Perfect on Paper (13 page)

“Internet dating?”

“Nope.”

“Well then, what the hell?”

I winced. “Um, remember when I told you about those two guys named Darren I met at Lefty’s last weekend, the night Andie and I drank a poolful of margaritas?”

She nodded.

“Well, apparently I have a date with one of them, but I’m not sure which one,” I said.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You have no idea?”

“I have no idea.”

“But how can you not know?” she said.

I held out my hand. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Waverly Bryson.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Excellent. I can’t wait to find out which one it is.”

“You and me both,” I said. “I honestly don’t know. His phone call caught me off guard, and I couldn’t think of a fast enough way to find out who it was before he asked me out.”

“Didn’t you kiss one of them?” she said.

I nodded. “Yep.”

“But you were interested in the other one, right?”

I nodded again. “Yep. I only talked to the cute one for a few minutes, and it was in a group setting, but he was definitely a cutie. And as for the other one, since I kissed him, he can’t be all that bad, right?”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Remember what you were like before you met Aaron? Get a few drinks in you, and you were pretty much willing to kiss anyone.”

I laughed. “Remember how I used to say that I suffered from AIKS?”

“That’s right, your Alcohol-Induced Kissing Syndrome! I loved that one. Man, those were the days.”

“I’m so out of dating shape,” I said. “Screw that horrible spinning class. It’s my dating muscles I need to start exercising again.”

“Well, I hope it’s the cute Darren. And whichever one it is, he must like you lots, because he asked you out for a Friday. That’s a huge step for a guy,” she said. One of the unwritten rules of dating in San Francisco was that early dates usually took place during the week or on Sundays. Apparently no one wanted to give up a weekend night unless it was serious. To me that was totally ridiculous, especially given how many weekend nights I’d sat at home in the last year, wishing I had a date.

“We’ll see, Mackie. We’ll see,” I said.

“You’d better call me tomorrow morning with a full update.”

I gave her a salute. “Will do. And by the way, tell Hunter that he’s a stud, regardless of what his dad thinks.”

“So are you,” she said. “Don’t forget that.”

At seven thirty that evening, I stood in front of my closet with my hands on my hips, still in my robe and slippers. I was supposed to meet Darren at eight and had no idea what to wear. First date.

Friday night. Drinks and dinner. Fifty percent chance of it being Right Darren, 50 percent chance of it being Wrong Darren. So I wanted to look good, but not too good. I flipped through the hangers as if I was in Bloomingdale’s, looking for something to try on, rejecting item after item. I had pretty much settled on dark jeans and high-heeled black boots, but I needed something on top.

When I had nearly reached the back of my closet, I noticed a blouse I had totally forgotten about. I had bought it on sale at a boutique in Sausalito a year or so before but for some reason had never worn it. It was a light cotton material, a dark red with blue and green swirls on it, and sleeveless. The neck was a soft, deep V-shape that fell nicely against my collarbones.

I pulled the blouse off the hanger and tried it on with my jeans. Then I pulled on a wide black suede belt with a dull silver buckle and opted for black sling-backs instead of boots, a better match for a sleeveless blouse. I looked in the mirror and turned sideways to check out the view. It was a bold move to wear a sorta-sexy top on a first date, but since I assumed this would probably also be the last date, what did I care? It would be a good test run for my dating fitness plan.

At 8:05 I walked into the Kilkenny and spotted the owner, Jack O’Reilly, behind the bar. When he saw me approaching, he put down the glass he was cleaning and smiled. “Waverly, love! Where have you been?” He pointed to an empty bar stool. “Have a seat.”

I sat down in front of him. “Hi, Jack. I know I’ve been a terrible customer, and I promise to come in more often after New Year’s. McKenna said your annual holiday party is next weekend?”

“Yes, love, a week from tonight. I hope you can make it.” After 115 years in San Francisco, Jack had an Irish accent that was still so thick, at times I had to concentrate to understand him. When he said things like
He’s an ass
, it sounded more like
His on arse
.

“I wouldn’t miss it, Jack. I promise.”

He tapped his palms on the bar and smiled. “Brilliant. Now what can I get you?”

