Perfect on Paper: The (Mis)Adventures of Waverly Bryson

by Maria Murnane

  I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “You’re a ruthless businessman, Mr. Mason. But then again, that’s probably why you own and I rent.”

  Davey looked around the table. “So, is everyone ready? The media’s already lining up outside like a bunch of dorks in costume at a Star Wars premiere, so it’s going to be a busy day,” he said.

  I turned to face Shane. “I guess this media crush won’t be anything new for you. Do you mind press interviews?”

  He leaned back in his chair and put his gigantic hands on his humongous knees. “Not really. It can be a little draining, but I’m willing to suck it up for a couple days to get the word out on the new shoe.”

  “Cool, that will make our job a lot easier,” I said. “As Davey has probably told you, Kent and I will take turns managing your interviews, and Davey will be here to answer questions regarding the design or marketing of the shoes. We’ll try to limit each interview to fifteen minutes to keep them from getting too boring. Here’s a copy of today’s schedule, and we’ll give you a heads-up on any late additions. I hope it’s not too much.”

  “It’ll be a layup,” Davey said, pretending to shoot a basket.

  “Got it,” Shane said. “Thanks.”

  He was thanking us? Was he for real? So polite! So grounded! So unusual for a professional athlete! No multiple gold chains, and he even appeared to be tattoo-free.

  At 9 a.m. sharp, the show doors opened, and the chaos began. It was like the running of the bulls as the huge arena filled up almost immediately. Kent and I watched it all as we stood at the front of the JAG booth and waited for our first press appointment to show up.

  “Hey, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room for a minute. I’ll be right back,” I said.

  “Don’t get lost,” he said.

  I headed to the back of the pavilion and put my hand on my hair as I walked to gauge the static. Walking on trade show carpets was like a high school physics experiment.

  On the way back from the restroom I grabbed a couple fun-size Milky Ways from the freebie bowl at the booth of a small exercise equipment company. I unwrapped one and popped it in my mouth, which I immediately regretted because I proceeded to start choking. I coughed and pounded on my chest a couple times until the half-chewed Milky Way flew out and into my hand. I stopped and glanced around for a napkin or a trash can but didn’t see one anywhere, so I tossed the Milky Way back in my mouth and started chewing on it again. I knew that was pretty gross, but hey, candy is candy, right?

  I started back toward the JAG booth and hoped Gabrielle Simone wouldn’t see me on the way. My eyes were totally watering, and I was sure my face was red and puffy. Just then my cell phone rang. I looked at it and groaned when I saw the name on the caller ID. Now was not the time to deal with a call from my dad, the perennial early bird. Usually I had my phone off when he called at the crack of dawn back home. I sent him to voicemail and put the phone in my purse.

  When I looked up, I saw a cute guy walking right at me.

  A very cute guy.

  “Are you okay?” he said. He was about six foot four with short, messy dark brown hair, tanned skin, and bright blue eyes. And he was smiling. Maybe even chuckling a bit.

  I looked up at him, but the candy in my mouth made it hard to speak normally—not that speaking normally to such a good-looking stranger would be easy for me under any circumstances. “Um, yeah, I’m fine,” I mumbled. Had he really just witnessed me putting a chewed-up, coughed-up Milky Way into my mouth?

  I was so embarrassed that I didn’t even stop. I just kept walking right on past him without even looking back. I turned the corner and headed back to the front of the JAG booth, where Kent was still standing.

  “Are you okay?” he said. “Your face is all red and puffy.”

  Great.

  “I’ll live,” I said.

  “This show is so cool,” he said. “I just saw Mia Hamm and Nomar Garciaparra, and I think I saw Wayne Gretzky, too, but I couldn’t be sure because he had a hat on.”

  Over Kent’s shoulder I saw a familiar face in the crowd. “Hey, there’s Scotty Ryan.”

  “Who?” Kent said.

  “Scotty, or Scott, Ryan. He’s a features correspondent for the Today show who used to work out of San Francisco. I actually saw him on TV this morning. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.” I raised my arm. “Hey, Scotty, over here!”

