I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. If I had a dollar for every time Davey brought up those stupid grounders. I am SICK of running out grounders, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” Kristina said, patting me on the head. “You know very well that I think you’re just fine on your own.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “I do too. I really do.”
The Honey Notes were in stores at the end of July. We were, of course, all hopeful that they would do well, but none of us was prepared for what happened.
Let’s just say that what happened was good.
I don’t know how or why, but the cards somehow became the craze of single women everywhere. Word seemed to spread like wildfire, and the cards flew off the shelves. It was like I’d written a bunch of new Harry Potter books, only all the characters were sexually frustrated single women, and each book was just two pages long.
I was the talk of K.A. Marketing, or better put, the butt of more than one joke. It was all in good fun though. Everyone seemed genuinely happy for my success. Except for Mandy Edwards, of course.
I ran into her one morning in the kitchen.
“Hi, Waverly. It looks like your Honey Notes are quite a hit.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Mandy.”
“It must be fun, working on your own account like that,” she said.
I shrugged. “It’s not bad. Better than working on data storage or networking systems, I suppose.”
“So what does JAG think about it?”
I looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they can’t be happy that you’re spending so much time on another account, right? I don’t think Adina Energy would be happy if I were spending so much time on another account.”
“As far as I know, JAG is quite happy with our work,” I said, suddenly paranoid.
“Okay, glad to hear it. I was just wondering how you manage to fit it all in without letting anything slip through the cracks.” She picked up her coffee and strolled out of the kitchen.
Aargh.
Later that afternoon, I called Davey to check in and make sure everything was okay. He said it was.
A couple Sundays later, however, he left me a cryptic message on my cell phone. He wanted to “discuss something” and suggested we meet for lunch the next day at the Curbside Café, a cute little place on California and Fillmore, and one convenient block away from my apartment. I didn’t feel like hiking it all the way downtown just to turn around a few hours later and hike it right back, so I worked from home that morning. Plus, I was a little freaked out and didn’t want anyone at the office to see me that way.
At twelve thirty, I pushed open the restaurant door and looked around. I spotted him in a booth in the back, making a little house with the coasters.
“Hey there, Davey Mason.” I took off my coat and sat down across from him.
“Hey back at you, Miss Bryson.”
I put my hands on the table. “All right, let’s cut to the chase. What’s with all the secrecy? It’s not like you to be so coy.”
He looked at me and didn’t say anything.
“If you’re going to fire us, just get it over with, okay?” I said.
He looked surprised. “Fire you? I’m not going to fire you.”
“You’re not?”
“Noooo … why would you think that?”
“It’s just that Mandy said that … forget it, I’m sorry, I need to get a grip. What’s up then? Why did you bring me here?”
He smiled. “Because I have some news.”
“You have news?”
“Yes, I have news.”
“Well?”
He took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. How does I got married sound?”
“What? You? Married? What?”
He grinned. “I know. Can you believe it? I can’t believe it. Can you believe it? I really can’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Me neither. Can you believe it?”
“Married? You? Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, details please?”
He waved over the waitress, and we both ordered turkey sandwiches and fries. Then he turned back to me. “I don’t know what came over me, but a couple weeks ago, and I know this sounds totally cheesy, but a couple weeks ago I was watching Lindsay as she was sitting on the couch. She was just sitting there reading a magazine, and it hit me. I suddenly realized that she’s the person I want to be with for the rest of my life, and she’s been that person for several years now, so what the hell was I waiting for?”
“Wow. I still can’t believe it.”
He grinned again. “I know. Neither can I. So anyhow, after this epiphany, I went ring shopping the very next day. And then I started thinking about how I wanted to ask her, and when would be the right time. And then I chose this past Friday afternoon, because we were going to be painting the condo.”
The waitress brought our drinks and set them down on the table.
I picked up my Diet Coke and took a sip. “You asked her to marry you while you were painting your condo?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t understand. How is that romantic?”
“Because I painted my proposal on the wall,” he said, crossing his arms and smiling.
“Ooh, not bad.” I nodded my head.
“Exactly.” He nodded back.
“You’re quite proud of yourself, aren’t you?” I said, smiling.
“You bet. I take pride in being romantic in ways that you would never read about in Cosmopolitan.”
“So wait a minute, you just proposed on Friday?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re already married?”
“Yep.”
“Am I missing something here?”
He laughed. “We flew to Vegas for the weekend.”
I nodded again. “Ahhh, that’s the Davey I know and love. Did you get married by Elvis?”
“Of course.” He pulled an old-school Polaroid photo out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “Would you expect anything else?”
I looked at the photo. There they were: Mr. and Mrs. Davey and Lindsay Mason, and the King.
I slid the photo back toward him and smiled. “Davey, from you I would expect nothing less.”
