Perfect on Paper (24 page)

Front: Want to keep yourself from going too far on the first date?

Inside: Honey, don’t shave your legs. And if you need extra insurance, wear your oldest granny panties.

Front: How long should you wait before sleeping with a guy you’ve just started dating?

Inside: Honey, if he’s hot, why are you wasting your time asking me?

Front: Been on some bad dates lately?

Inside: Honey, at least you’re out and about, right? That’s better than cleaning your oven, which you know you never use anyway.

Front: Found out a guy you really like is seeing other people?

Inside: Honey, let’s see how he looks in about ten years. There’s an inverse correlation between success as a player when they’re young and success in the battle of the bulge when they’re not.

On occasion, May in San Francisco can do a fantastic imitation of October, and that year, April did a fantastic imitation of May’s imitating October. The days were unusually warm and balmy, the daylight reaching further and further into each evening. (But don’t get me wrong. It was still as freezing as a popsicle at night.)

One Wednesday morning, Scotty Ryan called me out of the blue.

I smiled into the phone. “Hey, Scotty, what a nice surprise. How are you?”

“I’m good, beautiful. Can’t complain at all.”

“What have you been up to since Cynthia and Dale’s wedding? Are you still seeing that Tad guy?” I said.

“Actually, I am. Can you believe it? Three months and counting. I may be going soft in my old age, but I think I’m in love,” he said.

I tossed my squishy stress ball in the air. “
Now
I’ve heard everything. So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Mr. Ryan?”

“Actually, I thought I might steal you for a few hours at lunchtime today.”

“Today? You’re in town?”

“I am indeed. I’m interviewing Bono before the U2 concert down in San Jose tonight, so since I’m here I thought I’d catch the Giants game today and hoped my favorite PR lady might want to join me. I’ve got two tickets to a friend of a friend’s luxury box.”

I sat up straight in my chair. “Wait a minute. You’re interviewing Bono, and U2 is my favorite band OF ALL TIME, and you’re inviting me to the
Giants
game? The Giants, who finished in last place last year, I might add?”

He laughed. “I know, I’m a horrible friend. But as usual, the producers decided on this assignment at the last minute, so I can’t get any extra tickets to the concert. I’m so sorry, love. I’ll make it up to you some other way, okay? I promise.”

“You’d better, Scotty Ryan, you’d better.”

“I will, I promise. Now what time do you want me to pick you up? The baseball game starts at one fifteen. Can you ditch work for a few hours?”

I smiled again. “Hey, if I’m spending quality time with a big-shot reporter from the
Today
show, it’s not skipping work, it’s professional development. Have I taught you nothing about PR?”

“Ah, of course,” he said. “So does twelve thirty sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. See you then.”

I hung up the phone and saw Mandy Edwards standing in my office door.

“Hey, Waverly, did you just say you’re going to the Giants game with a reporter from the
Today
show?”

I nodded. Busted.

She smiled. “That’s so cool. Do you think he might be interested in hearing about Adina Energy’s new line of energy bars? They taste really good, you know.”

“Uh, probably not. He covered that trend last year.”

Her smile didn’t move. “Oh, okay, just thought I’d ask. Because Adina Energy has such a high-profile brand name, we’re targeting high-profile press with our campaign, you know, so I just figured the
Today
show might be interested too. So you’re going to watch a baseball game in the middle of the day?”

I nodded again. “Yep, is there something else you needed? I’m really sort of busy here.”

“No thanks, just stopped by to say hello. I’m really busy with this launch, you know.”
Because it’s so high-profile, you know.

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

She turned to leave. “Well, have fun at the game,” she said a little too loudly as she walked away.

“Thanks, Mandy, I will,” I said to the pencil in my hand, which I wanted to snap in half.

As soon as she was gone, I immediately went to ask Jess if it was okay to go to the game before Mandy got to him. Thank God he said yes. Thank God for our clients who were desperate to get their products in front of the millions of people who watch the
Today
show.

Three hours later, Scotty and I were in a half-empty luxury box at AT&T Park, watching the Giants get killed by the Padres. But we didn’t really care about the game, because there was an open bar!

“So it’s the real deal with this guy Tad?” I said, as he handed me a beer and a plate of the ballpark’s famous garlic fries.

“It may be, my dear, he may be. But time will tell. The distance thing is forcing us to take things slowly.”

“He lives in New York, right? Do you think you’ll move there?” I picked up a handful of fries. “Wouldn’t it be easier for your job anyway if you were in New York?”

He took a sip of his drink and nodded. “I’ve thought about it, and it would certainly be more exciting than Dallas, but we’ll see. What about you—how’s your love life these days?”

“Hey, did that guy just get a hit?” I leaned forward in my seat and pointed down at the field.

He looked over at me and laughed. “Are you avoiding my question?”

