Perfect on Paper (12 page)

Jake was standing on the sideline, talking with a player.

He was even better looking than I remembered.

“Hi, Jake,” I whispered.

I was only about ten rows up from the floor level, so I thought I'd wait there for a little while just in case he happened to look up. As the crowd pushed past me, I kept my eyes on him and tried not to spill any of the food on my tray.

After nearly five minutes, he still hadn’t looked up, so I decided to throw in the towel and head back up to my seat. Maybe I would try again at halftime. I turned around to face the stairs and looked up to make sure I was in the right aisle. I took my first step, then turned my head back toward the court once more. In that exact moment, Jake glanced up, and our eyes locked for just a second.

He smiled, and my heart stopped beating.

I wanted to smile back, but my stupid body was still moving up the stairs, and before I could do anything at all, I bumped smack into a group of little kids, lost my balance, and fell down. No kidding. I literally fell on the ground, and two beers, a mustard-covered pretzel, a bag of salted peanuts, and a carton of garlic fries came raining down on top of me.

Holy crap.

“Are you okay?” The father of one of the little kids jumped out of his seat to help me up.

I picked about twenty-five garlic fries from my chest. “Uh, yes, I’m fine. Thanks.”

The man helped me stand, and on the way up I grabbed a couple of napkins from the dropped tray to help clean the mess off my pants and sweater. “Look, no broken bones,” I said, trying to laugh.

“My son and his friends need to be more careful. I’m really sorry about that.”

I shook my head and patted a napkin on my right shoulder to sop up the beer. “Oh no, no, it was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Really, I’m fine. I think I’m just going to head to the restroom for a few minutes to clean up.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? My wife can go with you if you like.” He turned toward where he had been sitting. “Pumpkin, can you help this young lady to the restroom?”

A short, stocky woman with a blonde beehive in a blue-and-yellow Warriors sweatshirt leapt to my side and took me by the elbow. “You okay, sugar? Can I help you get cleaned up?”

“No, really, I’m fine.” I tried to smile. “Thanks so much, but I’ll be okay, really.” I didn’t want to make a scene, and I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

“Okay, sweetheart, but you be careful. If you need anything, we’ll be right here.”

“Thanks, you’re very kind.” I touched her lightly on the shoulder and turned back toward the circular hallway surrounding the arena. I looked down to see if Jake was still there, but the court was empty, save for an army of silicone-enhanced cheerleaders.

I walked back toward the concession area, and the bright arena lights dimmed. I heard the booming voice of the announcer introducing the players from both teams. The game was about to start, so fortunately the restroom was empty. I stood in front of the mirror and pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. I held them under the running water and took a good look at myself in the mirror. I had beer, peanut dust, and garlic salt all over me, plus a ton of mustard, some of which was even in my hair. Mustard highlights. Nice.

By the time I made it back up to Andie with a fresh tray of snacks, I had spent more than fifty dollars, and the game had already started.

“What happened to you? I was getting ready to put out an APB,” she said.

I put the tray of food down and pointed to my sweater and pants. “Slight accident.”

“Ouch, looks like you really bit it. What happened?” She took a bite of a garlic fry.

“Hand me a cold beer first,” I said. Then I told her the story.

When I was done, she took a sip of her beer. “Ya know, you’re really clumsy, have you ever noticed
that?
”

I punched her in the shoulder. “Ya think?”

“Do you want to try to head down there after the game to talk to him?” she said.

I looked down at the basketball court, then at the small meal mashed into my chest and hair. “God, he’s so cute, but seriously, would
you
want to talk to me like this?”

She laughed. “Maybe we should come up with another plan.”

“I suck,” I said.

She laughed again. “You said it, not me.”

The following morning I was sitting at my computer writing a launch plan for a line of JAG hockey sticks. About halfway through I hit a wall, so I stood up to stretch. I put my arms over my head and closed my eyes. Then I put my hands on my hips and decided that a snack was in order, and I headed toward the lobby.

“Hey, Waverly, how’s the launch plan going?” Mandy Edwards was walking down the hall right at me.

“Fine, Mandy. Everything’s going according to schedule.”

“Glad to hear it. Clients can be so demanding, don’t you think?”

I looked at her. “What do you mean?”

She smiled. “Just that even when you think they’re happy, sometimes they’re not. At least that’s been my experience. Gotta stay one step ahead of them, ya know? That’s what I was just telling Jess at lunch yesterday.”

I told myself not to bite.

But then I immediately caved.

“You went to lunch with Jess?” I said.

“Yes, yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Just to chat.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And?”

“I told him I’m happy to help out with the JAG account if you guys need it. You never know when a fresh perspective might come in handy.”

“Uh, okay, thanks, Mandy. But I think we’re doing fine.”

“Well, I’m here if you need me. I’m always looking for ways to be a team player.”

Team player
. Yet another Mandy-style euphemism for
suck-up.

“Okay, thanks, Mandy. See ya later,” I said.

