involved.”
“What’s the harm in asking a simple question? I’m just curious. All the women in that office were drop-dead gorgeous, but only she was dressed in a provocative manner.”
I thought about that, happy that Zee had made the same observations I had but not happy with her decision to get involved. If she kept this up, I might be the one putting someone under lock and key for her own good.
“What about La Tanya? Is she gorgeous?”
Zee grinned. “Think Whitney Houston.”
“Before or after Bobby Brown?”
“Before.”
I raised my eyebrows in a silent, appreciative wow .
The chat room was hopping with meaningless banter. I looked at the notes to the right-hand side of my keyboard and confirmed that I was in the right place. On the paper were the names of three Internet chat rooms frequented by Perfect4u. The one I was currently in was the one in which she and Knotdead had met and continued to use for their online rendezvous before switching to private instant messages. Lil had told me that Knotdead was the screen name used by Brian Eddy.
Lil had agreed to not go online as Perfect4u anymore and to let me use the screen name to try and ferret out information about her son. She had given me a list with her password and the three chat rooms in which she had played as a twenty-something hottie.
I could tell she wasn’t happy that her fantasy life had come to a screeching halt, but in the end Lil realized that her double life wasn’t such a good idea. But even though she understood the serious situation her activities had created, I wondered if she would succumb to the call of the tech-age fountain of youth and create a new alter ego to continue cruising the web for excitement. Who knows, thinking the odds were in her favor that something this bizarre would never happen again—besides, she only had one son—maybe she was already playing cyber footsie somewhere under another name.
In an attempt to not throw stones at my friend, I took a moment to honestly examine myself. Internet chat didn’t particularly attract me, but what if I could convince someone I was a size four and twenty-two years old? Would I enjoy it? Would I be drawn into the double life out of unhappiness or frustration with the inevitable march of time? Hard to say.
Cupping a mug of hot tea in my hands, I sat in our home office and watched the meaningless chat scroll by, line by line, in an upward-moving waterfall of words. I took note of who was present. Or, more importantly, who was not present. Greg had taken the day shift both Monday and Tuesday, signing on as Perfect4u during the day and keeping the chat room open while he worked. He said Knotdead showed up only once, and that was this morning around ten o’clock. Unfortunately, Greg was away from the computer at the time and didn’t see the message, which contained several hellos and several pleas of talk to me and professions of love.
Greg was more amused, however, by the numerous other messages sent to Perfect4u, all from men and all obviously acquainted with her in a flirtatious and sexual way, though not in person. He’d told me over dinner tonight that some of the messages had been quite steamy. In fact, at one point, he announced that he had spent a little time conversing as Perfect4u, and the experience had given him some ideas. When my husband winked at me across the meatloaf, I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or frightened. Maybe I should be both.
Tonight it was my turn to stand guard as Perfect4u in search of contact with Knotdead. Greg had returned to Ocean Breeze Graphics to finish up a large rush project for an important customer. He was also breaking in a new assistant. Boomer, his faithful and talented right-hand man for many years, had recently gotten married and moved to Colorado with his lovely bride.
Greg had mentored Boomer, a pierced and alternative-looking teen with a minor juvenile record and bad home life, when no one else would give him a
“What’s the harm in asking a simple question? I’m just curious. All the women in that office were drop-dead gorgeous, but only she was dressed in a provocative manner.”
I thought about that, happy that Zee had made the same observations I had but not happy with her decision to get involved. If she kept this up, I might be the one putting someone under lock and key for her own good.
“What about La Tanya? Is she gorgeous?”
Zee grinned. “Think Whitney Houston.”
“Before or after Bobby Brown?”
“Before.”
I raised my eyebrows in a silent, appreciative wow .
The chat room was hopping with meaningless banter. I looked at the notes to the right-hand side of my keyboard and confirmed that I was in the right place. On the paper were the names of three Internet chat rooms frequented by Perfect4u. The one I was currently in was the one in which she and Knotdead had met and continued to use for their online rendezvous before switching to private instant messages. Lil had told me that Knotdead was the screen name used by Brian Eddy.
Lil had agreed to not go online as Perfect4u anymore and to let me use the screen name to try and ferret out information about her son. She had given me a list with her password and the three chat rooms in which she had played as a twenty-something hottie.
I could tell she wasn’t happy that her fantasy life had come to a screeching halt, but in the end Lil realized that her double life wasn’t such a good idea. But even though she understood the serious situation her activities had created, I wondered if she would succumb to the call of the tech-age fountain of youth and create a new alter ego to continue cruising the web for excitement. Who knows, thinking the odds were in her favor that something this bizarre would never happen again—besides, she only had one son—maybe she was already playing cyber footsie somewhere under another name.
In an attempt to not throw stones at my friend, I took a moment to honestly examine myself. Internet chat didn’t particularly attract me, but what if I could convince someone I was a size four and twenty-two years old? Would I enjoy it? Would I be drawn into the double life out of unhappiness or frustration with the inevitable march of time? Hard to say.
Cupping a mug of hot tea in my hands, I sat in our home office and watched the meaningless chat scroll by, line by line, in an upward-moving waterfall of words. I took note of who was present. Or, more importantly, who was not present. Greg had taken the day shift both Monday and Tuesday, signing on as Perfect4u during the day and keeping the chat room open while he worked. He said Knotdead showed up only once, and that was this morning around ten o’clock. Unfortunately, Greg was away from the computer at the time and didn’t see the message, which contained several hellos and several pleas of talk to me and professions of love.
Greg was more amused, however, by the numerous other messages sent to Perfect4u, all from men and all obviously acquainted with her in a flirtatious and sexual way, though not in person. He’d told me over dinner tonight that some of the messages had been quite steamy. In fact, at one point, he announced that he had spent a little time conversing as Perfect4u, and the experience had given him some ideas. When my husband winked at me across the meatloaf, I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or frightened. Maybe I should be both.
Tonight it was my turn to stand guard as Perfect4u in search of contact with Knotdead. Greg had returned to Ocean Breeze Graphics to finish up a large rush project for an important customer. He was also breaking in a new assistant. Boomer, his faithful and talented right-hand man for many years, had recently gotten married and moved to Colorado with his lovely bride.
Greg had mentored Boomer, a pierced and alternative-looking teen with a minor juvenile record and bad home life, when no one else would give him a
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