“What question?” I grabbed some more fries and stuffed them in my mouth.

“Waverly?”

I stood up and smoothed my skirt. “Hey, I’m going to run to the restroom. Do you need another drink from the free bar? It’s on me.” I pointed to the small bar by the door.

He shook his head and smiled. “Okay, okay, I won’t ask any more questions. But I will have another beer when you get back.” He handed me a ten-dollar bill. “And why don’t you grab another plate of garlic fries from the snack bar since you just inhaled most of these.”

I took the money and blew him a garlic kiss. “Okay, dearie, I’m on it. I’ll be right back.” I walked out of the luxury box and headed down the pristine corridor toward the restroom and the non-crowded snack bar. Being a VIP at the ballpark was an entirely different experience from going as a regular spectator. In many ways it was like the first class versus coach scenario on an airplane: free drinks, no crowds or restroom lines, and my snob attitude that appeared out of nowhere.

Five minutes later, I was walking back from the snack bar holding a huge tray of garlic fries. The smell was a little overwhelming, and I could only wonder how lethal my breath must be after eating so many of them. But man, were they yummy. I picked up three more and stuffed them into my mouth. Thank God I was only with Scotty, who had just kissed me on his way to the restroom and pretended to faint from the smell. I mean, could you imagine being on a real date and scarfing down a huge pile of garlic fries and then—

I stopped in my tracks.

Standing ten feet in front of me was Jake McIntyre.

Jake McIntyre and those gorgeous blue eyes.

It’d been months since I’d run into him at Cynthia’s wedding, but seeing him still made my legs feel all wobbly. I wanted to say hello, but for some reason I wasn’t able to get those stupid legs to listen to me. So I just kept on walking.

“Waverly?”

My stupid legs kept moving.

“Waverly?”

Finally my brain regained control of my nervous system.

I turned to face him. “Oh, hi, Jake. I, uh, I didn’t see you.”

He smiled and walked toward me. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, just watching the game.” I tried to swallow the fries I was still chewing as fast as I could, but the smell of them was engulfing my body.

“Who are you here with?” he said.

I smiled and immediately forgot every guy I’d been on a date with all year. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question since I’m the one who lives here?”

He pointed at the door to the luxury box right next to me. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I mean who are you with at this event?” On the door was a sign that said BA ROCKS VIP ROOM.

I shook my head. “I’m not here for any event. I just came this way to get some snacks.”

“Oh, sorry, I just assumed because of the PR thing … well anyway, how are you?”

I was afraid to speak too loudly because the last thing I wanted was more garlic heading in his direction. “I’m good, good, thanks. What are you doing here?”

“Just a guest of a friend of mine who’s sponsored by BA Rocks.”

“Oh, cool, that sounds fun,” I said. “Uh, so how are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. Well I guess not that good. We just got swept in the first round of the playoffs, so my summer vacation came a little early this year.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What do you do in the off-season anyway?” I was determined to be nice to him this time, regardless of how nervous I was. I smiled and felt the sweat beading up on my forehead. Garlic-scented sweat. Nice.

He pointed to the door again. “A couple boondoggles like this, and then I’m going to visit my parents in Florida, then spend a couple months working at basketball camps for underprivileged kids in Atlanta.”

“Gotta love the boondoggle,” I said. “Personally I’m a big fan. And those camps sound cool, too.” God, he was pretty. Those eyes …
Keep it together.
…
Keep it together
.

He laughed. “Yeah, it’ll be a fun summer. But first I think I’m going to spend a few weeks in South America. I’ve always wanted to go to Brazil and Argentina.”

Alone? Was he going alone?

I was dying to ask him.

Should I ask him?

Maybe I could ask him.

What could it hurt to ask him?

Suddenly I realized that a lot of time had passed, and I still hadn’t said a word.

Say something, Waverly!

“I went to Brazil and Argentina a few years ago,” I blurted out. “It’s a total party down there. I’ve never kissed so many boys in my life.”

OH MY GOD.

He laughed. “What?”

My cheeks were more on fire than my breath. “Uh, have you ever noticed how much the Giants suck?” I whispered.

Just then a man in a suit walked up to Jake and put his hand on his arm. “Mr. McIntyre, there’s a phone call for you inside.”

Jake looked at the man and then back at me.

I raised my eyebrows. “
Mr. McIntyre
? Are you more important than I think you are?”

He smiled. “They’re just being polite. Well, I guess I’d better go. It was nice to see you, Waverly.”

I saluted. “You too,
Mr. McIntyre
. Bye.”

He turned and walked into the suite with the man. The door closed behind them, and I just stood there.

I’ve never kissed so many boys in my life?

I was the stupidest person alive.

