AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She studies my photos and then says, “You probably need to reconsider your filters. Remember I said sunny and bright?”
“But how do I get followers?”
“My God,” she huffs. She crosses the ballroom. I follow on her heel. “Give me the phone.”
I hand it to her and watch as her fingers work their magic. “Here,” she says. “I just bought you ten thousand.”
“That’s it? Ten thousand? You said some people have millions.”
Beth looks at me softly, and this is how I know I’ve learned her love language. This is how I know I’m in. “Yes,” she says. “But you’ll want to take things slowly. You don’t want too much too soon. People will notice.”
It’s like she’s speaking directly to my heart.
“Right,” I murmur. We stand there watching the number of followers as it ticks upwards. “Are these even real people?”
“Some of them.”
My face breaks out into a grin. It feels good to be liked. “When can I buy more?”
“Give it a few days. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to our guests.”
I nod, and I can’t wait to tell Tom about this. He’ll be amused to know followers are the same as those numbers he’s been poring over. Unsubstantial. And yet they offer the promise of so much.
I stand in the corner, checking out the profiles of some of my new followers. It’s amazing what you can learn about people. If Tom doesn’t shape up, this seems like a totally viable way to meet a second husband. How great will it be not to have to wait to find out what they’re worth? What a time saver this is. It’s right there at my fingertips.
At one point, Beth comes over and reminds me I’m supposed to be mingling. I really have no idea how I’m supposed to fulfill the obligations of my new online life and the real one. I don’t know how she expects me to get followers and likes if I’m not online. And I found out the hard way that people in real life really do not appreciate it if they’re trying to have a conversation with you, and you’re staring at your phone. I feel like I can’t win. Talk about a rock and a hard place.
r />
Anyway, it’s not like I’m missing much. In real life, there’s a band and dancing and lots of boring people. I haven’t had enough to drink to feel like partaking in either. But on Instalook, Beth is right. I do need to change my filters up. Everything is bright and beautiful.
Eventually, my battery dies, and this seems like as good a sign as any to go and find that husband of mine. I come up behind him and palm his backside. “We should sneak away,” I whisper in his ear.
“Melanie, there you are,” he says, which makes no sense because he moves away from me. This is probably because he’s standing with Adam, another church leader. Adam is not a fan of mine. I blame his wife. She’s always giving me dirty looks. In fact, she’s wearing one now.
“Why would we do that?” Tom asks out in the open.
“Why do you think?” I say. “There’s nothing so intimate as a large party.” I smile sweetly and sidle up close to him. Tom hates to be touched outside of the bedroom. But he’s good at pretending. “Fitzgerald said that.”
This is probably why Cheryl hates me. She seems like the kind of person who dislikes anything intimate. I can tell by the way her husband gawks at me. He’s practically salivating. She takes an awful lot of care not to notice.
“Excuse me,” Tom tells our company. “I think my lady wants to dance.”
“Horizontally,” I confess. Then I lean in close to Adam and Cheryl, and just so there’s no confusion, I say, “the tango.”
Tom frowns in my direction. He really hates it when I embarrass him in front of his highbrow friends.
On my way out of the ladies room, someone grabs me by my forearm. “Mel?” I turn to see it’s Vanessa. I stare for a moment. I hardly recognize her. She looks completely different.
“Vanessa?”
“It’s me.” She smiles excitedly as though there’s no bad blood between us. As though she didn’t stick a knife in my back.
“Wow—” I say. “Your hair—and your—”
“I know. My husband wanted a redhead.” She points to her face. “With freckles.”
“Wait, you have fake freckles?” I’d just been reading about those on Instalook. I want to ask if it hurts. But then, what do I care?