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone, so maybe I’ll just—”

“Actually, she’s waiting for me, so since I’m here, how about a couple of beers?” I was interrupted by a touch on my shoulder.

I took a deep breath and turned around.

Crap.

It was Darren Anderson, the Darren I had kissed. And apparently I’d been wearing serious margarita goggles at the time, because he was not cute.

“Hi, Darren, how are you? Have a seat.” I motioned to the bar stool next to me and looked at Jack, who was busy sizing Wrong Darren up. He hadn’t seen me with anyone but Aaron in ages, so I could see the curiosity on his face.

Darren sat down and smiled. “You look great, Waverly. I love that blouse.”

Sigh.
It was going to be a long night.

Three hours later, I walked into my apartment, leaned against the door, and shook my head. Thank God it was over. Wrong Darren had turned out to be a nice enough guy, and despite his non-cuteness, I had really wanted to give him a chance. But unfortunately, he had nearly bored me to death. At the Kilkenny, he had talked so much about his job that I had almost fallen asleep in my beer. He had gone on and on about tax credits and tax shelters and tax loopholes without noticing that I neither understood what he was talking about nor cared, AT ALL. How could anyone find corporate tax law that exciting? And then at dinner, he had launched into a monologue about the house he was buying, filled with mortgage and real estate jargon that was a foreign language to me, the perennial renter. By the time dinner was over, he had barely asked me anything about myself, but I didn’t care anymore and had to get away from him.

I changed into my pajamas and walked into the kitchen to open the freezer. It was empty. Then I walked into my office, sat down at the computer, and pulled up my list of Honey Note ideas. I added a few more.

Front: Regret giving your phone number out after a few too many drinks?

Inside: Honey, stop whining and be thankful that someone besides the
New York Times
subscription office is calling you.

Front: Have a crush on a guy you’ll probably never see again?

Inside: Honey, that’s okay. At least this way he’ll never crush YOU.

Front: What’s worse than a really bad first date?

Inside: Honey, realizing you’re out of ice cream when you get home.

Maybe if K.A. Marketing ever fired me I could get some work writing ads for high-calorie dessert products?

Saturday morning I got up early and read the paper over two big bowls of Lucky Charms. When I was finally ready to face the day, and my father, I pulled on a pair of jeans and sneakers, with a navy blue Cal Berkeley sweatshirt, then grabbed the car keys and headed outside. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and tried to remember where I was parked. Where the hell was the car? I was forever forgetting where I had put it. Once I was convinced that it had been stolen and was about to call the police, until, of course, I remembered that it was parked right around the corner.

I stood still for about thirty seconds, closed my eyes, and concentrated. Then it came to me. I headed two blocks south to the corner of Steiner and Pine and spotted my green Saab. I jumped inside, threw my purse onto the backseat, and headed for Sacramento.

I flipped through the stations until I found a U2 song. Have you ever noticed that if you give it about four minutes, you can always find a U2 song on the radio? It’s really quite amazing.

Halfway through “Beautiful Day,” my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my purse and glanced down at the caller ID: Davey. I flipped the phone open and put the hands-free earpiece in my ear.

“Hey, Davey, what’s up?”

“Waverly, you got me all shook up.” It was practically a yell.

“What?”

“C’mon, Bryson, don’t be cruel. Please, let me be your teddy bear.”

“Davey, are you listening to your Elvis greatest hits CD again?”

“It’s now or never, you know.”

“All right, Mr. Mason, what can I do for you today?”

“Okay, okay. Now I promise not to take too much of your precious Saturday,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you could send your last few status reports to my personal account. There’s something wrong with our server, and I can’t access my JAG e-mail from home.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re reviewing our status reports on a weekend? Why?”

“Nothing major. I’m just putting together a PR presentation for our sales team, and I need to have it ready Monday morning.”

“For the sales team?”

“Yep. Gabrielle Simone requested it Friday afternoon, but I didn’t get to it.”

“Sales wants a PR presentation?”

“What?” he said. “You’re cutting out.”

“What?” I said. “You’re cutting out.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Can you hear me now?”

“What?”

“Caller, are you there? Waverly from San Francisco, you’re on the air.”