  Scotty turned his head, then said something to his camera crew and trotted over. “Why, Miss Waverly Bryson, what a pleasure to see your lovely face, although it’s looking a bit red and puffy at the moment. Are you okay?” He gave me a quick hug.

  “I’m fine, or I will be after a date with my makeup case,” I said. “Scotty, this is my coworker Kent Tanner from K.A. Marketing.”

  “Hi there, it’s nice to meet you,” Scotty said. They shook hands, and then Kent took off for the restroom himself.

  “I didn’t know you were going to be here, Scotty. Your name wasn’t on the registered press list,” I said.

  “It was a last-minute decision. We’re doing a story about all those protein bars on the market. They’re all the rage, you know.” He winked, his eyes more green than ever.

  I touched his arm. “Hey, while you’re here, do you want to interview Shane Kennedy about his new line of basketball shoes?”

  “Sorry, darling, I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Are you sure? It would really make us look good to score an interview with Today.”

  “You know, for you I’d do anything, and believe me, I wish I could, because Shane Kennedy is one attractive man, but I’m flying out in a couple hours to cover a movie premiere in L.A. Then tomorrow morning I’m back to the home base in Dallas.”

  “A movie premiere? Man, you have the best life,” I said. “By the way, I saw your feature this morning on that guy with the cats. Nice piece of investigative reporting, my friend. What would your journalism professors at Northwestern say?”

  He grinned. “I know, I’m a sellout. But sweetheart, if you knew what they paid me for that fluff, you’d understand.”

  “Believe me, my credit card bills and I are very jealous,” I said. “So you’re really out of here today? I wish we could at least have dinner or something. And JAG is throwing a big party on Friday night.”

  “Yep, I’m on a noon flight to L.A, so unfortunately I’m going to miss all the fun. Hey, I’ve really gotta run now and film this story. Keep in touch, okay?”

  “Okay. Bye, Scotty.”

  Nearly ten hours later, we were all back in the press interview room, fully exhausted and fully complaining about it. In addition to the media, our booth had been jammed with buyers, industry bigwigs, and employees of other exhibiting companies, all of them with one form or another of business with JAG, and most of them hoping to steal a glimpse of Shane Kennedy in the flesh. We had run around all day trying to attend to everyone, and it had been absolutely crazy.

  Kent loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair. “I feel like I was just run over by a train. Did any of you even get a chance to walk around the show floor and check out the other booths?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Davey laughed. “I barely had time to use the restroom.”

  I pressed my face flat on the conference table. “I need a margarita. And a massage. And did I mention a margarita?”

  “I haven’t even seen the trade show bunnies yet,” Davey said. “What a rip-off.”

  Shane looked at him. “Trade show bunnies?”

  “You know, the lovely ladies hired to attract visitors to the various booths,” Davey said.

  “Also known as trade show bimbos, in some circles,” I said, my face still flat on the table.

  Davey laughed. “In your circles, you mean.”

  I raised my head and pointed at him. “Hey now! Someone needs to take a stand against the shameless exploitation of women, right?”

  “Oh please, like you didn’t want to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader when you were a kid?” Ke
nt said.

  I laughed. “Okay, busted.”

  “So who’s up for a huge dinner on JAG to celebrate a job well done?” Davey said. “I’m starving.”

  I raised my arm. “Count me in.”

  “Me too,” Kent said.

  Shane nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  A half-hour later we were seated at a large booth at the back of Morton’s Steakhouse. When he’d seen who we were with, the maître d’ had been kind enough to put us in a back corner where Shane wouldn’t be super-noticeable, not that a six-foot-eight man isn’t super-noticeable everywhere. Then we ate and ate and ate until we couldn’t eat anymore.

  I tapped my fork against my wine glass. “All right, gentlemen, I would like to make an announcement.”

  “This should be good,” Davey said.

  “For the record, I’m going to work out every day for a week straight when I get home. Understood?” I said.

