with collectors and glowing reviews in newspapers and art magazines. Finally she had achieved a success in her world that Jake had achieved in the world of medicine.

  Maxine knew Jake was proud of her, but there was something missing. As with the sex, he seemed detached. No one else noticed, of course, because he would always be hanging all over her, smiling lovingly and kneading her shoulders. But Maxine could feel it. He just wasn’t all there.

  Then one night after dinner, Maxine needed the number of the pediatrician’s office but couldn’t find her cell phone. Jake’s BlackBerry was sitting on the kitchen counter; she picked it up. Maxine had never used a BlackBerry before, so she started pressing random buttons. A list of recent text messages came up, and there was only one name. Deirdre.

  Deirdre was the newest doctor in Jake’s practice. She was a graduate of Brown University and did her residency at the Cleveland Clinic. When Deirdre arrived in Kansas City to start her new job, Jake and Maxine hosted a cocktail party for her.

  The first thing Maxine thought when Deirdre walked into the house that night was that she looked like a better version of herself. Deirdre was thirty-two, tall, and athletic, with silky blond hair, flawless skin, and blue-green eyes that seemed to change color like the waters off a Greek island. Maxine was forty-two, short, and slim, with dirty-blond hair, pale freckled skin, and eyes the color of the murky waters off Manhattan. Maxine had always felt she was cute enough, that she actually looked pretty good for a mother of three, but Deirdre’s otherworldly beauty set off an insecurity she’d never experienced before.

  “That Deirdre is pretty amazing,” Maxine said to Jake when they were climbing into bed after the party.

  “Yeah, really bright,” he said casually. “We were lucky to get her.”

  “And beautiful. She’s very beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.”

  “I guess,” he said, remaining nonchalant. “I think she’s got a boyfriend.”

  Maxine smiled to herself. She knew Jake found Deirdre attractive—how could he not?—and she appreciated his effort to comfort her with the news of Deirdre’s boyfriend. Not for a moment did Maxine consider that Jake would cheat on her. Never. Jake was the most honest, upstanding guy she had ever met, and, despite their issues in bed, she knew he loved her and respected her and would never do anything to hurt her. Sure, she was a little jealous of Deirdre. Who wouldn’t be? But she trusted Jake completely.

  Until she saw those text messages. Couldn’t there be an innocent excuse? she thought. Maybe they’d been going back and forth about a patient. Maybe they were discussing a movie they’d both seen. All Maxine had to do was open one up and she’d know for sure, but she simply couldn’t do it. In her heart, she knew what she would find.

  Jake had never texted Maxine in his life, and clearly he wasn’t texting anyone else but Deirdre. Texting was something young people did, and Deirdre was young. It was something intimate, a mode of communication just for her.

  Maxine put down the phone and locked herself in the small bathroom in the finished bas
ement. She sat on the floor for half an hour and cried. Then she got up, washed her face, and went to bed. She slept fine that night, not even hearing when Jake came to bed an hour later.

  The next morning, after she brought the kids to school, Maxine sat in her studio, staring at the canvas she had been working on over the last week. She tried to paint but couldn’t do it. So she sat on the living room couch and turned on the TV. Regis and Kelly were interviewing a young movie star Maxine had never heard of. They were talking about the star’s parents, her love of french fries, and her next movie. Maxine started flipping the channels until she came to an E! True Hollywood Story about Jennifer Aniston.

  It was an in-depth documentary with all the crucial details of Jen’s life: her rise to fame, her early loves, her marriage to Brad, and the breakup. Maxine was fascinated. More than ever, she couldn’t believe all the many parallels between her life and Jen’s—the career success, the perfect marriage. And then Angelina came along.

  That was it! Deirdre was Maxine’s Angelina! Deirdre was more gorgeous, more successful, more intelligent, and she shared a connection to Jake that Maxine never had—medicine.