I laughed. “I hear you now. Tell me this, Davey. Why does the cell phone coverage in Silicon Valley, which is supposed to be the technology capital of the
entire world
, SUCK SO MUCH?”

“I’m not sure. But assuming your call to the complaint line doesn’t get dropped while you’re on hold for two hours, I’m sure some friendly customer service guy in India will tell you there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“All right, I’ll send you the reports tonight when I get home. But I’m billing you extra for this, Mr. Mason.”

“Miss Bryson, I would expect nothing less.”

“Bye, Davey.”

Two hours later I pulled into the Valley Pines complex and wound my way around the dusty streets to my dad’s double-wide in the back. I thought about the first (and only) time I’d brought Aaron there. He’d been so sweet about it, but he was clearly uncomfortable, and the image of his nine-hundred-dollar coat hanging next to my dad’s orange hunting jacket will be forever burned in my memory.

The dust floated up around my car as I pulled into the gravel driveway. When it settled, I kept my hands on the steering wheel and looked out the window at the flower pots lining the walkway up to my dad’s trailer. Bright violas and pansies, healthy and full of life. As I did every time I saw them, I wondered how my dad could be so nurturing to his plants yet raise a daughter who wondered if he even liked her that much.

Finally I got out of the car and walked up to the screen door. I knocked lightly, holding his birthday present behind my back. It was a new game of Scrabble. My dad loved Scrabble, and when he was in a good mood I loved playing it with him. Playing Scrabble and Boggle were staples of my childhood memories and probably had more to do with my high SAT verbal scores than some of the English classes I took in high school, where many of my classmates had never given college a second thought. Sometimes I wondered if my dad would’ve been happier if I hadn’t either.
Not everyone is college material,
he’d said when I’d told him I wanted to go.

I knocked again. No answer. I waited, then knocked again.

Then I noticed that his truck wasn’t in the driveway.

I looked at my watch. It was 2:05. I’d told him I’d be there at two to take him out to lunch for his birthday.

I pulled out my phone and called his landline. I could hear the
ring ring ring
inside. No answer, no answering machine. And he didn’t have a cell phone, so that was the end of that.

I sat in my car for nearly thirty minutes, then finally got out and propped his present behind the screen door. As I was walking back to my car, his neighbor came out of her trailer and sat down on the rocking chair on her porch.

“Why, Waverly, how are you doing, dear? Come on over and say hello.” Mrs. Williams had lived next door to my dad since the day he’d moved in, which had been practically the same day I’d left our tiny house for college. It had been more than twelve years, yet somehow she always looked exactly the same: plump, rosy-cheeked, and smiling, like everyone’s favorite grandmother.

I smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Williams. I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m fine, dear. Looking for your daddy?”

I nodded. “It’s his birthday. We were supposed to have lunch. Do you know where he is?”

“I saw him a couple hours ago gettin’ in his truck. He said he was heading to Thunder Valley to blow off some steam—didn’t say about what though.” She laughed. “I didn’t know it was his birthday. Maybe he’s just angry at getting older. I know I am.”

“Thunder Valley?” I said. “What’s that?”

“A casino, dear, over at the Indian reservation.”

“He’s at a casino?”

“I think so, love. Do you want to come inside for some coffee? Maybe he’ll be back soon.”

I shook my head and looked at my watch. “It’s really sweet of you to offer, but I think I’ll just get going.”

She crossed her short arms on top of her massive chest. “It’s a shame you can’t stay. We don’t see enough of you around here.”

“Oh,” I said, kicking some gravel. “I’ve been really busy.”

“Your daddy loves it when you come by, you know.”

I looked up at her. “He does?”

“Sure does. He’s always talking about you and your big job in San Francisco.”

“He is?”

She nodded. “You come back again soon, okay, dear?”

“Okay, I will. I promise. Bye, Mrs. Williams.”

“Bye, love.”

I looked back at my dad’s pristine potted flowers, then drove back to San Francisco.

I got back to my apartment around five o’clock and lugged the Christmas tree I’d bought on the way home into the living room. Every year, I told myself I should go to one of the many gorgeous tree farms along the hills of the Peninsula and cut one down myself for the experience of it all, but on my
You know you’re a real grownup when
list, cutting down your own Christmas tree was on a par with buying a house. So as usual, I’d just stopped at Target.