“Maybe you’ll be next,” he said.
I shook my head. “Are you kidding? I can’t get married now. Now that the Honey Notes are out, I have to maintain my public image as a bitter single woman.”
He laughed. “So, I have more news.” He thanked the waitress as she served us our sandwiches.
I took another sip of my drink. “More news? How can you top that? Wait … is Lindsay prego?”
“Nope.”
I looked at him. “Well?”
“You ready to hear this?” he said.
“Now I’m not so sure,” I said. “Is it bad news?”
He shook his head. “I sure don’t think so.”
“Well then, spill,” I said.
“I’m leaving JAG.”
“WHAT? You’re leaving? What? Why?”
“Lindsay and I decided to quit our jobs and backpack around the world for a year. We’re leaving next month.”
“No way. Does JAG know?”
He picked up a fry and tossed it into his mouth. “I gave notice this morning.”
“Already?”
“Already.”
“Wow. When’s your last day?”
“In two weeks.”
“What? Only two weeks?”
He nodded. “We’re putting everything in storage and renting out our place, so I’ve got a lot to do before we leave. Plus I have to deal with passports, visas, your standard world-traveler stuff.”
“Damn,” I said.
“Yep.”
I leaned back in the booth and sighed. “Man, it’s the end of an era, Davey.” I’d worked on the JAG account for so long that sometimes I felt like Davey was my real boss, even though we didn’t even
work for the same company.
“I know, but I’m so excited about this, Waverly. And you guys will be fine without me.”
“Who’s going to take over for you?”
He hesitated.
“Davey?”
“Um, I believe it’ll be Gabrielle Simone.” He stuffed another fry into his mouth and looked at the ceiling.
I opened my eyes wide. “Gabrielle Simone, the ice lady? Are you kidding me?”
He nodded. “She’s been pushing to get into marketing for a while, so they’re going to let her manage the PR agency.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“What?” he said, laughing.
“She’s not exactly a basket of puppy cats, you know.”
“Puppy cats?”
I shrugged. “Small cats, kittens, whatever, you get the point.”
“Oh, she’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.”
I put my elbows on the table and rested my cheeks in my palms.
“So you’re really leaving me?”
“Yep, my lady. I really am.”
“I hate you right now, Davey Mason.”
He grinned. “I’ll miss you, too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Davey was wrong. So wrong.
Exactly two weeks later, Jess called me into his office.
“What’s up, Jess?” I sat down in a chair across from his desk and put my hands on my thighs.
“Well,” he said. “It’s not good news.”
My heart sank. “What is it?”
“Gabrielle Simone just called.”
I bit my lip. “And?”
“She’s not happy,” he said.
“Not happy? But why? How? She hasn’t even worked with us yet.”
He sighed. “Apparently she thinks the Honey Notes are jeopardizing the quality of the team’s work on the JAG account.”
What?
“You’re kidding me,” I said. “How does she even know that we’re working on the Honey Notes?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
Mandy Edwards sure knew.
I looked out the window and then back at him. “So what do we do now?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Jess?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to pull you off the account.”
“What? You can’t do that to me, Jess!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to.”
I dug my fingernails into my thighs. “But I’ve worked with JAG for nearly five years. I know that company better than most of the people who work there. And we’re doing a great job for them. You know that.”
He sighed again. “I know that, believe me, I do. But the client has spoken, and my hands are tied. I’m sorry.”
I fought back the tears.
“So that’s it?”
“Yes. Gabrielle was pretty clear.”
“There’s nothing you can do?”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“So what do I do now?”
He tapped a pen on his desk. “For now you can keep focusing on the launch of the Honey Notes. When that calms down, I’ll probably put you on the Birdie Golf account.”
“What about Kent and Nicole?”
“They’ll stay on the JAG team.”
“And the account lead?”
He looked at me.
I closed my eyes and then opened them slowly. “Don’t tell me. You’re giving it to Mandy, aren’t you?” I said.
He nodded.
I shook my head slowly and tried to keep my composure. “Thanks a lot, Jess,” I said. Then I stood up and walked out of the room.
I made it all the way to my office before I started to cry.
I looked out my window at the view I loved so much and thought about how things had gone so wrong at my job. Had Aaron been right when he said he didn’t think I’d ever liked it? Had I been a chameleon at work, too? Or had things just changed?
After work I decided to walk home for the first time ever. I needed time to digest what had happened, and I just couldn’t see doing that while crammed into a bus.
I headed up the steep hill of California Street and looked at the sidewalk in front of me. Booted off the JAG account. After five years. For Mandy Edwards of all people. It just wasn’t fair. I’d worked really hard on that account, and regardless of what Gabrielle Simone thought, I was still working hard on it. Or at least I thought I was. Actually, maybe I really wasn’t anymore.