“No problem. Bye, Waverly.”

She walked away, and I pretended to shoot her in the back.

When I sat back down at my desk, I checked my e-mail and recent meeting notes to see if there was anything important I needed to deal with on any of my accounts. Stupid tattletale Mandy.

I looked at my computer screen. At the top of my in-box was a message from an old coworker I hadn’t seen in, like, five years. The subject line was “Traveling man update.” As I clicked on it, I realized that it was a mass e-mail. Great … I was on another vacation spam e-mail list. I just couldn’t understand why people sent around long, rambling e-mails about their travels to apparently everyone they’d met in their entire life. And don’t even get me STARTED on inane status updates on Facebook.

Delete.

I sat up and forced myself to concentrate on the plan I’d been writing. But before I started writing again, I pulled out a notebook from my drawer and jotted down an idea for a Honey Note.

Front: What is the deal with people who send e-mail blasts to the whole world?

Inside: Honey, I’m still trying to figure out why people hang things from their rearview mirrors.

Several hours later, I finally put the finishing touches on the launch plan. I looked at my watch; it was nearly four thirty. Where had the day gone? I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch and was suddenly starving.

My midmorning snack wasn’t cutting it anymore. I sent the plan to Jess and Davey for their review, then saw an e-mail from Cynthia Hopyard in our New York office asking me to call her because she wanted to talk about something.

She wanted to talk to me about something? Uh oh. Then I remembered her e-mail from the week before, in which she’d asked me to call her. I must have accidentally deleted it, because I’d completely forgotten about it since then.

This did not look good.

I ran downstairs to grab a sandwich, then shut my office door and dialed her number on speakerphone. I munched on my sandwich and punched a straw into the tiny chocolate milk carton.

“Cynthia Hopyard,” she said.

“Hi, Cynthia, it’s Waverly. Sorry for the speakerphone action, but I’m eating a sandwich. I promise to get off as soon as I’m done.”

“No worries,” she said. “I remember that you’re not a big fan of the speakerphone.”

“Ugh, I loathe it. I’m convinced it’s a power move most people use just to make you think they’re really busy when they’re probably just sitting there doing nothing, ya know?”

She laughed. “Waverly, I must say that I miss your observations. How are you?”

I twisted my right earring and waited for the clunk of the other shoe. “I’m good, I’m good, and hey, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call you last week. How are you? How’s the wedding planning going?” I looked down at my watch. It was nearly 8 p.m. in New York. “And by the way, what are you doing in the office so late?”

“Oooh, don’t remind me how late it is. This wedding is taking over my life. I spent half the afternoon on the phone with the caterer and the florist and the photographer, so now I’m stuck here with the cleaning crew, finishing up some real work.”

“When’s the big day anyway?” I said.

“January 30. The invitations go out tomorrow. And just to let you know, you’re invited. I hope you can make it. That’s why I wanted you to call me.”

That was the other shoe? Damn Mandy for making me so paranoid.

“Really? That’s so nice of you, Cynthia. I’d love to come. Where’s it going to be?”

“Here in Manhattan. My parents aren’t too thrilled about that, but since Dale and I are both so busy with work, it was easier to plan this way. My family will just have to make the trek from Seattle.”

“Do you have a big family?”

“You wouldn’t believe how big. My parents are both remarried to people who have grown children of their own, and I have five full brothers and sisters who are all married with kids, so counting everyone, we’re talking at least fifty people in my sort-of immediate family.”

“Sweet Jesus, that’s like a pack of hamsters. How many of them are coming?”

She laughed. “That’s the magic question. I keep telling everyone that they need to make up their minds now, because if too many of them wait until the last minute to tell me they’re coming, we may not have enough wedding cake.”

“Well, I’d love to come.” I pulled my calendar up on the computer screen and clicked ahead to January 30 to mark the date. “Hey, wait a minute. Is that Super Bowl weekend?” Guys always said that having a wedding on Super Bowl weekend was a big no-no, and that no groom ever really wanted that date, regardless of what he told his fiancée.

“Actually, it is, but we did that on purpose because of our jobs. Since so many of the people we’re inviting work in sports, we thought it’d be fun to throw a big Super Bowl party for everyone the day after the wedding.”

“Cool. That sounds like a great idea. I love Super Bowl parties,” I said.

“Me too. And this one will be full of fun people, I promise you that. Anyhow, Waverly, I know how expensive a weekend in New York can be, so I’ll schedule some meetings for you at our office that week. That way the travel and hotel will be on the company.”

“Really? You’d do that?” I made a rough mental calculation of how much money that would save me. Roughly, it was a boatload.

Sweet!

“Sure thing. Hey, it’s my wedding day, and I want you there, and technically you work for me. So I’m sure we can find some legitimate business reason for you to be here. And if I can’t pull some strings, what’s the point of being a senior VP, right?”

I took another sip of my chocolate milk. “That sounds fantastic, Cynthia. Thank you so much, really.”

