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

by Maria Murnane

  “Way.” Andie nodded again and took a bite of her pizza.

  “What did you do then?” I said, petting McKenna’s hair. She was still facedown.

  “What else could I do? I went back to the party like nothing had happened.”

  “Wait, didn’t you say their apartment was on the third floor?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, did you see where it went?”

  She shook her head and took another bite. “Didn’t see, didn’t want to see.”

  McKenna finally came up for air. Her face was totally red, and her eyes were watering. She was still laughing, and it took her a while to calm down enough to talk.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this hard, ever,” she said.

  Andie tossed her gum back into her mouth and shrugged. “Hey, if you can’t share a story like that, what’s the point of having friends, right?”

  When I got home from dinner, I wrote down an idea for a Honey Note:

  Front: They say laughter is the best medicine?

  Inside: Honey, toss it in with girlfriends and beer, and you’ve found the fountain of youth.

  The following Tuesday morning, I was sitting in my office looking over the schedule for a second Honey Notes press tour. A few minutes after eleven, Tracy Leiderman from People called. She had been my main point of contact in the coordination of the photo shoot.

  The photo shoot, by the way, had been hilarious. A tall blonde woman named Liz had come by my apartment Sunday morning to pick me up. She drove me to a fancy studio in a bright loft building in the South of Market district. There she did my hair, and then a plump, medium-height redhead named Cricket did my makeup. During the makeup session, a teeny tiny dark-haired woman named Rita came in and introduced herself as the wardrobe specialist.

  Between the four of us, I think we represented every possible body type and hair color. Rita dressed me in a pair of white linen pants and a white cotton tank top, and then Liz and Cricket touched up my hair and makeup.

  Once I was fully primped and ready to go, the four of us got into a limo and drove to the beach out by Half Moon Bay. There we met a photographer named Jan and his four-person lighting crew, which had roped off a whole area for the photo shoot. The girls primped me again, and then Jan spent nearly four hours taking about a hundred and eighty thousand pictures of me frolicking on the beach. I felt like I was in a maxipad commercial.

  The whole memory made me laugh as I picked up the phone. “Hi. Tracy, how are you?”

  “I’m good, thanks. Just wanted to touch base after the photo shoot. I heard it went great.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I felt a little silly prancing around on the beach like that though.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. Jan and his team are the best in the business, really. I guarantee you’ll love how you look when the issue comes out.”

  “I hope so. I must admit that this has all been a little overwhelming.”

  “Just enjoy it, Waverly. Besides, the fun is just getting started. I have another offer for you.”

  Another offer? What could top being invited to appear in People’s 50 Most Beautiful issue, even as a B-lister?

  “Another offer?” I said.

  “Well, as you know, we’re big fans of your Honey Notes here at People, probably because a lot of us are single and can totally relate. And we have a great deal of single readers, so we thought that it might be fun to host a singles auction for charity.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “A singles auction?”

  “Yep. We’ll auction off a dinner date with the single people on our 50 Most Beautiful list who are willing to participate, plus a number of other singles we’ve featured in the magazine over the last year. We’ll announce the auction in the magazine and on our Web site, and then we’ll have live bidding at a big party here in New York and publish the photos from the dates in the following week’s issue. We think it’ll be really popular with advertisers.”

  I took another sip of my coffee but didn’t say anything. Live bidding? Photos? What if no one bid on me? Would they have to offer me at a discount? What if the photo they ran the following week had a caption under me that said Still available?

  “It’ll be fun,” Tracy said. “We’ll pay for all your travel and accommodations, and the whole thing will be great exposure for your Honey Notes. Plus it’ll be for the American Cancer Society.”

  I still said nothing.

  “Waverly, are you there?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I’m here,” I said.

  “So what do you say?”

  I bit my lip. “Okay, sign me up.”

  What was I getting myself into?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  People magazine hit the stands a couple weeks later, and overnight my life was turned upside down. I knew that a lot of people read People, but good God, apparently oceans of people and all their relatives read People.

  In addition to the billion people who came out of the e-woodwork and added me as a friend on Facebook, my home phone, which was still in the good ol’ fashioned phone book, rang off the hook. Old friends called to ask why I hadn’t told them about it. More than a few stalker types called to ask me out. Random people on the bus and the street stared at me, and then they called me to tell me they had seen me on the bus or on the street. My dad called to say he was the talk of Valley Pines. Brad Cantor called to say congratulations and to invite me to a “make your own crepe” brunch.

  I finally had to cancel the landline, which I used about as much as my oven anyway. And I used my oven, well, never. Sometimes I considered putting my nice jewelry in there just in case I ever got robbed. I mean, who would think to look there?

  At work, the Honey Notes interview requests poured in, and I wondered if the hype would ever calm down. Magazines, newspapers, radio stations, Web sites, blogs, suddenly everyone wanted to talk about life as a single woman in San Francisco. The tech guy in our office had to reroute my direct-line calls through the receptionist to help manage the traffic (and to screen out the weirdos). It was truly insane.