A couple weeks later, I came home from work early. My throat and head were killing me, and I just wanted to lie down. I walked into the building and grabbed my mail, then unlocked the apartment door and headed straight for my bed. I flipped through the stack as I walked and saw three envelopes from publishing houses. Three very thin envelopes.

“Great,” I said. I sat down on my bed and read one rejection after another. Ugh. Who knew it was harder to get into the greeting card business than it was to get into Harvard? I was trying to keep my hopes up, but the growing stack of rejection letters on my desk was hard to ignore. They all sounded more or less the same:

Dear Ms. Bryson: Thank you for your submission to (insert company name here). While we think your idea is (insert lukewarm adjective here), we don’t think it is an appropriate fit for us at this time. Good luck, and thank you for thinking of (insert company name here).

Was there some sort of rejection letter template in Microsoft Word?

I lay back on my bed and shut my eyes. This truly was worse than applying to college. At least when you applied to college you knew that someone, somewhere, would let you in because they needed your money.

I kept my eyes closed, and before I knew it I was asleep. An hour later I was startled awake by the ring of my cell phone. Half asleep, I sat up, and for a second I didn’t know where I was. I shook my head and tried to snap out of my groggy haze.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kiddo.”

I cursed myself for not looking at the caller ID.

I lay back on the bed. “Hi, Dad.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Oh no, not at all.” I tried to play it off, but it was obvious that I’d been totally asleep. Why doesn’t anyone ever just admit that?

“How are you doing?” he said.

“I’m okay, came home from work a little early today because I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Still burning the candle at both ends, huh? You never could slow yourself down.”

“I guess so,” I said. “So what’s going on with you?”

“Well, I have some good news,” he said.

Good news? From my dad?

“Really?” I said. “What is it?”

“I’ve got myself a new job.”

“Really? That’s great, Dad. Where?”

“Here,” he said.

“Here?”

“No, here, not there,” he said.

“What?” I said.

“Here, as in at home. I’ll be working from home.”

“Doing what?”

“I’ll be selling vitamins,” he said.

“Vitamins?”

“It’s a great opportunity. If I work hard enough, I should be able to make a couple thousand a week.”

“Vitamins? At home?”

“Yep, I went to a seminar and learned all I need to know. Now I just need to buy the vitamins, and I’ll be able to get started.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “You have to buy the vitamins first?”

“Yes, they want to make sure you’re committed to the process, so they have you buy them upfront. Then it’s all profit after that.”

“C’mon, Dad,” I said.

“C’mon, Dad, what?”

“Dad, that’s a scam. They’re dumping that product on you, so all the risk is on you, not them. Don’t you see that?”

“Waverly, can’t you for once support me on something? This is a good investment opportunity for your old man.”

I bit my lip and took a deep breath. “No.”

“No?” he said.

“Dad, I can’t watch you dig your own grave again. I just can’t. If you want to get a job, I’m all for it. But selling vitamins out of your house doesn’t sound like the best choice.”

“You’ll see,” he said. “I’m really going to make something of this.”

Here we go again
, I thought. “Dad, I’m not having this conversation with you again. I love you, but I’m hanging up now.”

“But—”

“Goodbye, Dad.” I slowly shut my phone, put it down on the bed, and followed with my head on the pillow.

The next thing I knew my phone was ringing again. This time I looked at the caller ID display, but I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Waverly Bryson?”

“Yes?” I didn’t recognize the voice either.

“Hi, Waverly. My name is Becca Bentley, and I work for Smithers Publishing here in San Francisco.”

Smithers
Publishing?
My heart stopped. I didn’t remember sending them anything, but my heart stopped anyway.

“Hi,” I said.

“We received the samples of your Honey Notes that you sent to Kara Barnett in our art department.”

“Oh,” I said. Kara Barnett? As in Andie’s cousin? Go Andie!

“And I’m calling to see if you can come in next week to talk about them.”

I tried not to fall off the bed. “Next week? Sure, I can do that.”

“Great. Hold the line so my assistant can schedule an appointment. I look forward to meeting you, Waverly.”

“Um, you too. Thanks for calling … um … thanks for calling.” Oops, I had already forgotten her name.

Three minutes later I had a meeting on the calendar of Smithers Publishing.

I hung up the phone and sat there on my bed.

Holy crap.

That Sunday, McKenna and I went for one of our walks. We had a lot to talk about, so we decided to enjoy the sun and just do it. We met on our usual corner around two o’clock and headed down toward the water. Since we weren’t pressed for time, we planned to walk all the way over the Golden Gate Bridge and back. However, we also brought a small backpack with a change of clothes in case we decided to bail out early and have a drink in the sun.

And that’s exactly what we did.

Twenty minutes later, we were lounging in expensive teak lawn chairs on the deck of the ritzy St. Francis Yacht Club, right on the water of the Marina Green and facing the Golden Gate Bridge. And all for club members only. I loved that McKenna worked in investment banking.