“No problem. You’ll be getting your invitation in the mail soon. Okay, hon, I’ve gotta run or I’ll miss dinner with Dale. Take care.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone and smiled.

Free trip to New York? Score!

That night I took my first and last spinning class at the Crunch gym near my house. My date with mystery Darren was the next night, so I thought I should at least try to get in shape for it. I sweated through the entire hour while wondering how it was humanly possible for my male instructor’s butt to be smaller than the bike seat. Seriously, it was like a hard little peach. I was fascinated.

After the class, I sat down for ten minutes and waited for my legs to stop shaking. At one point I thought I might never walk again. When they finally calmed down, I showered and took a long steam sauna, then blew my hair dry and bundled up for the four-block walk back to my apartment. On the way home, I noticed a number of houses already had strings of bright holiday lights hung up outside and Christmas trees on display in their windows.

I was planning to buy my tree that weekend. I had a big box of decorations in storage in the basement of my building, and it now included a bunch of fancy ornaments I had bought for 75 percent off right after Christmas the year before. For years I’d been promising myself that I would stock up on cute ornaments for crazy cheap during the post-Christmas sales, but invariably I just couldn’t be bothered. Finally, however, the year before, I had bothered to be bothered, and I owed it to McKenna, who had dragged me out of my apartment and to the sales despite my gloomy mental state at the time. She was 100 percent no-nonsense and always got me to do things I was too lazy to do on my own. She also didn’t mess around when it came to getting rid of old crap, which included many of the outfits previously filling my closet.

Before I went to bed, I added an idea for a Honey Note to my list.

Front: How do you know when it’s time to clean out your closet?

Inside: Honey, if you’ve seen anything you own on a rerun of
Friends,
get your butt down to Goodwill ASAP.

I fell asleep dreaming of Joey, Chandler, and the perfect Christmas tree … until my alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 6:15 a.m. What the …? What was going on? Then I remembered that I’d made a date with McKenna to go walking.

Fifteen minutes later, I limped out of my building bundled up in a black fleece over a long-sleeved T-shirt and grey sweatpants. I spotted McKenna in front of Peet’s, her blonde hair loose under the light blue ski hat she always wore on cold mornings.

“Hey, woman, happy Friday,” I said. “Can I just tell you how much my poor legs hurt right now?”

“You tried the spinning class?” she said.

I nodded. “I’m never going back there. What is up with all these muscles I never even knew I had? They’re all pissed off and screaming at me for waking them from a twenty-nine-year-long nap.”

She laughed and pulled on a pair of black knit gloves. “Let’s get moving. I’m freezing.”

“Hey, so how’s Hunter doing?” I said, as we headed down the hill. “I haven’t seen much of him lately.”

She smiled. “He’s good, just really busy at the hospital. He thinks he may have a shot at chief resident, so he’s been working like a dog.”

“Chief resident? Really? Good for him.”

“Yeah, it’s great, but I’m actually a bit worried about him, Wave. He’s so stressed out that he’s not sleeping, or barely sleeping. And with the crazy schedules those residents have, they really need to sleep when they actually have time to do it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to keep warm. “When will they make the decision?”

“Next Friday. He’s been through several rounds of interviews with the hospital management, and now all he can do is wait.”

“Waiting can be stressful,” I said.

“I think the real pressure is coming from his dad,” she said. “He’s really hard on him. If Hunter doesn’t follow in his footsteps, he’ll feel like he’s a failure in his dad’s eyes.”

I looked over at her. “Hunter’s dad will think Hunter’s a failure if he’s not named chief resident because
he
was once a chief resident?” I said.

She nodded.

“But Hunter is a SURGEON for God’s sake. Who cares if he’s the boss?”

“I know,” she said.

“Well if his dad’s such a jerk, why does Hunter even care what he thinks?”

She looked at me. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

I stopped walking.

“Well?” she said. “Couldn’t I?”

“You’re right,” I said. “I guess no matter what, you want your parents to be proud of you.”

She put her arm around me and squeezed. “Exactly.”

We started walking again. “Speaking of parents, it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow,” I said. “Gotta suck it up and go visit.”

“You want some company for moral support?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I prefer just to get in and get out, you know?”

“Okay, call me if you change your mind. I’ll probably be at Hunter’s in the morning.”

“That boy is quite a catch, you know,” I said.

She smiled. “Believe me, I know.” And then, as if she could read my mind, she reached over and touched my arm. “Don’t worry, Wave, they’re out there.”

I thought about my imminent date with mystery Darren and laughed to myself.
I just wish I could remember them
.

Then I changed the subject like I always did when the subject was my dad. “So speaking of being proud, you’ll be proud to hear that I have a date tonight.”

She perked up and looked over at me with bright eyes. “Really? Excellent! Who with?”

“Uh, well, that’s sort of a difficult question.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure who the date is with.” God, it sounded even more pathetic when I said it out loud.

She looked confused. “Is it a blind date?”

“Not exactly,” I said, scratching my head.