  Scotty Ryan called and asked if I would design a Honey Note based on him.

  “A card based on you? What do you mean?” I said.

  “Couldn’t you make one about falling for your good-looking gay friend? That’s the cliché of the day, right?”

  I laughed. “Scotty, how do you manage to lift that pumpkin head of yours off your pillow every morning?”

  “It’s not easy, my dear. It’s not easy.”

  Davey called me all the way from Paris to heckle.

  “What are you selling in that photo, Waverly? Douches?”

  “Um, that would be maxipads, Davey. Please get your feminine hygiene products straight.”

  “Oops, my mistake.”

  “How in the world did you see the magazine all the way in Paris?” I said.

  “The Internet, my dear. Get out of the dark ages. But seriously, Bryson, I’m proud of you. You’re really doing it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You know, it. Your own thing, following your dreams, making it happen, all that BS.”

  I smiled. I guess I was. “So did you hear?” I said.

  “Hear what?”

  “I got booted off the JAG account.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Yep.”

  “When?”

  “The day after you left the company.”

  “Really? Did they tell you why? You’ve always done such a great job for us.”

  “Apparently Gabrielle Simone wasn’t happy.”

  “Wasn’t happy? Why not?”

  “She doesn’t seem to be a big fan.”

  “Of K.A. Marketing or of you?”

  “Of me. I hear she just loves her new account lead.”

  “And she really booted you on her very first day?”

  “Her very first day. She must hate me.”

  “Hmm, I wonder if it was because of what happened way back a
t the Super Show….”

  I sat up in my chair. “What do you mean?”

  He laughed. “You know, barf barf.”

  “You knew about that? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Why would I? What’s the big deal? We were all drunk at that party. Hell, it was the Super Show!”

  I smiled. “I miss you, Davey Mason, do you know that? Lindsay is one lucky girl.”

  “Well, I miss you, too, and yes, she is. So now that you’re all big and famous, promise me that you won’t forget us little people who tried our best to hold you back, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  “Cool. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Bryson.”

  “Bye, Davey.”

  Two weeks later, I got another call from Tracy at People.

  “Hi, Tracy, how’s it going?” I picked up my squishy stress ball and tossed it into the air.

  “Great, thanks. How are you, Waverly?”

  “I’m good—still reeling from all the attention, but good. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to give you a heads-up on the singles auction. We’re going to move it up a week for a number of logistical reasons that I won’t bore you with. Anyhow, it will now be at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan on October 13. So mark your calendar.”

  I bit my lip. “Friday the thirteenth?”

  “Yep, is that a problem? Don’t tell me you’re superstitious?”

  “Well, um, no—no, it’s fine. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

  “Great, because we’d really love to have you there. We’ll get you a nice room at the Plaza for the weekend, and we’ll fly you home Sunday or Monday, whichever you prefer, okay?”

  I squeezed the ball. “Sure, okay, thanks, Tracy.”

  “Great. I’ll be in touch as the date gets closer. Take care, Waverly.”

  “Bye, Tracy.”

  I hung up the phone and put the ball on my desk.

  October 13. Friday the thirteenth. Ouch.

  “You’re spending your thirtieth birthday at a singles auction? Are you insane?” Andie picked up a piece of cheddar cheese and sandwiched it between two crackers.

  It was a rare hot Sunday afternoon, and McKenna, Andie, and I were hanging out in the shared backyard of Andie’s apartment building, drinking sweetened iced tea and enjoying the sun.

  “I know, I know, it’s so embarrassing, but I committed before they changed the date. What am I supposed to do now?” I said.

  Andie pushed her sunglasses up to rest on her head and reached for another piece of cheese. “Can’t you have your assistant call and cancel? Or maybe just not show up at all? Isn’t that what all you famous people do?”

  “Come on, Andie, you know she can’t do that,” McKenna said.

  Andie shrugged. “Okay, you’re right. Not showing up would be a little harsh. Maybe you could just call at the last minute and say something suddenly came up?” she said.

  I looked at her. “You want me to say that something suddenly came up?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Uh, maybe because that’s one of the most quoted lines OF ALL TIME? Why don’t I just tell them I’m grounded because I forgot that Mom always said don’t play ball in the house?”

  “Hey, wasn’t there a Seinfeld episode about this?” McKenna said.

  I looked at her. “About quoting The Brady Bunch?”

  “No, about having a first date on your birthday. There was one episode where Jerry goes on a first date with this really pretty girl, and at dinner she tells him that it’s her birthday. And she’s the one who picked the day for the date! The whole episode is about how everyone but Jerry thinks she’s a loser.”

  I groaned. “Wonderful.”

  Andie tossed another piece of cheese into her mouth “What type of guy would fly all the way to New York to bid for some girl in an auction? You know whoever picks you is gonna be a psycho.”

  “Maybe it’ll just be someone who lives in New York,” McKenna said.

  “Still psycho,” Andie said.

  I groaned. “No matter how you package it up, this is one very small notch above appearing on a reality show.”