  They all nodded.

  I smiled. “Excellent, I’m glad we’re clear on that. Now may I please see the dessert menu?”

  The waiter brought out a dessert cart with every possible sweet you could want: pastries, cakes, sundaes, pies, and cookies. And I wanted everything. Everything! But I controlled myself and decided on the cheesecake … and a chocolate cookie.

  I swallowed a bite of cheesecake and turned to Shane. “So, Mr. Kennedy, how are you able to take a few days off to be here with us? Isn’t the NBA in full swing?”

  He pushed his sleeves about thirty-six inches up to his elbows. “Actually, we play the Hawks here in Atlanta on Saturday, so we had today off, and tomorrow and Friday I’ll practice with the team in the afternoon.”

  “Thank God for that,” Kent said.

  I nodded. “No kidding. Who would care about those stupid basketball shoes without you?”

  “Good point,” Davey said, pointing his fork at me. “But keep that to yourself.”

  “Hey, Shane, is Kristina doing any work at the show?” I said.

  Kent looked at me. “Who?”

  “His wife, Kristina Santana. You know, the Olympic figure skater?” I said.

  “You’re married to Kristina Santana? Really? I didn’t know that,” Kent said to Shane.

  I rolled my eyes. “Hello? How can you not know that? Don’t you watch Entertainment Tonight?”

  “Is that on ESPN?” Kent said.

  “Guys are worthless,” I said. Kristina Santana was as famous for her beauty and brains as for her jumping ability. After winning a silver medal at the Olympics, she’d gone on to become a pediatrician. She was also the new spokesperson for Whisper perfume, so her face was everywhere.

  “She’s amazing. You two are going to have bionic children—very smart, attractive bionic children,” I said to Shane.

  He smiled. “She’s actually coming into town on Friday to watch my game on Saturday night, so maybe I can introduce you.”

  I clapped my hands together. “I would love that! Are you going to bring her to the big JAG party on Friday night?”

  “I don’t know if we’ll be able to make the party, but we’ll try,” he said.

  “Don’t forget to introduce us, too,” Kent said. “Man, married to Kristina Santana. Go figure.”

  I punched him in the shoulder. “Go figure? Who says that?”

  “Chill, Bryson,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “So, how long have you and Kristina been married?”

  Shane picked up a forkful of tiramisu. “Almost five years. Are any of you married?”

  “Four years, two kids,” Kent said.

  “Living in sin, five years, no kids,” Davey said.

  They all looked at me.

  “Can you pass the sugar, please?” I said.

  Davey shook his head. “Waverly is what you call a heartbreaker,” he said to Shane. “Stomps all over them.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “She even broke off an engagement last year,” Davey said.

  Kent looked at me. “You were engaged? I didn’t know that. What happened?” he said.

  I swallowed and looked above him at the wall. “Um, it, uh, it just didn’t work out,” I said.

  “She crushed the dude,” Davey said. “Called it off two weeks before the big day. Poor guy never had a chance.”

  I poured some sugar in my coffee and sighed. “Can we please change the subject? I’m sure Shane doesn’t want to hear about this.”

  “You know, Waverly, you’ve got to lower your standards,” Davey said. “The way I see it, dating is like being in the jungle. Now, a relationship is a vine, and when things don’t work out, you’re basically hanging from a vine that ain’t swinging anymore. Now, you may want to jump to another vine, a healthier vine, a more supportive vine, or maybe a more exciting vine, but if none of the other vines are good enough for you, or if you just don’t have enough energy to make the jump, you’re going to spend the rest of your life clinging to the lifeless bottom of a dead vine just so you don’t fall into the abyss below.” He accompanied this speech with sweeping apelike arm gestures and a variety of animal sounds.

  There it was, my dysfunctional love life, acted out in a crowded restaurant by a 34-year-old monkey.

  “Well done, man. Well done.” Kent stood up and clapped.

  Davey bowed his head. “I’ll leave a tip jar outside my room.”

