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

by Maria Murnane

  “A rookie, please,” I said with a big smile of my own. Thank God for under-eye concealer.

  Fresh drink in hand, I turned around to scan the crowd for familiar faces. Nothing. The room was getting really crowded, and I wondered where all the people from JAG were. I didn’t see anyone I recognized, except for a handful of celebrity athletes. I had already spotted two players from the Red Sox, a couple of wide receivers from the Steelers, and an unbelievably short Olympic gymnast who didn’t look old enough to drive, much less drink.

  I wandered around the party for a few more minutes and still didn’t recognize a soul. I looked at my watch and noticed that my drink was almost empty. Then I realized that I’d skipped lunch, hadn’t eaten much at dinner, and was suddenly feeling a bit tipsy, so I headed over to the buffet table. I scoped out the offerings and filled up a tiny party plate with cheese and crackers.

  I munched on a cracker and stood on my tiptoes to look around for a familiar face. Still nothing. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable, as if all the people in the room were looking at me. My face began to feel a little flushed. My burst of confidence vanished, to be replaced by a feeling that the whole room was wondering who the loser in the red lipstick was.

  “Hey there, can I tell you that you look really hot in those jeans?”

  I looked to my right, and then I looked down, and then I met the glance of a middle-aged man who looked like he had eaten every meal for the past twenty-five years at McDonald’s. He was about five foot five and balding, with what remained of his thinning hair brushed into a tragic comb-over. He wore a white button-down shirt with a collar so tight that the folds of his neck hung over the side, and it looked like he was wearing a tire around his waist under his shirt. I tried not to look too closely at what was below his waist, but I believe his shirt was tucked into a pair of black Levi’s. To top it off, he was wearing a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.

  Oh, and he was sweating.

  I’m pretty sure you can imagine what I was thinking in this situation.

  “Uh, thank you, I guess,” I said. I wondered how I could escape. Where was everybody from JAG?

  “I’m Chuck Jenkins. What’s your name, pretty lady?” He was chomping on a greasy buffalo wing covered in ranch dressing.

  “Um, I’m Waverly. Waverly Bryson.”

  “Did you say Waverly? Waverly, as in the cracker?”

  I sighed. “Yes, as in the cracker.” My name could either be a fun conversation starter or a major annoyance depending on who was on the other end of the conversation.

  “Well I’ll be damned. Waverly.” He licked the ranch dressing off his fingers, then wiped his hand on his black jeans and extended it to me for a handshake.

  Was he kidding? I smiled politely and made a gesture that my hands were both occupied. Sweet Jesus, please just go away. I was sort of drunk, but not drunk enough to deal with this asshole.

  He ate another buffalo wing and looked me up and down. “Ya know, you are one gorgeous woman, Waverly. With that lean body, I bet you’re a volleyball player. Am I right? Beach volleyball? What company are you representing? Is it a bikini manufacturer?”

  “I work for Jammin’ Athletic Gear,” I said with another sigh. “I’m a publicist.”

  “A what? For what?”

  I glanced over his shoulder. “A publicist, for Jammin’ Athletic Gear. I manage media relations for the sporting goods company throwing this party.”

  “Ya mean y’all handle press conferences and things like that?”

  “Yes, exactly,” I said. His southern drawl was really getting on my nerves. I looked around the room for someone to rescue me. No one.

  I looked back at him and tried not to think about his male muffin top. “Um, what do you do, Chuck?”

  “My company sells hot dogs to the concession stands at the convention center.” He had his greasy fingers back in his mouth.

  Hot dogs? More than one inappropriate comment came to mind.

  “Oh, so you’re not in town just for the show?” I said.

  He shook his head. “No, no, sweetheart. I work with all the shows that come through here. But I dig the Super Show because of all the hot broads like yourself who come along with the package. Are you married?”

  Was this fat little man serious? To hell with being polite. I had to get out of there. I put my plate down on a table and decided to make a run for it.

  “Uh, well, it was nice talking to you, Chuck, but I need to meet up with some friends. Have a nice night.”

  I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm with his greasy, chubby hand. “Hey now, sweetheart, don’t leave just yet! We were just getting started. Ya know, there are all sorts of ways to enjoy a Waverly cracker. Maybe we could have a little snack in your hotel room?”

  Did he really just say that? I yanked my arm away and began walking toward the dance floor. “I’m sorry, Chuck, but I really have to go now.”

  “Save me a dance!” he called after me.

  Ugh. I kept going and didn’t look back.

  I escaped to a corner on the other side of the room and looked at my watch again. Where were Kent and Davey? Where was Penelope? I finished the last bit of my drink and put it down on one of the small round tables. My attempt at securing nourishment at the buffet had been thwarted by Chuck, and now I was more buzzed than ever.

  I could still feel the clammy touch of his hand on my arm and wondered if there was any disinfectant on that tray of products in the lounge. So gross! Just my luck that of all the guys at the party, it was Chuck in his black Levi’s who had come up to talk to me. Did I look like a Chuck type of girl? Was my dad right about me?

  Just as I was beginning to rethink the whole red lipstick thing, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Waverly, is that you?”

