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

by Maria Murnane

  “Oh God, kill me now,” I whispered, squeezing McKenna’s and Andie’s hands.

  “It’ll be fine,” McKenna whispered back.

  “I need another drink,” Andie whispered.

  Tracy was still talking. “… and when the auction is over, we’ll introduce you to your dates. They’ll join us all for cocktails for a half-hour or so before we move to dinner in the room next door, followed by some fun dance music. We’ll have to take a few photos for the magazine, but we promise to keep it light so you can enjoy yourselves. And I promise we’ll be all done by eleven.”

  My ears perked up. “Fun dance music? You think they’ll play ’80s tunes?”

  “If they do, please promise me you won’t try to convince them to play “YMCA” like you did at Whitney’s wedding, okay?” McKenna said.

  I shrugged. “Okay, okay. But I still say that crowd was on its deathbed before I took charge.”

  Andie took a sip of her drink and looked around the room. “I wonder how much money people are going to bid? Some of those guys are really cute.”

  “You’re actually thinking about bidding on someone?” McKenna said.

  “Hey, a girl’s got needs,” Andie said.

  Tracy got back up on stage and motioned for the singles to join her.

  I took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” said McKenna.

  “Don’t trip,” Andie said.

  I walked up to the stage, where Tracy was chatting with what looked like her assistant. When she saw me approaching, she turned and held out her hand.

  “Waverly Bryson! What a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  “Hi, Tracy,” I said, shaking her hand.

  Apparently my eyes said more than my words did, because she put her other hand on my shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

  “You promise?”

  She nodded. “It may be a little painful, but it’ll also be fun. And it’s for a good cause, right?”

  “No pain, no gain, huh?” I said.

  She winked and motioned for everyone to gather around her. “Something like that.”

  Ten minutes later we were backstage. I could hear the noise of the crowd on the other side of the curtain and wondered how many people would be in the audience. I looked down at the huge round number seven pinned to my chest, then up at all the other singles lined up around me. Everyone was laughing and chatting, but with a nervous energy that told me I wasn’t the only one who felt just a little bit foolish. I recognized a few people from the Most Beautiful list, but most of the others I’d never seen before.

  “You ready, number seven?” the guy behind me said.

  I laughed. “As ready as I’ll ever be, number eight.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” number six said.

  I could hear the muffled voice of the MC announcing the auction.

  Then there was a countdown. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one …”

  I bit my lip.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, here are our single PEOPLE!”

  The curtain went up, and for a second I thought I was looking straight into the sun. The bright lights were everywhere, and the crowd was going crazy. I heard Tracy shout “Now!” and our line started moving. I couldn’t see anything more than three feet in front of me, so I just followed number six. We walked across the stage, and as I grinded my teeth into a painfully fake smile I wondered why I hadn’t had another glass of wine.

  “. . . Number seven, Waverly! Number eight, Jason! Number nine, Brady! …”

  We walked across the stage and back, all of us blindly smiling into the lights. Then we went backstage to the green room, and the waiting began. Thank God I was number seven and not number twenty-seven. I couldn’t wait for number one to come back and give us the scoop so we’d know what to expect.

  The problem was that number one didn’t come back. And then numbers two and three copied her.

  “Crap,” I said, as number four got up to leave. “It’s a black hole out there.”

  “Are you nervous, number seven?” number eight said to me. He looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  I nodded. “Just slightly, you?”

  “Nah, I love this sort of thing.”

  “You love being auctioned off?” I said.

  He laughed. “I love being on stage. I’m a singer.”

  Then I remembered where I’d seen him. “Hey, wait a minute, weren’t you on American Idol a couple seasons ago?” I said.

  He smiled.

  “I love that show!” I said.

  “So do I,” he said. “I used to be a mechanic, and look at me now. This is way better than changing a battery.”

  I felt the same way about myself. This was much better than writing press releases, despite the feeling that I might throw up at any moment.

  “So what do you do?” he said.