  “Thank you for that, Davey, now will you please stop talking?” I said.

  Shane looked at me. “Why do you call this guy Davey anyway?”

  I pointed at Davey. “Just look at that cute little boy face. How can you not call him Davey? And I’m sort of a nickname person.”

  Davey rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Bryson. Cute little boy face is just what a grown man wants to hear. Anyhow, Shane, I really think Waverly should put herself out there more, because in my professional opinion—”

  I looked up from my coffee cup. “In your professional opinion?”

  He nodded. “Yes, in my professional opinion, Miss Bryson here is a classic ringleader of what I like to call the Circle of Hatred, which for centuries has defeated even the bravest of single men.”

  Shane and Kent both put their forks down.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “The Circle of Hatred? What is that?”

  “It’s the ring of negative energy emitted by packs of pretty women in bars. Do you know how terrifying it is for a mere mortal to attempt to cross that force field? Just trying to strike up a conversation can cause years of emotional damage.”

  “The Circle of Hatred?” Shane said.

  Davey nodded. “Totally toxic.”

  “Oh, Davey, you’ve outdone yourself this time.” I buried my face in my hands.

  “Bravo,” Kent said.

  Shane was smiling, but he clearly thought we were insane.

  After dinner, Shane headed back to his hotel, and Davey and Kent went off to a party thrown by Nelson Tennis. I briefly toyed with the idea of going with them, but when it was time to pull the trigger, I just couldn’t rally.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, boys, but my pink sheets and free payper-view sound much more appealing than a crowded room at this moment.”

  “C’mon, Bryson,” Davey said, putting on his coat. “Don’t be antisocial.”

  “You sure?” Kent said, standing up. “The man of your dreams might be there….”

  I yawned. “Then tell him I’m sorry we couldn’t meet, again. If I want to stay awake at the booth tomorrow, I need to get in about fifteen hours of sleep tonight. Aren’t you guys tired at all?”

  Davey shook his head. “Nope, gotta enjoy this hall pass.”

  “Me neither,” Kent said. “I’m fired up for a free night out.”

  They took off, and I headed to the ladies’ room. A hall pass? That’s what they called it? I washed my hands and shook my head. While Davey and Kent both welcomed a night out without their significant others, I felt a wave of loneliness hit me that I hadn’t felt in months.

  A free night
out? I wished I had someone to curl up on the couch with every night, someone who wanted to hear about my day and rub my tired feet. I looked down and tried to remember if anyone had ever rubbed my feet. Aaron definitely hadn’t been a foot rubber.

  Sigh. Why was I still lying about how our engagement had ended?

  I pulled my ponytail holder out and shook my head, running my fingers through my hair and stretching my neck from side to side. Good Lord, only one day at the booth and already I felt like I was 130 years old. I thought about all the interviews I’d sat through, all the people I’d talked to, all the follow-up work I’d have to do when I got back to San Francisco. Ugh. I ran my hands through my hair again and looked at my reflection. The Atlanta air was always kind to my hair, and despite the convention arena air-conditioning, it felt healthy and strong and … WHAT?

  I leaned close to the mirror and grabbed at a strand of hair on the right side of my head.

  It was grey.

  WHAT?

  I yanked it out and held it up in the light. It was grey and thick, and did I mention it was grey and thick? It was like someone had woven a strand of dental floss into my scalp.

  Sweet Jesus.

  I tossed the hair into the trash can and looked at myself in the mirror. This couldn’t be happening, could it? I mean, what the hell? I had to get out of there. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and quickly walked out into the empty hallway.

  My cell phone rang, but I tossed it back in my purse when I saw my dad’s name on the caller ID. Then I leaned up against the wall and closed my eyes. A grey hair? Was I over the hill already?

  “Hey, are you okay?” a male voice said.

  I opened my eyes and saw Shane standing outside the men’s room.

  “I just found a grey hair!” I blurted out, then immediately covered my mouth with both hands.

  “Oh God, please tell me I didn’t just say that,” I whispered.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, too late.”