The WhatsApp Swindler

-based on a true story

I like to steal things. It matters little whether it’s an unattended iPhone on a coffee shop table, a Barney jacket taken from in front of the sales staff, or a packet of almonds snatched at CVS. The value is inconsequential. The act is exhilarating. But after three close calls–each of which I needed to talk myself out from–I realized my little hobby clashed with my grander ambitions. And why steal things when people will simply give them to you?

I study her from head to toe. My girlfriend Amanda is standing before me, and she looks amazing. We make a good-looking couple. That’s why we receive so many invites to the best events in New York. We have the right credentials. I’m a photographer for the fashion industry, and she works at Goldman Sachs. 

Each morning, I wake early to brew her coffee.

“You look beautiful today, babe,” I murmur.

“Thanks, Jake, but I’ve no time to talk. Got to go.”

As Amanda readies herself in the bathroom, I glance out through her apartment window across the Hudson River. One WTC rises into the clouds. Hoboken is a 10-minute ferry ride to Lower Manhattan, so this location works out great for both of us. The city across the river pulses with ambition. It’s very different from Allentown, where I grew up.

“I’ll miss you all day,” I confess, offering her the smile that softens her when she’s stressed. “I’m meeting the director for Netflix today. Need to use your car for the drive to Brooklyn.”

 “No problem Jake. Just remember to refill the gas.”

Once Amanda departs, I slide into her BMW and decide to drive to Jersey City. I don’t have money for the gas or tolls to Brooklyn. My father taught me, “An honest man will die broke and alone.”

Perhaps my big break will come through soon. I meet millionaires at work while I have nothing. How does this make sense? I open Fiverr, scanning the list of freelance photography gigs in New York. I see a listing for Vogue next month, and type up a cover letter. Paul could be a connection. I think he has worked for them before. After that, I reluctantly click the accept button on a few e-commerce shoots that pay minimum wage.

On WhatsApp, I see 21 notifications from Olivia. 

(Jake) Just waking up and thinking about you.💕🌹💘❤️‍🔥

(Olivia) r u there?

(Olivia) theres a man looking at me

(Jake) That’s because you work at The Yorkshire Water Company.

(Olivia) […]

(Jake) And you’re the most beautiful woman in Europe.

I use proper grammar when texting. It’s classier. With the time difference, when Amanda arrives home, it will be midnight in Leeds. I’ll check in with Olivia all day today.

(Jake) I’m going to a fashion week shoot today. Text you again in a few hours.

(Olivia) dont flirt too much the models miss u jake

I drive to Jersey City and get a coffee at Bluestone Coffee. A busy crowd of back office finance workers come through here in the morning. A coffee shop is a microcosm of the world. Sitting alone at a table, watching people go in and out and hoping someone talks to us.

As I drink my overpriced flat white, my eyes scan the NYC Professional Photographers Discord Group. I throw out a few ideas about fashion trends to kill time. @Jill472 gives my post a heart. Something to remember.

Two hours later, boredom sends me back to Olivia. I post a photo of Anna Jagodzinska from a shoot last month I know she hasn’t seen. Amanda is too busy to text me back at her Wall Street job, so I don’t talk to her daytime.

(Jake) It’s been a busy day on the set, but I can’t stop thinking about you.😘

(Olivia) is that the famous model ?

(Jake) What are you wearing today?

(Olivia) a yellow blouse

(Jake) I’m picturing it now. Can you send me a photo?

(Olivia) wait a sec 

(Olivia) [jpg sent]

(Jake) I can’t wait for the day when you move to New York.

The week unfolds like this. Watching Olivia’s crush on me fills up the time until Amanda gets home.

**

Friday arrives–an ASOS gig in Bay Ridge. Four hours of shooting cheap outfits worn by pretentious teens. Chatterbox Greg can’t stop talking about his new camera equipment. I smile, but fantasize about pushing him down the stairs if I get the chance.

(Jake) Work isn’t always easy.

(Olivia) you sound different whats wrong?

(Jake) A production assistant scratched my Sony artisans 50 mm lens today.

(Olivia) 

(Jake) I can’t afford to buy a new one right now. I put all my financial resources into the Netflix production.

(Olivia) maybe I can buy you one?

(Jake) If you do, I will be eternally grateful. They are only $799

(Olivia) hmm thats too much for me

(Jake) No problem, but here’s the link if you change your mind.

A week later, a parcel arrives. A Sony 50mm lens. I check the name on the invoice, then flush it down the toilet.

(Jake) You have made me the happiest photographer in New York.💕📷

(Olivia) anything for my jake

I hear the apartment door opening.

(Jake) The director is coming on set. Talk later.

I quickly close WhatsApp, and a second later, Amanda walks into the bedroom.

“Hey honey, how was your day?”

“Thank god it’s Friday!” she says, and then throws her arms around me.

I show the new Sony lens to her, explaining how it’s used on a fashion set. We have a busy weekend ahead: brunch on the Upper West side, and her friend’s Liz’s birthday party on Saturday night. I’ve told Olivia I’m staying at a producer’s house in the Hamptons all weekend and will be out of contact.

**

On Monday morning, I take a deep breath and relax as a sense of normalcy comes back for me. By the afternoon I’m listening to a chill stream, chatting on a few different online groups, and waiting for Olivia to return the cover letter for Elle that she is proofreading for me.

There’s a hand on my shoulder. I jolt in my seat. I turn around, prepared to confront an intruder, when I see Amanda.

Her eyes are not on me, but on my computer screen.

“Hi Jake, I got off work early. Who are you talking to? Who is…Olivia?”

“Just someone on the internet, I’m talking to about photography.”

“With heart emojis? Scroll back” Her hand reaches over my shoulder and she scrolls the text upward.

“Why is she talking about IVF?”

