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

by Maria Murnane

  Eileen: Sandals with socks

  Me: Tie between black Levi’s and bumper stickers

  We all agreed the best disqualifier of the table belonged to Christopher, who cracked us up with stuffed animals in the back window of the car.

  Upon further discussion, we decided that guys with pinky rings, gold chains, or mullets were automatic disqualifiers, as were girls with muffin tops or photos of their cats in their wallets. Others that were close but didn’t make the A-list included guys with beer guts, unibrows, or mustaches, and girls with man hands, square and/or fake fingernails, or an annoying laugh.

  Damn, we were one shallow table.

  Hank motioned for a nearby waiter, who with blazing speed refilled all our wine glasses. Then Hank raised his in the air. “Table fifty-three, you are one hell of a bunch. Here’s to the goddamned singles table!”

  “To the goddamned singles table!” We all raised our glasses and cheered, turning several nearby heads.

  “Could we perpetuate the stereotype of the drunk singles table any more?” Dawn said to me.

  I laughed. Despite my best intentions to stay sober, I had failed miserably. I sucked.

  “Hell, we deserve to have fun too, right?” I said. “Table fifty-three is the Island of Misfit Toys!”

  “You go, girl,” Hank said.

  The band began to play, and before we knew it, the best man had delivered his speech, the happy couple had cut the cake, the open bar was open again (had it ever closed?), and the crowd was heading toward the dance floor. The party was going full steam ahead.

  I stood up and hobbled to the nearest restroom to freshen up. It was gorgeous, with large marble sinks and more fresh flowers everywhere. I think there may have been soft classical music piped in, but it was drowned out by the sound of the swing band on the other side of the door.

  I looked over at the tiny blonde in a red dress washing her hands at the sink next to me. We were the only two people in the room.

  I opened my purse. “Thank God whoever designed this place had the foresight to include several women’s restrooms. There’s nothing more awkward at a fancy wedding than a long line of well-dressed drunk women waiting to pee.”

  She laughed. “Tell me about it. I love your hair, by the way. Is it naturally that straight and shiny?”

  “I wish.” I looked in the mirror. Man, Kristina really knew her stuff. Not a single frizz or strand out of place. My makeup was still perfect, and my smoky eyes and plum-colored lips looked sort of exotic without looking too made up.

  I reapplied just a touch of lipstick and put it away, then laughed at how truly useless my tiny purse was. God forbid I might actually want it to hold something larger than a reservation.

  I said goodbye to the blonde and wobbled out of the restroom, not sure what percentage of my limp was due to my cast and what percentage was due to the margaritas and the wine.

  I spotted Scotty across the ballroom at what must have been table 35 and headed in his direction. When he saw me, he flagged me over by crisscrossing his arms in the air like a clueless father next to a wood-paneled station wagon in a high school parking lot.

  “Waverly, over here, over here!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Gee, Scotty, I never would have seen you without the full-body spasms. Thanks for going the extra mile.”

  “My pleasure, sweetheart. Now let me introduce you around. Waverly, this is table thirty-five. Table thirty-five, this is Waverly.” He majestically swept his arm across the half-empty table, and my eyes met the gaze of three older adults who were clearly not amused by Scotty’s enthusiasm.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. They nodded and immediately returned to their conversation.

  Scotty turned toward a tall, slender blond man sitting next to him and smiled. “And this … is Tad.”

  “Hi, Tad, it’s nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Likewise,” he said.

  We shook hands, but Tad looked right through me and directly at Scotty. I was definitely not his target audience, regardless of how shiny my hair was.

  The three of us chatted a bit about how amazing the reception was, and then the band started playing a slow song.

  “Hey, Mr. Ryan, how about that dance?” I said.

  “Princess, but of course.” He stood up and took my hand, then looked back and put his other hand on Tad’s shoulder. “You’ll wait for me here?”

  “You bet,” Tad said with a smile. I noticed that his eyelashes were longer than mine. Not fair.

  Scotty and I walked hand in hand to the dance floor and blended in with the dozens of other couples savoring the jazz number. He put his arms around me, and we began to sway to the music.

  I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Well?” I said.

  “Well what?”

  “Hello? Mr. Blondie at your table?”

  “Thirty-nine, sports agent, no kids, doesn’t like dogs. Jackpot!”

  “Oh, man, I’m jealous, Scotty! I mean I’m happy for you and all, but you were sort of my pretend date tonight. Now who am I going to hang around with?”

  He smoothed his hand over my hair. “Now, now, Waverly, don’t put on the life preserver and jump ship just yet. Let’s have a dance, and then you can work the room a bit, and if after that you still feel the need for some Scotty love, just let me know, okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay, I will, I will. Thanks, Scotty. And tonight’s about celebrating Cynthia and Dale anyway, right? I don’t want to forget that.”

  He squeezed me tight. “That’s the spirit, gorgeous, that’s the spirit.”

  After our dance, Scotty put his arm around me and walked me halfway back to table 53 before heading off to the restroom. I had a hard time finding the table though, because I didn’t recognize anyone anywhere. No Hank, no Christopher, no girl who won’t date anyone who weighs less than she does. Then I finally realized that the reason I didn’t recognize anyone was because table 53 was totally empty. The band had stepped it up a notch and was now playing ’80s cover music, and my entire table was busting a move on the dance floor.

