Perfect on Paper (22 page)

The very next day, fresh from a two-hour cry session on the phone with McKenna, I started working on my own baby. I finally sent sample Honey Notes to a handful of publishers, and I couldn’t believe how good it felt to do it. The thought of seeing something I created all on my own come to life made me feel like, well, like a proud mother. A proud, mini-van-free, sleep-deprivation-free mother.

After I submitted them, I kept writing new cards, using our department meetings as solid doodle time and as a way to keep from listening to Mandy Edwards, who was clearly having a ball running the Adina Energy account, given her glowing status reports. She hadn’t come back to me again to gloat or steal my ideas, so at least I didn’t have to deal with her outside of the weekly meetings.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), the material for the cards kept on coming, doing little to change my opinion that when it came to dating, I was in a class all by myself and might not ever graduate.

One Thursday night, I met a cute boy at the Kilkenny. His name was Pierce, and at first I thought he was super sweet and totally normal. He was six foot one with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a great smile. He worked in investment banking, had gone to Princeton and then Stanford Business School, played rugby on the weekends, and had a sarcastic sense of humor. We didn’t talk for very long, but when he asked for my phone number, I was more than happy to give it to him. Yahoo!

Our first date was all good. He took me to a quaint Italian restaurant in North Beach late on a Monday night, and over pasta and wine we shared stories about our jobs, our hobbies, our friends. We covered all the bases, and I made it through the entire night without any red flags flying through the air or without having to tell him about my engagement or my childhood. At first I wasn’t sure if I was physically attracted to him, but I enjoyed his company, and when he dropped me off at midnight, he said goodbye with a soft kiss on the mouth that definitely piqued my interest. It had been so long since I’d had a kiss on the mouth, much less a kiss like that!

Get that press release ready, I was back in the game!

But then my team started to lose.

Fast.

The next morning I got to the office at eight thirty. I was a little sleep-deprived, but it was a good sleep deprivation—you know, the kind that doesn’t bother you too much because you were up late on a date, not because you were up late watching TV by yourself.

I sat down at my desk and took a sip of coffee and a bite of my chocolate chip bagel. Then I logged onto my computer and saw an e-mail from Pierce in my in-box. The “sent” time was 5:02 a.m.

5:02 a.m.?

Then I remembered that he worked market hours, so his 5 a.m. was like another person’s 8 a.m. I could only imagine how exhausted our late night must have left him. I clicked on the message to open it.

I blinked slowly three times after reading the e-mail. Then I read it again. Then I closed it without replying and looked nervously around me, as if I had witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to.
I have a feeling this might be everything I’ve been waiting for and more?
After one date? Wasn’t that more of a twenty-ninth date sort of comment? Or maybe a marriage proposal sort of comment?

I decided to postpone any response until I could discuss the situation with McKenna and Andie over lunch, which we’d scheduled at a deli equidistant from our offices. I scrolled through my other e-mails and saw one from a reporter at
Sports Illustrated
asking for an interview with the president of JAG for a story she was writing about the credibility of athletes who get paid to endorse products. (I had always wondered the same thing; I mean, think about it!) I picked up my phone to call Davey about it, and the stutter dial tone alerted me to a new voicemail. I punched in my password and listened. The message had been left at 8:25 a.m.:

“Hi, Waverly, it’s me, Pierce. I sent you an e-mail when I got to work, but I wasn’t sure if you got it, so I thought I’d call. Anyhow, I just wanted to say hi and tell you how much fun I had last night. I really want to see you again and was wondering if you’re free tonight? It might sound strange, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Anyway, I really had a great time. Call me please. Bye.”

I sat back in my chair.

What the …?

Seriously, what the …? I knew I was just getting used to dating again, but wasn’t this a little bit over the top? I didn’t know what to do, so I closed the message and tried not to think about it. I had a lot of work to do that morning, so I just got on with my day.

After I called Davey, I met with Nicole and Kent in the conference room to review the status of our accounts. After that I spoke to several reporters to arrange interviews with clients, and then I worked on a launch plan for a new line of JAG tennis balls. Your basic PR grind.

Around ten thirty or so, I walked into the kitchen to get a fresh cup of coffee. To my delight, someone had left an unmistakable big pink box on the counter. I was in the mood for something sugary, so I grabbed an old-fashioned glazed donut, filled up my mug, and headed back to my office.

When I sat down at my desk, I saw a new e-mail message from Pierce in my in-box. It wasn’t even lunchtime!

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. And don’t think I hadn’t noticed that big fat
YOUR.
As I sat there with my mouth open, I saw that my phone had registered four missed calls, but I didn’t have any voicemails. Then I noticed that all the calls were from the same number.

Could it be?

I pulled Pierce’s card out of my desk drawer and compared it with the number on my caller ID log … bingo.

Holy restraining order. I had won the stalker lottery.

Just then the phone rang again. I looked at the number on the caller ID display.

Was he kidding me?