  I swung around and found myself face-to-face with the third button of a perfectly pressed white cotton shirt. Then I looked up about two feet and saw Shane Kennedy looking down at me.

  I smiled wide. “Hey, Shane! I’m so glad to see you. Apparently I don’t know anyone here.” I hoped I wasn’t yelling, because after a few drinks I had a tendency to talk way louder than necessary.

  “Well, that makes three of us.” He nodded to the person standing next to him, and my eyes followed.

  No way.

  It was the cute guy I’d seen the first morning of the Super Show, right after the unfortunate Milky Way incident.

  “Waverly, this is Jake McIntyre,” Shane said. “He was my roommate in college and is the head physical therapist and trainer for the Hawks here in Atlanta.” Then he looked at Jake. “Waverly managed all the press interviews for JAG at the show.”

  “Hi, uh, um, it’s nice to meet you, Jake.” I held out my hand, hoping it wasn’t too sweaty.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” He shook my hand and smiled, and I could feel my cheeks getting red. Did he recognize me? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “Um, uh, so you two were roommates in college?” I played with my earring and wondered if I had any breath mints in my purse.

  “All four years,” Shane said. “Longest years of my life. Hey, are Kent and Dave here?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve been standing around by myself for the last hour wondering where they are. Have you ever noticed how lame it can make you feel wandering around a party by yourself?”

  I hoped they couldn’t tell I was so buzzed, especially since I’d just told them that I didn’t know anyone there. What kind of loser gets tanked by herself at a party?

  Jake laughed. “Shane’s never at a party by himself. He’s too famous.”

  I looked up at Shane. “Too many admirers, Mr. Kennedy?”

  “Just slightly,” Jake said. “Press, fans, general hangers-on. It’s crazy. I have to make an appointment weeks in advance just to beat this clown at Madden Football.”

  Shane coughed. “Like you ever win.”

  “Hangers-on?” I said to Shane. “What does your wife think about the ha
ngers-on who are of the female disposition?”

  He laughed. “They don’t want to mess with Kristina, let’s just say that.”

  “Hey, is she coming?” I said.

  Shane shook his head. “She got stuck at the hospital.”

  “Oh no, really? Darn it. I was really looking forward to meeting her.”

  He put his arm around Jake. “Well, my man Jake here isn’t nearly as hot as my wife, but he’s not all that bad, is he?”

  I must have turned even redder, because Shane laughed, and Jake hit him on the side of the head. “You’re a jackass, Shane,” he said. Then he looked at me and smiled. “Ignore him, Waverly.”

  I looked at Jake but didn’t speak. I felt like a female deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car being driven by a very hot male deer. Or would that be a buck? Whatever the word, he was hot and I was not cool.

  He and Shane were obviously waiting for me to say something in response, but I couldn’t think of anything witty.

  Or anything at all.

  Anything.

  Anything!

  “Uh, um, that’s okay,” I finally said quietly. McKenna and Andie would kill me for being so pathetic.

  I made a mental note for a Honey Note:

  Front: Ever get tongue-tied talking to a cute boy?

  Inside: Honey, if his tongue wasn’t involved, you’re a loser.

  I finally broke my gaze from Jake and turned back to Shane. “So, um, hey, Shane … didn’t you say you had a game here tomorrow? Then I guess you guys sort of play against each other?”

  He nodded. “Yep, tomorrow night. Dave and Kent are coming, so you should come, too. I’ll leave you a ticket at will call. Hey, I just spotted a couple of my buddies who play for the Yankees. I’m going to go say hi. I’ll see you kids later.”

  He walked away before I could tell him my flight home was the next morning, and as he disappeared into the crowd, he turned and winked at me. Or at least I thought he winked at me.

  My vision was getting a little too blurry to be sure.

  “Would you like a drink, Waverly?” Jake said.

  I looked at him and blinked. I knew the last thing I needed was another drink. But for some reason I couldn’t get my mouth to listen to my brain, and I heard myself say, “Sure, I’ll have a rookie,” as we walked over to the bar and got in line.

  “So I almost didn’t recognize you without that candy bar in your mouth,” Jake said as he handed me a fresh drink, which I proceeded to drop on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” He walked back to the bar and grabbed a handful of napkins, which I used to sop up the drink that had splashed all over my jeans. Then he ordered me another drink, which I needed like a hole in the head.

  I stood back up and bit my lip. “Um, you remember that?”

  “I thought I might have to give you the Heimlich,” he said, laughing.

  I coughed and looked everywhere in the room but at his blue eyes.

  “Uh, yeah, that wasn’t exactly my proudest moment. Can we maybe talk about something else?”

  He smiled and handed me the new drink. “Okay, but you’ve got to admit that it was pretty funny.”

  “Okay, busted,” I said, finally looking back at him. “Have you ever noticed how hard it is to chew a Milky Way and walk at the same time?”

  He laughed and took a sip of his beer. “So you do media relations, huh? Shane said you guys worked him pretty hard this week.”

  I couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. Calling them blue didn’t do them justice. They were more … well, BLUE.

  “Waverly?”

