Delete.
I sat up and forced myself to concentrate on the plan I’d been writing. But before I started writing again, I pulled out a notebook from my drawer and jotted down an idea for a Honey Note.
Front: What is the deal with people who send e-mail blasts to the whole world?
Inside: Honey, I’m still trying to figure out why people hang things from their rearview mirrors.
Several hours later, I finally put the finishing touches on the launch plan. I looked at my watch; it was nearly four thirty. Where had the day gone? I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch and was suddenly starving.
My midmorning snack wasn’t cutting it anymore. I sent the plan to Jess and Davey for their review, then saw an e-mail from Cynthia Hopyard in our New York office asking me to call her because she wanted to talk about something.
She wanted to talk to me about something? Uh oh. Then I remembered her e-mail from the week before, in which she’d asked me to call her. I must have accidentally deleted it, because I’d completely forgotten about it since then.
This did not look good.
I ran downstairs to grab a sandwich, then shut my office door and dialed her number on speakerphone. I munched on my sandwich and punched a straw into the tiny chocolate milk carton.
“Cynthia Hopyard,” she said.
“Hi, Cynthia, it’s Waverly. Sorry for the speakerphone action, but I’m eating a sandwich. I promise to get off as soon as I’m done.”
“No worries,” she said. “I remember that you’re not a big fan of the speakerphone.”
“Ugh, I loathe it. I’m convinced it’s a power move most people use just to make you think they’re really busy when they’re probably just sitting there doing nothing, ya know?”
She laughed. “Waverly, I must say that I miss your observations. How are you?”
I twisted my right earring and waited for the clunk of the other shoe. “I’m good, I’m good, and hey, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call you last week. How are you? How’s the wedding planning going?” I looked down at my watch. It was nearly 8 p.m. in New York. “And by the way, what are you doing in the office so late?”
“Oooh, don’t remind me how late it is. This wedding is taking over my life. I spent half the afternoon on the phone with the caterer and the florist and the photographer, so now I’m stuck here with the cleaning crew, finishing up some real work.”
“When’s the big day anyway?” I said.
“January 30. The invitations go out tomorrow. And just to let you know, you’re invited. I hope you can make it. That’s why I wanted you to call me.”
That was the other shoe? Damn Mandy for making me so paranoid.
“Really? That’s so nice of you, Cynthia. I’d love to come. Where’s it going to be?”
“Here in Manhattan. My parents aren’t too thrilled about that, but since Dale and I are both so busy with work, it was easier to plan this way. My family will just have to make the trek from Seattle.”
“Do you have a big family?”
“You wouldn’t believe how big. My parents are both remarried to people who have grown children of their own, and I have five full brothers and sisters who are all married with kids, so counting everyone, we’re talking at least fifty people in my sort-of immediate family.”
“Sweet Jesus, that’s like a pack of hamsters. How many of them are coming?”
She laughed. “That’s the magic question. I keep telling everyone that they need to make up their minds now, because if too many of them wait until the last minute to tell me they’re coming, we may not have enough wedding cake.”
“Well, I’d love to come.” I pulled my calendar up on the computer screen and clicked ahead to January 30 to mark the date. “Hey, wait a minute. Is that Super Bowl weekend?” Guys always said that having a wedding on Super Bowl weekend was a big no-no, and that no groom ever really wanted that date, regardless of what he told his fiancée.
“Actually, it is, but we did that on purpose because of our jobs. Since so many of the people we’re inviting work in sports, we thought it’d be fun to throw a big Super Bowl party for everyone the day after the wedding.”
“Cool. That sounds like a great idea. I love Super Bowl parties,” I said.
“Me too. And this one will be full of fun people, I promise you that. Anyhow, Waverly, I know how expensive a weekend in New York can be, so I’ll schedule some meetings for you at our office that week. That way the travel and hotel will be on the company.”
“Really? You’d do that?” I made a rough mental calculation of how much money that would save me. Roughly, it was a boatload.
Sweet!
“Sure thing. Hey, it’s my wedding day, and I want you there, and technically you work for me. So I’m sure we can find some legitimate business reason for you to be here. And if I can’t pull some strings, what’s the point of being a senior VP, right?”
I took another sip of my chocolate milk. “That sounds fantastic, Cynthia. Thank you so much, really.”
“No problem. You’ll be getting your invitation in the mail soon. Okay, hon, I’ve gotta run or I’ll miss dinner with Dale. Take care.”
“Bye.”
I hung up the phone and smiled.
Free trip to New York? Score!
That night I took my first and last spinning class at the Crunch gym near my house. My date with mystery Darren was the next night, so I thought I should at least try to get in shape for it. I sweated through the entire hour while wondering how it was humanly possible for my male instructor’s butt to be smaller than the bike seat. Seriously, it was like a hard little peach. I was fascinated.