  “Oh, uh, I have a line of funny greeting cards for single women. They’re called Honey Notes.”

  “Cool,” he said. “I dig it.” He’d obviously never heard of my cards or of me, but I didn’t care. It was the first time in a long time that I didn’t secretly wish I had a different answer to that question.

  I smiled. “Thanks, I dig it too.”

  The door opened, and Tracy poked her head in. “Waverly, you’re up.”

  I stood up and smoothed my dress. “Holy crap,” I said.

  “Good luck, number seven,” number eight said.

  “Thanks, number eight,” I said.

  I followed Tracy out of the room and into a dark corridor toward the noise and the lights. She pointed straight ahead of us. “Okay, Waverly, when the auctioneer calls your name, just walk through that entrance to the stage, stand in the white circle, and smile.”

  “That’s all I have to do?” I said. “Stand in the white circle and smile?”

  She laughed. “Were you expecting an obstacle course or something?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “We’re not that mean. Don’t worry, you’ll do great.”

  “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” I said.

  She shook her head. “You look beautiful. Okay, it’s nearly time.”

  I could hear the auction for number six in full swing, the loud voice of the auctioneer filling up the room. “THIRTY-EIGHT hundred, we have THIRTY-EIGHT hundred from the man in the back. Do I hear FOUR THOUSAND?”

  “Thirty-eight hundred dollars?” I said. “That’s like a mortgage payment for a really nice house!”

  “Number two went for ten thousand,” Tracy said.

  I could feel my eyes getting really big. “Ten thousand dollars? Are you joking? Who was number two?”

  “The Victoria’s Secret model.”

  I closed my eyes and tried not to freak out.

  “SOLD! … for thirty-eight hundred dollars!” the auctioneer said. The crowd erupted, and number six walked off the stage and past me.

  “Nice job,” I said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Although I’m pretty sure it was a friend who bid on me.”

  I was fairly certain McKenna and Andie weren’t about to cough up thirty-eight hundred dollars to have dinner with me.

  “Okay, it’s your turn, Waverly,” Tracy said to me.

  The voice of the auctioneer boomed. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for single number seven!”

  “Good luck!” Tracy gave me a little shove, and I started walking toward the stage. Smile and don’t trip, I thought to myself. Smile and don’t trip. Smile and don’t trip.

  The noise of the crowd got louder as I approached the entrance to the stage. I paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped into the lights.

  The auctioneer’s voice was way louder than I expected it to be, or better put, WAY LOUDER THAN I EXPECTED IT TO BE. “Number seven is WAVERLY BRYSON, featured in this year’s 50 Most Beautiful People issue
!!”

  I saw the white circle and headed straight to it, trying to smile, and suddenly barely aware of what the announcer was saying, or screaming.

  “… comes to us from SAN FRANCISCO …”

  I reached the circle safely and turned to face the crowd.

  “… GREETING CARDS earlier this year …”

  I looked for a familiar face, but the lights blocked out everything. The only person I could see was a really short bald man in the front row. He looked friendly, so I smiled at him.

  The announcer continued. “So let’s get the bidding started. Do I hear TWO THOUSAND dollars?”

  I swallowed hard. Please, please, please let someone, anyone, bid on me.

  The auctioneer shouted, “TWO THOUSAND dollars from the gentleman in the corner! Do I hear twenty-two hundred?”

  I shifted my weight from my left hip to my right.

  “TWENTY-TWO HUNDRED, we have twenty-two hundred. Do I hear TWENTY-FIVE?”

  The crowd was cheering and clapping.

  The announcer yelled again. “TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED! We have twenty-five hundred from the woman in the white hat. Do I hear TWENTY-SEVEN?”

  The woman in the white hat? McKenna and Andie weren’t wearing hats. Hmm. Well, I guess that would make for a good story, right?

  “Is that three thousand I hear?” the auctioneer said. “Yes! We have a bid for THREE THOUSAND from the gentleman in the back.”