  As she watched Jen’s story unfold, Maxine began to feel like she was getting a glimpse of what was in store for her. She wondered if Jen, too, had begun to feel her husband pull away long before their breakup. She wondered if Jen had trusted Brad implicitly. She wondered if Jen knew, deep down, what was coming before it happened.

  Most of all, she wanted to see how it would all turn out in the end. What would happen to Jen after leaving the love of her life, the perfect man, her happily ever after? But the show ended before these questions could be answered.

  Of course, Maxine felt foolish. Couldn’t she find a great literary character to identify with instead of a movie star? A Madame Bovary? An Anna Karenina? A Lady Macbeth?

  But who would want to identify with those tragic figures anyway? Better she should relate to the hot chick with the amazing legs, the sunny smile, and the millions of dollars.

  So Maxine got up from the TV and went straight to her computer, where she searched for everything she could find about Jen and Brad and Angelina. She read for hours, soon finding other couples to read about and find similarities to. There seemed to be an endless stream of stories and betrayals and lessons to be learned.

  Maxine didn’t know what she was going to do about her own situation. Would she confront Jake? Would she forgive him? Would she leave him? But maybe she could find the answers somewhere here, online, in the lives of the rich and famous.

  Chapter Three

  Claudia had a lot of good reasons for hating her husband. Steve had lost his job as a research analyst during a brutal round of layoffs almost a year ago and hadn’t worked since—completely for lack of trying. Friends, family, people on the street, had given him plenty of leads, but somehow he always managed to not get the job. He sat around the house all day—watching TV, playing videogames, and surfing the Net—leaving only to take the girls to school and pick them up from soccer practice. While he usually managed to wash the dishes, he never picked up a mop, cleaned the toilet, or dusted the furniture. He left that to the cleaning woman, who still came once a week, even though they could have used the extra cash.

  But what Claudia really couldn’t stand about Steve was how he had made her into such a raging bitch.

  Not only was she bitchy to Steve, she was bitchy to her daughters, bitchy to her coworkers, bitchy to salespeople, waiters, the mailman, and everyone else she came in contact with. Her friends, who managed to escape the ill will mostly by plying her with alcohol until she loosened up, finally confronted her about it.

  “Claudia, we’re worried about you,” said Katie.

  “Worried about what? I’m fine,” said Claudia defensively.

  “You’ve just been so … high-strung lately,” said Maxine.

  “I know, I know,” said Claudia. “It’s Steve. He’s making me crazy!”

  “It can’t be all about Steve,” said Annie. Annie was their never-been-married friend. She had no idea what a husband could do to a woman.

  “Believe me, it’s all about Steve,” said Claudia.

  “Well, whatever it’s about, we think you need to talk to someone,” said Katie.

  So she went and talked to someone. Claudia described to the doctor how the mild annoyance she had been building up toward her husband over the years had lately turned into all-out hate. She told him that Steve was a lazy good-for-nothing whose only ambition was to reach the highest level of Halo. She told him that Steve watched everyone from Rachael Ray to Paula Deen to Emeril on the Food Network but never once got off his ass to make dinner for the family. And, to top it all off, he had thrown himself into Facebook, creating an alternate universe for himself where he wasn’t such a pathetic loser.

  Yes, the Facebook thing was what really got her. Claudia had joined two years ago because it was a requirement for attending her twenty-year high school reunion, and Steve decided he’d sign up too. For the first year they pretty much ignored it, passively acquiring “friends” but never posting anything or seeking anyone out. But when Steve lost his job, he went on a frenzied friend-acquisition spree, racking up some five hundred friends. His five or so “real” friends would call him up and ask him to go out for lunch or to play a round of golf or have a drink with the guys, but Steve always refused, preferring to stay home and interact online with his five hundred fake friends. Claudia figured he’d rather be the cool, funny Facebook guy than the depressed, boring, unemployed guy who had to be cheered up by his buddies.