  I snapped out of my trance.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said that Shane said you worked him really hard this week.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, we did, but he was great about it. It was impressive. So, uh, what were you doing at the show?”

  “I do a little product consulting for BA Rocks and for Adina Energy, you know, for nutritional stuff, so I wanted to check out the new products on the market.”

  “Ooh, Adina Energy,” I said. “I bet you just loved those dancing Adina Energy girls at their booth. I hear they’re very nutritious.”

  He laughed. “No comment.”

  “I bet,” I said, smiling.

  There was a bit of an awkward silence just then. It was the first good awkward silence I’d had in a very long time.

  “So, where do you live?” he said.

  I took a sip of my drink. “San Francisco. Have you ever been?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but never for more than a night or two, because it’s always been for a trip with the team. I’d like to spend more time there though. What a beautiful city.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty spectacular. Just please promise me that you will never, ever call it Frisco or San Fran, okay?”

  He laughed. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Seriously, Jake, remember it. Fingernails. Chalkboard. Me. Outta here.” I pointed to myself and then to the exit.

  He laughed again. “Okay, I promise. But it’s true, I’ve always thought it’d be fun to live in San Francisco. I love the beach.”

  I swallowed and shook my head. “Actually, that’s a myth.”

  “A myth?”

  I nodded. “A myth.”

  “There’s no beach in San Francisco?”

  “Okay, I’m slightly exaggerating. What I mean is that the weather in San Francisco isn’t what you’d expect, given that it’s California and all.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “It’s cold there, Jake, C-O-L-D.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It can be nice during the day, but it’s usually foggy, and it’s always freezing at night. And you can practically play ice hockey on the ocean.”

  “Wow, I had no idea.”

  I nodded. “You’re not alone. I’ve noticed that every year I meet transplants from all over the country who have moved to San Francisco expecting to hit the beach before they even unpack. And they’re always bummed out when they come down with frostbite. It’s sort of sad, actually, like we’ve let them down.” I frowned and wiped a fake tear from my cheek.

  “It’s really that cold? It always looks so nice in the movies.”

  I shook my head. “That’s because those movies are conveniently filmed on rare sunny days, never on the days when the fog is so thick you can’t see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “Wow, I never knew that.”

  I put my hand on my hip. “I mean we’ve got October, which is gorgeous, I’ll give you that. And then there’s the occasional balmy day here and there, but those days always seem to happen on a Tuesday—never on a weekend when you could actually do something about it, ya know?”

  He smiled. “Nope, I didn’t know.”

  “Oh yes. I’m still waiting to go to a barbecue without having to bring a warm coat.”

  “A warm coat to a barbecue?”

  I nodded. “I’ve noticed that nearly every girl I know has a perfect sleeveless barbecue outfit hanging in her closet that she never gets to wear because it’s always too cold.”

  “Perfect barbecue outfit, huh?”

  “Perfect sleeveless barbecue outfit. Big difference.”

  He laughed. “So San Francisco’s really that bad?”

  I shook my head. “No! It’s not bad at all. It’s cold, but it’s the best. On a clear day with the sailboats dotting the bay? Are you kidding me? It’s absolutely spectacular. You couldn’t pay me to live anywhere else. Besides, if you drive ten miles in any direction outside of the city, it’s usually pretty hot, at least in the summer, which will do nicely if you need to defrost.” I smiled and sipped my drink.

  He scratched his right eyebrow. Did he think I was crazy? That had been quite an outburst, even for me.

  “I still think San Francisco would beat Atlanta,” he said.

  “What’s so bad about Atlanta?” I gazed up at him and tilted my head. God, he was pretty.

  �
�Atlanta’s not that bad, but it’s not where I would have chosen for myself. I grew up in Florida and love the water, so I really miss living on the coast. That’s one of the things that I don’t like about working in the NBA. You don’t have much say in where you live.”

  “I guess I never thought about it that way. From the outside it all seems so glamorous and fun,” I said. Hmm. Just like my job did.

  “Did you grow up in San Francisco?” he said.

  “Sort of, near enough,” I said, dreading the inevitable next question.

  “Where does your family live now?” he said.

  I looked at the floor. “Um, it’s just my dad—he lives near Sacramento. My mom died when I was little.”

  “Oh, wow, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks,” I said quietly.

  “That must have been really hard on both of you.”

  I nodded, my eyes still looking at the floor. What a buzzkill.

  “How did she die?” he said.

  I looked up, surprised that he had asked what most people never ever did. At this point in the conversation most people just tried to change the subject.

  “Breast cancer,” I said softly, taking a sip of my drink.

  “How old were you?”

  “Just a baby.”

  “Oh, man, so you never got to know her at all?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Growing up without a mom must have been difficult.”

  “Um …” I tried to read those blue eyes, which seemed to be telling me that he wasn’t just being polite, that he really wanted to know.

  I took another sip of my drink and nodded. “Yeah, my dad did what he could, but he just, well, he just wasn’t a mom, you know?”

  He nodded. “Moms are pretty amazing.”

  It was the perfect chance to shift the spotlight and ask him about his mom, who I was sure was an angel given the way he’d said that, but the idiot in me kept me talking about mine.