I looked at my watch. It was only ten forty-five. My lunch with McKenna and Andie couldn’t arrive fast enough.

“You swear he seemed normal last night?” Andie said.

“And he was normal when you met him?” McKenna took a bite of her salad.

I nodded my head vigorously. “Yes! I swear! I had my crazy radar on high both times, and it didn’t pick up anything. I used to be able to spot the red flags faster than this. Have I totally lost it?”

McKenna nodded and took a sip of her Sprite. “Could be, could be. You’re definitely out of practice. Now let’s review the situation. Did previous relationships enter into any of your conversations?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Not at all. But then again, that’s one thing I always try to avoid when I first meet someone. I mean, who needs to hear about Aaron and his love child right away, right?” I said.

She took another sip of her Sprite and set it down on the table.

“Now normally I would agree with you,” she said. “But in this case, a few strategically placed questions might have avoided this whole situation.”

“Like what,
Are you a stalker?
” I sighed. “What a bummer. He seemed so promising. I can’t believe he turned out to be that guy from
Swingers.
”

“Yeah, sounds like a classic résumé boyfriend,” Andie said.

I looked at her. “Huh?”

“Perfect on paper, but a total bust in person,” she said.

“Ah,” I said. “Exactly.”

“From everything you told us, he seemed great,” McKenna said.

I nodded. “He did to me, too.”

“So I guess it’s onto the next one?” Andie said.

I sighed. “What do I do now?”

“To avoid bad dating karma, you need to be honest with him,” McKenna said. “Just be firm and let him know you’re not interested.”

I nodded. “Okay, I think I can do that.”

Andie put her hand over mine. “But don’t be a bitch about it, okay? You know you have that unintentional bitchy thing going on sometimes,” she said.

I nodded. “I know, but I swear I’m working on that.” I sipped my iced tea and smiled weakly.

“Pull that Band-Aid off, but with tact,” McKenna said.

“Couldn’t I just not e-mail him back and not return his calls? Isn’t that what everyone else does?” I said.

“That’s what I do,” Andie said.

“You’re not helping here,” McKenna said to her, then looked at me. “Wave, sometimes it sucks being nice, but you are nice. Now get to it and cut that cord.”

“Do I have to?”

They both nodded.

I looked at Andie. “Would you?”

She laughed. “I’m not as nice as you.”

I made a face. “Ugh.”

Late that afternoon, after I was sure he’d be gone for the day, I replied to Pierce’s e-mail saying I was busy that night. I tried to sound uninterested, but apparently I wasn’t firm enough. The next three days he e-mailed me at 4:59 a.m., 5:01 a.m., and 5:03 a.m., all asking me out for that weekend. He literally must have walked into his office and e-mailed me before even turning on the lights, either that or from his BlackBerry even
before
he got to the office. Did he have zero friends to stop him?

I deleted each e-mail without replying. He also called several times a day, but thanks to my trusty caller ID, I never picked up.

The following Monday, I walked into yet another e-mail, this one sent at 5:02 a.m. This time I finally responded to it.

I could only hope he didn’t know my ex-boyfriend, because I was pretty sure we weren’t getting back together.

I never heard from stalker Pierce again, but the Honey Note fodder kept on coming. A week or so later, my old roommate Whitney called. She wanted to set me up with a guy her husband, Bryan, worked with. His name was Ben, and he was an accountant at Bryan’s law firm.

“An accountant?” I said, sighing into the phone. “I don’t want to stereotype, but an accountant?”

“I swear, Waverly, he’s a nice guy. And he’s cute. And he definitely meets your height requirement.”

“But is he boring?”

“No, he’s not boring. Trust me. He’s a nice guy, and he’s our age, and he’s single.”

“He’s not blond is he?” Ever since I’d been covered in slobber by Barry Winters at the eighth grade holiday dance, the thought of locking lips with a blond had triggered my gag reflex.

She sighed. “Seriously, Waverly, stop being so picky. When was the last time you even got some action?”

I cracked up. “Getting action” was classic Whitney. She used to say that all the time when we lived together.

“Okay, okay, have him call me,” I said.

Ben called a day or so later, and we made plans to have a drink the following Tuesday after work. It seemed harmless enough, so I was going with it.

The day of the date, there was a voicemail from Ben waiting for me when I got back to my desk after lunch:

“Hi, Waverly, it’s Ben Herman here. I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to cancel our drink tonight. I’m feeling a bit yucky, so I’m heading home early. I’ll call you tomorrow to reschedule. I’m really sorry, but I just feel too icky to go out.”

I saved the message.

Yucky
and
icky
? Had he just said
yucky
and
icky
?

I replayed the message again. Yes, he had said them both.

I’m sorry, but there was no way I was going on a blind date with a grown CHILDLESS man with the words
yucky
and
icky
in his daily vocabulary.

I deleted the message and the one he left the next day, too. Whitney was pissed at me for weeks, but whatever. They were getting lower every day, but I still had some standards.