I took a sip of my iced tea and pushed my sunglasses on top of my head. “Okay, let’s get down to business and do a checklist. We’ve got the date, we’ve got your dress, we’ve got the place, we’ve got the band, we’ve got the caterer, we’ve got the maid of honor—who, by the way, is doing a kick-ass job, I must say—and we’ve got the guest list. Am I missing anything?”

She grabbed a nacho and chomped. “We still need to figure out the invitations, flowers, wedding cake, and dresses for you and Andie. Oops, I forgot about the rehearsal dinner. We need to find a place for that.”

“No worries. We’ve planned tons of restaurant parties at K.A. Marketing and have contacts all over the city, so it won’t be hard at all to find the perfect spot. Leave it to me. Just promise me that you won’t move to the suburbs after the honeymoon, okay? Hey, what about the honeymoon anyway? Where are you going?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Hunter is in charge of that, and he won’t tell me anything. He said I won’t know where we’re going until we’re at the airport.”

“Oooh, how romantic. I didn’t know he had it in him. Actually, what am I saying? Anyone who spells out MARRY ME MCKENNA on a Scrabble board wins huge points in the romance category. But you hinted enough to make sure he takes you to a beach, right?”

She sipped her Diet Coke. “I did more than hint. I told him I’m only packing tropical clothes.”

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. “Why anyone would want to do anything but lie on a beach and drink piña coladas after the stress of planning a wedding is beyond me. Sightseeing? Museums? Honey, are you kidding me?”

“Hey, speaking of honey, are you all ready for your big meeting at Smithers?” she said.

I opened my eyes and sat back up. “It’s all I can think about. Well, besides planning your wedding, of course. It’s probably nothing, but still, nothing is something, right?”

“Nothing is definitely something. I’m proud of you, Bryson.”

I grinned. “Thanks.”

“My fingers are crossed for you,” she said. “And I expect a very expensive wedding present if you strike it rich.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Maybe I’ll even make a Honey Note for you.”

“Really? What would it be?”

“Let me think.” I took a sip of my drink and closed my eyes.

“I’m waiting …”

“Shhh. I’m concentrating.”

“Still waiting …”

“Shhh … don’t disturb the artist.”

“I’m falling asleep here …”

“Shhh,” I said. “I’m not good under pressure.”

“I’ve got one for you,” she said.

I opened my eyes and looked at her. “You do?”

“Yep.”

“Well?”

“The front of the card says:
Happy that your best friend’s getting married but afraid of losing her?
”

I swallowed. God, she knew me well.

“And when you open it, it says:
Honey, don’t worry. She’s not going anywhere
.”

“Really?” I said, a lump forming in my throat.

“Really.” She leaned over and gave me a hug. “I need my Waverly.”

Walking by myself back up Fillmore a couple hours later, I nearly strolled right in front of a car as I crossed against the light at Union Street. Oops. The honking horn snapped me out of my daydream, and I hurried across the street to safety and away from the angry glare of the driver. When I got to the sidewalk, I looked back down the hill toward the yacht club and smiled. McKenna was getting married. I was meeting with a real publishing company. It was nearly sixty-five degrees outside. Life was definitely looking up.

Speaking of looking up, I turned around and did just that, contemplating the steep trek ahead of me to Pacific Heights.

And then I saw him. Or them.

Aaron and his pregnant wife were walking down Fillmore Street, right toward me.

I froze. It was like I was in the Marina Safeway all over again. Back in my sweatpants, and totally unprepared for the encounter.

I had a choice to make.

I could say hi to them … face the future.

Or I could run … from the past.

I wanted to put on a brave face, I really did. But my legs had other ideas, and I ducked into the Coffee Roastery until they were gone.

The evening before the Smithers Publishing meeting, I went for a short run in the Presidio. My mind was bursting with questions. What would the meeting be like? What would they say? What should I wear? I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t hear anything else. That quickly ended, however, when someone shouted my name from behind.

“Waverly! Waverly!”

I turned around and wished I’d been wearing my headphones when I saw Brad Cantor jogging up the hill. He was wearing a white terry-cloth headband and a green tank top that said KISS ME, I’M IRISH.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to turn around,” he said as he caught up with me. “I’ve been calling your name for a while.”

“Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I said. I tried not to sound annoyed, but seriously, could he be more ubiquitous?

“Good stuff, I hope?” he said.

“I hope it will be,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Hey, I’m glad to see your leg’s all healed.”

How did he know about my leg? I was pretty sure that the past few months had been Brad Cantor–free.

“My leg?”

“Didn’t you have a cast or something? I saw you on Chestnut Street a few months ago with a cast up to your knee. I yelled your name, but you didn’t hear me.”