  McKenna nodded. “Looks like it.”

  I covered my eyes with my hands. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed for myself.”

  “I’m embarrassed for you, too,” Andie said, grabbing another piece of cheese.

  I pinched her arm. “Hey, cheese girl, how’s the annual summer diet going?”

  “Bite me,” she said, putting the cheese down.

  “Well at least it’s all for charity,” McKenna said.

  “And at least you’ll get to meet some hot single celebrities at the party,” Andie said. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and hook up.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Andie shrugged and put her sunglasses back on. “Just trying to be optimistic.”

  “Don’t worry, Wave. We’ll celebrate your birthday after the auction. You’ll probably need to eat a whole cake anyway to help you get over the experience,” McKenna said.

  “Double chocolate?” I said.

  “You got it,” McKenna said.

  Andie laughed. “Nothing but the best for our little maxipad model.”

  Kent and I scheduled the next Honey Notes press tour for the week after the singles auction. The plan was for me to fly to New York on Friday, and Kent would fly in the following Monday for the interviews. And when Tracy found out that Smithers Publishing was already paying for my plane ticket, she said that People would pay for me to bring a friend if I wanted. Sweet!

  I called McKenna at work to give her the good news.

  “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss it. Is Andie coming, too?” she said.

  “Well, I only have two plane tickets,” I said.

  “Hello? I’m an investment banker, remember? I have a billion miles. Give her the ticket. I’ll get my own.”

  “Really? Are you sure that weekend’s good for you?”

  “I don’t care if it is or not. I’m canceling whatever’s on my calendar. We can make this my bachelorette weekend, too.”

  “Perfect! Let’s call Andie via three-way,” I said, dialing her number.

  “Andrea Barnett,” Andie answered in her work voice, which was two octaves below her regular voice.

  “Hey, Andie, it’s Waverly and Mackie on three-way. Do you want to go to New York with us for—”

  “I’m in,” she said.

  “But don’t you want to know the—”

  “In,” she said.

  I laughed and leaned back in my chair, then gave her the details.

  “Besides the turning thirty part and the being auctioned off in front of a large group of people part, the weekend will be so fun,” I said.

  “I’m fired up,” Andie said. “I plan to eat too much, drink too much, and shop too much.”

  “Me too,” McKenna said. “I’m digging this coattails thing. So how is it being famous anyway, Wave?”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “Well, I would hardly call myself famous, but these fifteen minutes have definitely been a little surreal. You know what I realized though?” I said.

  “What?” they both said.

  “I realized the ONE photo that apparently everyone in the world has seen of me was taken by a professional photographer with professional lighting after a professional makeup artist and a professional hairstylist worked on me for two hours.”

  “So? You look great in it,” McKenna said.

  “Yeah, but no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to look as good as I do in that picture!”

  “You know, that is sad, but sorta true,” Andie said.

  I laughed. “I know. So sad, and so true.”

  “You should really be proud of yourself, Wave,” McKenna said. “Those Honey Notes are fantastic. So many people have creative ideas, but turning them into something real is another story.”

  I smiled into the phone. “Thanks, Mackie. You know, it’s so crazy, but I guess I owe all this to Aaron. Who would
have thought?”

  “That breakup was the best thing that ever happened to you,” McKenna said.

  “We should all be so lucky,” Andie said.

  “I’m serious,” McKenna said. “You’ve finally stopped trying to live your life according to some ridiculous master plan. Where’s the fun in that?”

  “No fun for you!” Andie said in her Soup Nazi voice.

  That Thursday, the three of us met at the Kilkenny after work for a beer.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said to Andie. “Really?”

  She pushed her hair behind her ears and nodded. “Yep. When the check came, he looked right at me and said, ‘Shall we split it?’”

  “No way,” McKenna said.

  “Way,” Andie said, nodding again.

  I sipped my beer. “And this was a first date?”

  “Yep, first date.”

  “And he had asked you out?”

  “Yep.”

  I tilted my head to one side. “And then he asked you to pay for half of dinner?”

  She nodded again. “Yep.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  Andie blew a bubble. “Join the club.”

  “Do you think he’s in the closet?” McKenna said. Every girl we knew in San Francisco had asked that question at least once. “Maybe he just goes on random dates now and then so no one will suspect?”

  Andie put her finger on her lip. “You know, now that I think about it, he could be. He was really well-dressed. So maybe. Or maybe he’s just rude.”

  “He’s rude either way,” I said. “How did you meet him?”

  “At the gym,” she said, nodding slowly. “Yep, I should have known better. The guys I meet at the gym always turn out to be gay.”

  “But you never go to the gym,” I said.

  She smacked her gum and smiled. “And now you know why.”

  “That would make a good Honey Note,” I said.

  “Everything’s a Honey Note for you these days,” McKenna said.

  I smiled. “Yep, I’m done with dating to find love. Now I’m just using it as research.”

  “My friend Max told me an amazing dating story the other day,” Andie said.