Someone else speculated about the availability of a new woman in advertising. Angie rolled her eyes. “She’s married, has two kids, and isn’t interested,” she told the guys from sports. “You could just introduce yourself to a new person and ask, you know.”
Mac was surprised at how much he enjoyed the hour, and he told Angie so when he gave her a ride home afterwards.
“They’re fun,” she agreed. “But don’t say anything you don’t want all around the office.”
Mac snorted, and she grinned. “Right. I forgot. Mr. Strong and Silent,” she teased.
“You go every night?” he asked as he pulled up in front of her apartment complex.
“God, no,” she said. “Once a week is about it for me. Different places, different people. You probably could find a group somewhere within walking distance every night.”
She frowned at him. “Mac?” she asked. “What are you up to?”
“Getting plugged in,” he said. “Like you said.”
“Then try Anchors on Thursday,” she suggested. “That’s where Steve’s boys can be found.”
OK, then, he thought, as he drove out to Bellevue for his next lesson in social networking. And Shorty was nowhere as pretty a guide as Angie.
“You don’t have a Facebook account?” Shorty asked in horror.
Mac snorted. “What would I do with one? When I need information online, I call you. I don’t like people knowing what I am doing or where to find me.”
“Paranoia much?” Shorty muttered. He tapped in the basic information to set up Mac’s Facebook page. Although he couldn’t change the start date without more trouble than he was willing to take, he could make it look more used than it really was. He befriended it, and then he set out to have Mac befriend anyone he could think of. He figured he knew Mac’s friend list as well as he did. And he followed a bunch of Marine pages and cop pages. Mac watched over his shoulder.
“There,” Shorty said. “One macho, cop-loving Marine in place.”
Mac grunted. Shorty walked him through the basics of Facebook and gave him his login codes. “You need to log in several times a day,” he informed Mac. Mac was appalled and it probably showed, because Shorty laughed. “And you need to comment on others posts and post things yourself. You can’t just repost things you like.”
“OK,” Mac said, after he successfully logged in himself. It wasn’t rocket science, after all. Every schmuck on the planet had figured out how to use it.
Shorty was smoking a joint while he worked. He offered it to Mac. Mac took a hit, and it helped.
“What’s got you all up tight?” Shorty asked finally. “This story?”
“The story is bugging me a bit,” he admitted. “But....” He shrugged, and Shorty handed him the joint again. Mac inhaled slowly and let it soothe him.
“Kate,” Shorty guessed.
Mac knew Shorty liked Kate. But he had been vocal that he thought Mac was going to get hurt — sooner or later.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I think we broke up,” Mac admitted. “I thought they were being welcoming. Turns out they were trying to convert me. And I’m never converting.”
Shorty raised one eyebrow. “Did you discuss a compromise like Episcopalians?”
Mac laughed. “I don’t even know enough to know what Episcopalians are,” he said. Well, he did, but why were they a compromise? “But, turns out Kate thinks being gay is a sin, and Lindy makes her uncomfortable.”
“And she’s not told you that before?”
Mac shook his head. Yeah, that was the bigger problem, he thought. She — all of them — had been hiding their feelings from him, in hopes of snaring him in? How would that work? Sooner or later he’d realize that their acceptance was a fraud. “Yeah, I don’t get how that works,” he admitted. “Do they think conversion can be based on lies and not fall apart when the person finds out?”
“Cults flourish all the time,” Shorty pointed out. “Not saying they’re a cult. But people get sucked in, and they start to believe things they would have sworn they never would have believed. Look at you. Would you have believed a year ago anyone could make you stop saying fuck? Stop thinking it? I mean that’s a small thing. But the big stuff works the same way.”
Mac shrugged. He had to admit no one had managed to clean up his language before. And many had tried. But these people made him want to clean it up. To fit in. To please Kate.
“Big stuff like celibacy,” Shorty added.
OK, Mac acknowledged. That was a bigger thing. And he’d adjusted to that too. He was almost embarrassed at how deep in he had gotten. Changes to his lifestyle? He could deal.
“But Lindy,” he said simply.
Shorty nodded. Lindy was like an additional aunt to him. Just not short and brown like the rest of them.
“You think you broke up?” he asked. “Just think?”
“I’ll see if I get an invite to Sunday dinner,” Mac said ruefully. “If I do? I guess I still have breaking up ahead of me. If I don’t? Then maybe we have.”
“Shit, Mac,” Shorty said with disgust. “Breakups should involve shouting and tears, and even a thrown plate or two so everyone knows it’s over, and everyone is relieved.”
Mac laughed shortly and held his hand out for another hit.
By the time Mac got home, he was feeling mellow. Enough so that he checked his Facebook feed as Shorty had told him to — he’d written it all down for him as a matter of fact. Login name and password, followed by check-in times, how to like something — “I am not going to use a heart symbol,” Mac had said in horror. And a kissy heart? What the hell was that? — how to repost. He even gave Mac some quotas to meet so he’d look like a real person.
Shorty might know him too well, Mac thought