  Steve was one of those perpetual status updaters, but instead of telling the truth (“Watching Rachael Ray make a turkey lasagna and thinking about the Chinese takeout we’ll have tonight” or “Just wondering how many brain cells die from three straight hours of Call of Duty”), he’d write vague, elliptical posts about exotic travel (“Anyone know if it’s OK to drink the water in Cambodia?”) and philosophers he’d never read (“I’m gonna vote ‘no’ on Nietzsche’s theory of eternal return”).

  And whenever they went somewhere as a family—a restaurant, the girls’ soccer game, the mountains of Colorado—Steve would always be on his iPhone, punching in his status. “Bacon burger topped with brie. Gotta try it!” “Sandy and Janie the big scorers!” “No place better than the Colorado Rockies!” he’d enthuse, even though he didn’t seem to be particularly interested in the burger, the game, or the view.

  It was bad enough that Steve had sunk so low, but his insistence on making everyone else think he was at the top of the world made it all the worse.

  So Claudia stopped going on Facebook. In fact, she began to shun all forms of electronic communication, seeing them as an evil plot to disguise the truth and ultimately prevent real human interaction. At the public relations firm where Claudia worked, everyone used email and instant messaging and texting to communicate, never calling or actually getting up from their desk and speaking directly to their coworkers. Claudia decided she would single-handedly change the corporate culture. So when she got an IM from her boss, who sat in a cubicle two feet away, saying, “Did you look over that press release?” Claudia peeked over the fabric-covered wall and answered, “Yes.”

  That was how Claudia got over her chronic bitchiness.

  After working at the firm for three years, Claudia knew barely a quarter of the two-hundred-some employees. But once she started following her new face-to-face policy, she discovered that there were a lot of cool, interesting people in her office. Like Fred in accounts payable.

  “Fred?” she said, peeking into his cubicle. Claudia had emailed Fred frequently over the years but had never taken the trip up to the fourth floor to meet him in person.

  “Yes?” Fred looked a bit startled sitting there behind his desk, far from the hustle and bustle of the lower floors filled with account executives and art directors.

  “Hi. I’m Claudia from downstairs.”

  “Oh, yes, Claudia. What c
an I do for you?”

  At first, Fred didn’t make much of an impression on Claudia. But when she took a closer look she noticed his beautiful green eyes, and she thought she detected a nicely shaped biceps lying underneath that crisp white oxford shirt.

  “One of our vendors has been waiting three months for his check. I figured it must have gotten lost, so I’m bringing up another copy of his invoice.”

  “Oh. I see.” Fred took the invoice from Claudia, still appearing a little confused. “You know, you can just email invoices to me if you want,” he said, waving the piece of paper in the air as if it was a useless artifact from a bygone era.

  “I know,” said Claudia, “but I thought it would be nice to meet you.”

  “Really?” Fred smiled, exposing a nice straight row of teeth. “Wow. I don’t think any of you guys have ever ventured up to the fourth floor. And certainly not just to meet me! I’m honored.”

  “Aw, shucks, Fred. Don’t tell me you have an accounts-payable complex.” Claudia stepped into the cubicle and sat on a portion of the desk.

  “Well, yeah. I guess I do. You creative types intimidate me.” Fred scooted his chair back a bit, making room for Claudia.

  “Creative types? Ha! You obviously have no idea what I do.”

  “Then maybe you can explain it to me sometime,” said Fred, his initial shyness beginning to evaporate.

  The fact that Claudia didn’t wear a wedding ring—she simply didn’t like rings—had never posed any problems during her thirteen-year marriage to Steve, since she always had a wall around her that served the purpose of keeping men at a distance. But now that she was opening herself up to new people and being so friendly, she realized that wedding rings can perform an important function.

  “Once I figure out what the hell I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Claudia laughed nervously, standing up and backing out of the cubicle. “Well, I should head downstairs. Come and visit sometime,” she added, regretting it once she did. Was she leading him on?