After the class, I sat down for ten minutes and waited for my legs to stop shaking. At one point I thought I might never walk again. When they finally calmed down, I showered and took a long steam sauna, then blew my hair dry and bundled up for the four-block walk back to my apartment. On the way home, I noticed a number of houses already had strings of bright holiday lights hung up outside and Christmas trees on display in their windows.
I was planning to buy my tree that weekend. I had a big box of decorations in storage in the basement of my building, and it now included a bunch of fancy ornaments I had bought for 75 percent off right after Christmas the year before. For years I’d been promising myself that I would stock up on cute ornaments for crazy cheap during the post-Christmas sales, but invariably I just couldn’t be bothered. Finally, however, the year before, I had bothered to be bothered, and I owed it to McKenna, who had dragged me out of my apartment and to the sales despite my gloomy mental state at the time. She was 100 percent no-nonsense and always got me to do things I was too lazy to do on my own. She also didn’t mess around when it came to getting rid of old crap, which included many of the outfits previously filling my closet.
Before I went to bed, I added an idea for a Honey Note to my list.
Front: How do you know when it’s time to clean out your closet?
Inside: Honey, if you’ve seen anything you own on a rerun of Friends, get your butt down to Goodwill ASAP.
I fell asleep dreaming of Joey, Chandler, and the perfect Christmas tree … until my alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 6:15 a.m. What the …? What was going on? Then I remembered that I’d made a date with McKenna to go walking.
Fifteen minutes later, I limped out of my building bundled up in a black fleece over a long-sleeved T-shirt and grey sweatpants. I spotted McKenna in front of Peet’s, her blonde hair loose under the light blue ski hat she always wore on cold mornings.
“Hey, woman, happy Friday,” I said. “Can I just tell you how much my poor legs hurt right now?”
“You tried the spinning class?” she said.
I nodded. “I’m never going back there. What is up with all these muscles I never even knew I had? They’re all pissed off and screaming at me for waking them from a twenty-nine-year-long nap.”
She laughed and pulled on a pair of black knit gloves. “Let’s get moving. I’
m freezing.”
“Hey, so how’s Hunter doing?” I said, as we headed down the hill. “I haven’t seen much of him lately.”
She smiled. “He’s good, just really busy at the hospital. He thinks he may have a shot at chief resident, so he’s been working like a dog.”
“Chief resident? Really? Good for him.”
“Yeah, it’s great, but I’m actually a bit worried about him, Wave. He’s so stressed out that he’s not sleeping, or barely sleeping. And with the crazy schedules those residents have, they really need to sleep when they actually have time to do it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest to keep warm. “When will they make the decision?”
“Next Friday. He’s been through several rounds of interviews with the hospital management, and now all he can do is wait.”
“Waiting can be stressful,” I said.
“I think the real pressure is coming from his dad,” she said. “He’s really hard on him. If Hunter doesn’t follow in his footsteps, he’ll feel like he’s a failure in his dad’s eyes.”
I looked over at her. “Hunter’s dad will think Hunter’s a failure if he’s not named chief resident because he was once a chief resident?” I said.
She nodded.
“But Hunter is a SURGEON for God’s sake. Who cares if he’s the boss?”
“I know,” she said.
“Well if his dad’s such a jerk, why does Hunter even care what he thinks?”
She looked at me. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”
I stopped walking.
“Well?” she said. “Couldn’t I?”
“You’re right,” I said. “I guess no matter what, you want your parents to be proud of you.”
She put her arm around me and squeezed. “Exactly.”
We started walking again. “Speaking of parents, it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow,” I said. “Gotta suck it up and go visit.”
“You want some company for moral support?”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I prefer just to get in and get out, you know?”
“Okay, call me if you change your mind. I’ll probably be at Hunter’s in the morning.”
“That boy is quite a catch, you know,” I said.
She smiled. “Believe me, I know.” And then, as if she could read my mind, she reached over and touched my arm. “Don’t worry, Wave, they’re out there.”
I thought about my imminent date with mystery Darren and laughed to myself. I just wish I could remember them.
Then I changed the subject like I always did when the subject was my dad. “So speaking of being proud, you’ll be proud to hear that I have a date tonight.”
She perked up and looked over at me with bright eyes. “Really? Excellent! Who with?”
“Uh, well, that’s sort of a difficult question.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure who the date is with.” God, it sounded even more pathetic when I said it out loud.
She looked confused. “Is it a blind date?”
“Not exactly,” I said, scratching my head.
“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 ma
ybe 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.
Perfect on Paper: The (Mis)Adventures of Waverly Bryson Page 11