  “That’s just great,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “An awesome band playing ’80s music, and I can’t dance because I tripped over a freakin’ tree branch!” I could barely hear my own voice over the band, so I figured that no one around me could either, and it was sort of fun to yell. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, because even if I could dance, I don’t have anyone to dance with, and the one guy here I want to be with is with someone else. This totally sucks!”

  “Waverly, are you all right?” A familiar voice behind me made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Oh, crap.” I mouthed the words and made a squinty face. Then I slowly turned around, and there he was.

  “Jake! Hi, how are you?” I tried to act casual.

  “I’m good, thanks. I thought that was you. I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you friends with Dale?”

  I played with my earring. “Um, I work with Cynthia, or at least I did before she transferred to our New York office. Um, how do you know them?”

  “Through work. Dale’s represented several players on the Hawks over the years.”

  “Oh, small world,” I said.

  Awkward silence. I could only hope images of my vomit weren’t flashing before his eyes.

  “You look really nice, Waverly. I like your hair that way.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face and looked down at my cast. “Um, thanks.”

  His eyes followed mine. “Hey, what happened to your leg?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing really, just a broken ankle.”

  “How’d you break it?”

  I cleared my throat and tried to smile. “Uh, have you ever noticed how hard it is to jog in a straight line when there’s a huge tree branch in your path?”

  “Oh, man, I’m sorry. That must have really hurt.”

  “It did, but I’ll be fine.” I wiggled my red toes peeking out of my cast. “I get this thing off in a
bout three more weeks. Not the best accessory for a fancy wedding, but I guess it’s better than bringing bad breath or an ugly date.” Bad breath or an ugly date? Did that really just come out of my mouth?

  “Um, yeah. So, how have you been?” he said.

  I grabbed onto the chair next to me. “Good, good—just really busy with work and stuff. You know, the usual. We won the Adina Energy account, you know. Didn’t you say you did some work for them or something?”

  He smiled. “Yes, I do. You have a good memory. So you won that account? That’s great.”

  I didn’t respond right away, but then I practically yelled at him.

  “Yeah, but I’m not going to be managing it. I thought I was, but then they gave it to the one girl in my entire company I hate.”

  “Oh,” he said. “That’s too bad.”

  What the hell was wrong with me? First I go blabbing about my dad’s money problems back at the Super Show, and now this? Why couldn’t I keep my dirty laundry in the hamper around this guy?

  “So, um, how are you doing?” I said. “Keeping busy with the team?”

  He looked over my shoulder, probably at his date, I thought. “Actually, we’re having a great season this year, so things are going pretty well for me. You know, when the team wins, we all win sort of thing.” Then he scratched his right eyebrow. “Hey, did I see you at the game in Oakland last month when we played the Warriors?” He cocked his head to one side and smiled, and I tightened my grip on the chair.

  “Um, a Warriors game? No, I don’t think so.”

  His smile faded. “Really? I was sure I saw you there.”

  I turned my head to avoid his gaze and wondered if my nose would knock the drink out of his hand. “Oh, wait, yes, I did go to a Warriors game last month, got dragged there by some clients. You know how those boring work things can be.”

  He didn’t reply, and I kept looking around to avoid making eye contact. Why was I being so standoffish?

  “Oh,” he finally said.

  I knew it was only a matter of time before he headed back to his date, so I decided to pull the ripcord before he did.

  I held out my hand and forced a big fake smile. “Well, Jake, it’s been nice seeing you, but I’m sure your date is wondering where you are, so I’ll let you get back to her. I hope you enjoy the reception.”

  “Um, yeah, it was nice seeing you, too, Waverly.”

  He shook my hand and held it for just a moment, then turned and walked away.

  I slumped down in my chair, feeling more alone than ever.

  I picked up my wine glass and looked at it. “Mr. Merlot, looks like you’re the only friend I’ve got tonight.” Then I turned around and watched Jake cross the room, sit down next to the brunette, and put his arm around the back of her chair. It was far away, but from what I could make out, she looked gorgeous and perfect.

  “Crap,” I whispered under my breath.

  Suddenly I was struck with another Honey Note idea. I flipped over my place card and looked around for something to write with (my purse was, of course, too small to hold anything resembling a writing instrument). I spotted a pen on the empty table next to mine and reached for it.

  Front: How do you know when you really like a guy?

  Inside: Honey, when you can’t think of one intelligent thing to say, you’re in trouble.

  I folded the card and slipped it into my purse, wondering if I’d be able to decipher my writing when I sobered up, and wondering if I should hit an AA meeting then, too. Then I stood up and wobbled over to the floor-to-ceiling window lining the far wall of the enormous room. I leaned in close to the glass and gazed outside at the snowy winter night. What a gorgeous view. I stepped back a few feet and noticed the reflection of the party behind me in the glass window, as if I was watching from outside. The dance floor, the bar, the guests, all mixing and mingling and having a blast. Seeing the spectator’s view from the reverse made me feel like I was watching what could have been my own perfect wedding. What had Scotty been saying about images?