“She’s freaking out because she’s infertile. It’s an important issue for women.”

“Why are you talking to another woman about her fertility? You have a girlfriend, you know?.”

“Maybe I went too far. One thing leads to another on the internet. You’ve used Reddit before, haven’t you?”

Amanda takes a step back, her eyes accusatory.

“Have you ever met her?”

“She in the UK. So no, I’ve never met her.”

“Cut her off now. Or else we’re finished.”

Amanda looks at the screen one last time before she turns around. Luckily, she didn’t scroll up to the part about love and our future plans together.

**

Amanda is icy for the next few days. She comes home early and pretends to be busy, while we both know she’s there to check up on me. I up my game and cook her some amazing dinners. I make myself interested in all of her problems at her job. We talk about our future together. When the Netflix deal comes through, I’ll buy us a weekend place in the Poconos, close to her parents.

After a week, Amanda begins to loosen up.

I’ve already executed a digital purge–erasing every trace of Olivia from my computer. It’s a calculated move. I told her we need to chat on Discord. I explain that Netflix’s draconian contractors’ rules forbid us to use WhatsApp. I have now become a master of logging out and deleting my browser history.

My mind goes back to when I was a teen and utterly hopeless with women. Back then, the question “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” followed me everywhere in high school. By the time I was in university, I saw my life flying past. I did my research and read all the books: The Art of Seduction, The Dating Playbook, The Chimp Paradox. I even enrolled in the School of Attraction’s online course, hoping to work out the secret. Structural engineering, my initial major, felt like a blueprint for failure, so I moved into photography. “Be careful what you wish for,” my roommates said when I told them my new ambitions. This is normally the point in the story where I would say I should have listened to them, but then how would I have met Ho Yeon, Miranda July, and FKA Twigs. I wonder where my roommates are now. Probably with three kids in Ohio, mowing the lawn.

I slow down my texting, ghosting Olivia by degrees. Paradoxically, her desperation grows the less romantic I become. Breaking her heart feels cruel, and I don’t want to let her down. To have her go back to her dull life in Leeds and surviving on anti-depressants. She needs me. 

Olivia’s next plea arrives.

(Olivia) Can you meet my parents on Skype? They said they want to talk to you.

(Jake) […]

My ellipsis hangs in the ether while I think of how to respond.

(Olivia) they said they want to meet the person I’ve been dating for 14 months

My heart sinks.

(Jake) Why not? I’d love to meet them.

**

The next morning, I deadbolt the front door. At 10 am, I face her parents on the screen. Their love for Olivia radiates from their faces. It’s inspiring to see.

Her father speaks first. “We’re so happy our daughter has found someone. You know, with all the…”

The unspoken words hang in the air. The infertility issues.

I nod. “She’s incredible. You’ve raised an amazing daughter.”

“What about passports and such?” Her father’s practicality shows, just as Olivia said it would.

“We will figure it out.”

They are ready to seal the deal. Parents like me–an anonymous face with a talent for saying the right words. I smile at Olivia’s reflection on the screen as we say goodbye. 

**

Two days later, the doorbell chimes. I shuffle to the entrance, my curiosity growing. A package awaits me with my name on it. After signing, I open it and inside there’s a Swiss watch. The invoice shows Olivia Watts, 534 Jussom Lane, Leeds. There’s a gift card etched with her words: Dear Jake, I’m so happy you met my parents. Love, Olivia.

Amanda is still a volcano ready to blow, so I tread carefully. I conceal the watch beneath the black foam of my old Nikon 343 case. I bury it amongst all the other lenses, memory cards, and battery packs. 

That evening before dinner, I perform my ritual 25-minute HIIT workout and build up a sweat. It helps to change gears from the world of the internet, to Amanda. While she readies our food, I take a pre-meal shower.

I hear Amanda shouting from the other room. As I step out of the shower, I venture over to see what the commotion is about.

“Where’s the watch?” Amanda’s face is crimson with fury.

I feign innocence, my heart skips a beat. “I don’t understand. What watch?”

“The fucking watch!” Her accusation is fast and blunt. “The one Olivia gave you.”

“How did you–”

Amanda spins my laptop around, revealing my clandestine Discord account. Hundreds of texts to Olivia. “I saw you typing in your password, idiot,” she spits.

Mockingly, she begins to read them out. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re beautiful. I’m coming to Leeds next month.” She hesitates and looks at me. “You are going to the UK? That is news to me.”

“I’m not going anyplace.”

“Here is my airplane ticket.” Amanda squints at the jpeg image on the screen. “Wait a second, this British Airways ticket looks familiar.”

Of course, it’s her ticket. She went to London on a business trip last month. 

Amanda opens a desk drawer, and pulls out her ticket stub, and looks at the serial number. “You photoshopped my ticket and sent it to your internet girlfriend?!”

I shrug my shoulders. “I love you. This is all a mistake.”s

“I pay for your rent, you drive my car…what the fuck are you doing, Jaske?”

“But…”

“Jenny said…” Amanda stammers, but doesn’t repeat her friend’s words. “Pack up your things and be gone by tomorrow. Or else I’m calling the police.”

She storms out, slamming the door. From the window, I watch below and see her car leave the building. On WhatsApp, her account goes inactive.

Tomorrow, she’ll inevitably return, accompanied by her father or a posse of girlfriends, and evict me. I have ten hours. I have no place to stay, no car, no money. I wish I had an airplane ticket to the UK, but I haven’t even applied for a passport yet.

I pull out my mobile, open the list of women I met at Bluestone Coffee, and begin texting.

//

Author's Note: this is based on a true story as told to me by someone who knows "Olivia". Names, locations, and distinguishing characteristics of the characters have been changed to protect their identities, and many details of the story have been fictionalized for dramatic purpose.

sent from my iphoen