I headed downstairs and dug around in my basement storage closet until I found my tree stand and all my new and old decorations. I hauled everything back upstairs and plopped it all on the couch. Then I went into my office to e-mail Davey our reports and picked up my landline to call McKenna. The stutter dial tone alerted me to a new voicemail.

“Hey, baby, it’s your old man. I’m sorry I missed you today, but I had a hot lead on a horse. You know how it goes, gotta strike when the iron’s hot, right? Anyhow, thanks for the Scrabble set. You’ll have to come back soon and teach me some of those big city words you love so much. Bye, kiddo.”

Ugh. At least he didn’t ask me for money this time.

I deleted the message and called McKenna.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey, I’m back.”

“How’d it go?”

“It didn’t.”

“You didn’t go?”

“Oh, I went,” I said.

“What?”

“I went, but it didn’t go.”

“Okay, you lost me.”

“He wasn’t there,” I said.

“What?”

“He wasn’t there. I drove two hours, then waited for a half-hour, and then his neighbor told me he’d gone to a casino.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You think I’d kid about something like that?”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry, Wave.”

“Hey, what can you do, right? So are you ready to come over?”

“Yep. Did you get the chocolate mint bells?”

“Of course. The holiday playlist is all queued up, too,” I said.

“Cool. I’ll go pick up Andie. We’ll be over in a bit.”

I hung up the phone and looked at the empty tree in my living room. For as long as I’d lived in San Francisco, McKenna and Andie had helped me decorate my tree and apartment for Christmas. We’d eat chocolate mint bells, listen to holiday music, and, cheesy as it sounds, get in the spirit. It was strange now that I thought about it, but even the one Christmas I’d been with Aaron, they had been my decorating committee. I don’t even think he joined us that night.

A half-hour later I took their drenched raincoats and umbrellas.

“When did it start raining? Thank God I already brought the tree in,” I said.

They walked through my living room and sat down at the kitchen table. Andie shook her wet head and ran her fingers through her short hair. “This is ridiculous. I walked three blocks
with
an umbrella, and look at me.”

“It’s so nice and cozy in here. Do you have anything hot to drink?” McKenna said as Frank Sinatra sang “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in the background.

I hung their things up on the coat rack and walked into the kitchen. “It must be raining puppy cats out there. And if you can believe it, I do have something to drink. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

“No real drinks?” Andie said.

“Oops,” I said. “Of course. Would you like some red wine?”

Andie nodded. “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll have tea, please, with lemon if you have it,” McKenna said. “And did you just say that it must be raining puppy cats out there?”

I nodded.

“And what exactly is a puppy cat?”

“It’s a small cat, you know, like a puppy.” I held my hands in front of me about six inches apart.

“Do you mean a kitten?”

“Yes, exactly,” I said, nodding. “I’ve just noticed that I like the word
puppy cat
better than
kitten.
Sounds more descriptive.”

McKenna rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

We started pulling the decorations out of the boxes on my couch and got to work. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the tags off my new ornaments. I held up a large silver ball. “Okay, let’s talk about how proud of myself I am for getting these decorations. This will be my prettiest tree ever!”

McKenna stood on a chair to hang a string of lights above the built-in bookshelves and looked down at me. “Hey, you haven’t told us about the date last night. Which Darren was it?”

“Oh, yes, do tell,” Andie said, unwrapping a chocolate mint bell.

I made a face. “Ugh, so not worth a conversation. Wrong Darren, wrong personality, wrong time to agree to a Friday night date. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

“So I guess we won’t be meeting him anytime soon?” McKenna said.

I pulled a wine-colored ball out of the box and hung it on the tree. “I think the chances of that happening are about as good as the chances of finding Aaron on my doorstep tomorrow morning with a rose in his mouth and my dad standing next to him offering his blessings.”

“Has Aaron called you yet?” Andie said.

I shook my head. “Nope. And now that I ran into him, I don’t think he ever will.”

“So .  .  . what, you’re just going to never talk to him again?” McKenna said.

I put my hands on my hips and frowned. “I guess not. I have no idea.”