  I turned and leaned my back against the window and listened to the band. I stood there for what seemed like hours but was probably just minutes, completely losing track of time. I closed my eyes for a few moments, then opened them and looked back at the crowd.

  After a quick scan of the dance floor, I spotted my tablemates front and center. They must have done some group tequila shots in my absence, because they were on fire. Hank and Amanda were making out. Matt and Lisa were dirty dancing. Greg had his shirt off and was twirling it over his head as if he had just scored a goal in the World Cup. They were clearly the life of the party, and I desperately wished I was in the mood or physical condition to join them.

  “Waverly, you doing okay?” A hand rested softly on my right shoulder.

  I turned and saw Scotty standing there.

  “Hi, Scotty.” I smiled weakly.

  “Hi, princess. How’re you doing?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I blinked slowly. “Well, actually, not so great. This whole scene is making me think of my own non-wedding a bit too much.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he said.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but there’s not that much to say.”

  “Did you see your crush?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately. We talked for a few minutes, but I ended up sounding cold and bitchy and basically scared him away. I wasn’t myself at all, Scotty. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Sweetheart, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. The only thing wrong here is that such a stunning woman is standing here alone in the corner when there are tons of men in this room who would kill to be with her.”

  “Scotty, please.” I wiped a tear from my eye and tried to smile. “I appreciate the pep talk, but let’s be realistic.”

  “Waverly, you need to wake up and smell the testosterone.” He winked and put his arm around my shoulders.

  I leaned my head against him. “Thanks, Scotty. You’re a good friend. You’re a liar, but you’re a good friend.”

  “Miss Bryson, I am not lying. Now normally I would whisk you off onto the dance floor and dazzle you with my white man’s over-bite, but given your injury, we must move to plan B. So how does a piece of wedding cake sound? I’ll even order some extra chocolate sauce from the kitchen if you want. I know how much you love chocolate.” He smoothed my hair with his hand and eased me gently back toward the crowd.

  “Chocolate sauce? Did you say chocolate sauce? You certainly know the way to my heart, you kind man. Let me at it.” I smiled and followed him back to his table.

  When I rolled out of bed the next morning and opened the drapes, what I saw outside was, well, nothing. Everything was white, white, white, a blizzard unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was like the monster centerpiece from the wedding was stuck to the hotel window.

  I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until I found a local news station. Yep, a snowstorm had invaded the entire Northeast. And apparently all flights in and out of New York were grounded until further notice.

  Crap. There went my plans for spending the day window-shopping before Cynthia’s Super Bowl party.

  I wondered how big the party was going to be and where it even was. I couldn’t remember exactly what Cynthia had said about it, other than it was at a sports bar sort of near the hotel. I needed to look at the invitation in my suitcase.

  Scotty definitely wasn’t going. He was spending Sunday with his new buddy, Tad, who had graciously let me be the third wheel for the rest of the reception until I’d called it a night after two more pieces of wedding cake.

  Well, at least I’d gotten a decent night’s sleep. Good thing, because I needed to be well rested if I was going to spend the day cooped up in a hotel room, right?

  I walked into the bathroom and washed my face. If the bad news was that I was snowed in, the good news was that my hair still looked fantastic. I decided not t
o wash it, tucking it under a shower cap as I turned on the hot water. Why not get one more day out of a great hairstyle?

  After my shower, I pulled on a pair of dark brown low-rider corduroy pants that I’d bought the day before with Kristina. They had a wide cuff at the bottom, so they didn’t present a challenge to my cast, whose toe opening I covered with a thick dark brown sock. On top I chose a thin cream-colored fitted angora sweater with tiny blue flowers embroidered around a scoop neck. I admired my outfit in the mirror and then laughed. One thing I hadn’t bought on my shopping spree was a snowproof tent to protect me and my cast from the elements. Seriously, what was I supposed to do if I decided to leave the hotel? As the proud owner of an It never snows in California wardrobe, a wool coat and scarf were the best I could do.

  Down in the lobby café, I curled up in a green overstuffed chair by the roaring fire and ordered a cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. I flipped through the stack of newspapers on a nearby table and pulled out the New York Times. I was reading a review of a new resort in Cabo San Lucas when the waiter set down my order in front of me. I looked up to thank him, and just then the elevator doors behind him opened.

  Out walked Jake and the brunette.

  I pulled the paper back up. “Oh, freakin’ frick, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said right into the ink.

  “Excuse me, miss?” The waiter looked confused.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking to you,” I said.

  “No problem at all, miss.” He quickly disappeared, the epitome of fine hotel service.

  I held up the newspaper in front of me and hoped Jake hadn’t seen me. The same hotel? How many billions of hotels were there in Manhattan?

  After a few minutes, I slowly lowered the newspaper to take a peek. He and the brunette were at the reception desk and appeared to be checking out. Oh, please, let them be checking the HELL out of there.

  The waiter came back to see if I needed anything else. I glanced at the half-full cup on the table next to me, secretly thrilled that, under the circumstances, I hadn’t glanced at the half-empty cup on the table next to me.