Ugh.
Why did Davey have to leave? What was I supposed to do now? Things weren’t ever going to be the same without him. And now with Mandy entrenched in my department, gloating over the Adina Energy account, and now the JAG account too … I didn’t know if I could take it.
Yuck.
My breath quickened as I climbed up the steepest part of California Street, and I wondered why I didn’t walk home more often. Who needs a gym membership when you have California Street?
When I got to Powell Street, I turned around and watched a cable car packed with tourists as it rolled past Chinatown on its way down to Ghirardelli Square. It was the middle of the summer, so of course they were all freezing, but they still looked thrilled to be in San Francisco.
As I looked down the hill, California Street led smoothly into the energy of the financial district. Behind the tall buildings I could see the Bay Bridge framing the skyline. It was the neglected step-sister of the lovely Golden Gate, but at the right angle the Bay Bridge was still a beauty in its own right.
I put my hands on my hips and sighed.
“Hey, Waverly, are you okay?”
I turned around to see Brad Cantor standing on the corner, right next to me.
I sighed again. “Oh, hi Brad. I’m just admiring the view, I guess.”
“Are you okay? You look upset.”
I tried to smile. “I’m fine.”
“No, really, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, taking a step back. As usual, he was standing way too close to me.
“Okay. If you say so.”
I turned to go, but the concerned look in his eye triggered something inside of me. And instead of walking away, I started to cry.
He looked panicked. “Here, um, take this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
“Thanks.” I dabbed my eyes. Was I really crying in front of Brad Cantor, the world’s only person under the age of 70 to carry around a handkerchief?
“Do you want to talk about it?” he said.
I shook my head. “No, thanks, Brad—but no.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded and blew my nose.
“Okay,” he said. Then he just stood there.
“It’s my job,” I blurted out. “I lost a big account today.”
Suddenly I was back at Morton’s Steakhouse in Atlanta, where I’d confessed to Shane Kennedy about my fear of dying alone. Now I was standing on a street corner with Brad Cantor, whom I’d never had a real conversation with, crying about my job.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brad said. “Are you in sales?”
I shook my head and looked at the ground. “Public relations.”
“Was it a big account?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Did you make a big mistake or something?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “The client put someone new in charge of our agency, and I guess she wanted to go in a new direction. Either that, or she flat-out doesn’t like me.”
“Well then, you just can’t sweat it, Waverly. Seriously, sometimes you have no control over what the client does, no matter how good you are or how hard you try.”
I looked back up at him. “You think so? I’ve never been booted off an account before.”
He laughed. “Well, then you’ve led a charmed life. Seriously, don’t worry about it. There are many more important things in life than losing an account. And you know what they say, right? When one door closes, another one opens.”<
br />
I looked up at him. When did dorky Brad Cantor get so wise?
“You really think so?” I said.
“Sure. Maybe this is your chance to do something you like even better. Life is what you make of it, Waverly, so have fun with it.”
I dabbed my eyes again. “Thanks, Brad. I think I’m finally beginning to understand that.” What was it about friendly gestures from guys I barely knew that made me spill my guts? Then I thought of Aaron and my dad and Davey and Kent. Was the real question why couldn’t I spill my guts to the guys who weren’t strangers?
I looked at Brad standing there in his yellow sweater vest. He really wasn’t that bad of a guy, and not bad looking, either. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to be nicer to him. Maybe we could actually become friends. Maybe I could even introduce him to some of my single girlfriends … hmm … Andie already knew him, and she would eat him alive anyway. Maybe my admin Nicole? No, too young. Did I have any other single friends?
“So can you come?” he said.
I blinked and looked at him. “Huh? I’m sorry, I spaced out. Did you say something?”
“I said, Can you come to my superheroes party? It’s two weeks from Saturday. I’m dressing as Spider-Man. I’m sending out the Evite tomorrow.”
A superheroes party?
“Uh, I’ll check my calendar,” I said.
Maybe Brad Cantor and I could actually become friends.
Then again, maybe not.
Later that night I picked up the phone and took a deep breath. It was time to deal with something.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dad, it’s me.”
“Waverly?”
“Do you have any other kids?” I said.
He laughed. “Now this is a surprise.”
“I know, I know,” I said.
“So what’s up, kiddo?”
I bit my lip. “Um, do you think we could get together for dinner this week? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Dinner? You want to have dinner with me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, sure.” He sounded genuinely surprised.
The following night we met at an Olive Garden halfway between San Francisco and Sacramento. Normally I refused to go anywhere near an Olive Garden, but this wasn’t the time for attitude. And it wasn’t the place either, because I was really hungry and was all over that bottomless salad.
Perfect on Paper: The (Mis)Adventures of Waverly Bryson Page 23