  The crowd went wild. Three thousand dollars? Someone had upped the bid to three thousand dollars? I squinted to see the back but still couldn’t see past the bald man in the front. He was still smiling at me, but he wasn’t bidding.

  “THIRTY-FIVE hundred!” The auctioneer pointed his gavel to the right of the crowd. “I have THIRTY-FIVE hundred from the tall blonde woman to my right.”

  Tall blonde woman? Mackie perhaps? How much wine had she had?

  “We have THIRTY-FIVE hundred,” the auctioneer said. “Do I hear FOUR THOUSAND?”

  Nothing.

  I clasped my hands together in front of me and smiled. Was it over? Thirty-five hundred wasn’t bad at all!

  “FIVE THOUSAND!” the auctioneer suddenly yelled. “FIVE THOUSAND from the gentleman in the back!” The noise of the audience mirrored the sudden jump in the bidding and suddenly jumped a few decibels in response.

  Five thousand dollars? To have dinner with me?

  “FIVE THOUSAND dollars,” the auctioneer said. “We have five thousand … going once … going twice … SOLD! For FIVE THOUSAND dollars!”

  The cheer of the crowd grew even louder, even though I still couldn’t actually see anyone. I smiled into the lights and curtsied and exited stage left. I didn’t know if I was more excited about having gone for five thousand dollars or having stayed on my feet.

  After the auction was over, Tracy called us all backstage again. The plan was for our dates to come pick us up at the green room, and then we’d sit together at dinner. I was dying to know who had picked me. The Victoria’s Secret model had been the top bid, but hey, I’d gone for half of what she had! I figured that was pretty good, given that my bra size was about half of hers, if that.

  As I walked toward the green room, I heard Tracy’s voice. “Hey, Waverly, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I turned around and walked up to her. “Sure, what’s up?”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, there was a little glitch in your auction.”

  Oh frick, my bidder had changed his mind. I was the girl without a bidder.

  “Oh, uh, that’s okay,” I said. “I had a feeling that might happen.”

  Tracy laughed. “It’s not what you think. It’s just that your date had some sort of an emergency and had to leave.”

  Thank God! But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a great thing. What happened next?

  “So what happens next?” I said.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to ask you to have dinner with him tomorrow night. I know it’s different from what you agreed to do, but if you wouldn’t mind, I would really, really appreciate it.”

  Hmm. Saturday was supposed to be our big night out for McKenna’s bachelorette weekend and for my birthday. “Will the date have to last all night? I sort of already have plans,” I said.

  “No, no, of course not. He’ll pick you up at your hotel at seven thirty, and I promise by ten you’ll be free for the night. All you have to do is have dinner with him, and we’ll pay for anywhere you two want to go.”

  I swallowed and nodded my head. “Okay, sure. I’d be glad to do it.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, Waverly. I really appreciate this. You just made my life a lot less complicated.”

  “No problem. So who is this guy anyway?”

  She looked at her clipboard and ran her finger down the page.

  “Feldman. Wendall P. Feldman, from Dallas, Texas.”

  Wendall P. Feldman? Someone named Wendall P. Feldman had paid five thousand dollars to have dinner with me?

  “Can I ask you one question?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Is the guy visually impaired?”

  She hit me lightly on the shoulder with her clipboard. “Shush. Now get out there and enjoy the rest of your birthday with your friends.”

  “Hey, Tracy, how did you know it was my birthday anyway?”

  She winked. “A little bird told me.”

  The party turned out to be a total blast. McKenna, Andie, and I made friends with the bartenders, and we lit up the dance floor, too. I hadn’t danced that much since we used to go clubbing right out of college. In addition to my beloved ’80s tunes, the band played hip-hop and top-40 music, so we hardly took a break.

  Most of the auction winners were straight off the rack at Nerds R Us, but they were really nice people, and who could knock their enthusiasm? And the few celebrities in the group were actually pretty cool, too. At first things were a little tense, but once everyone had squirted a few tubes of social lubricant down their throats, one and all had a good time. We danced up a storm with everybody in sight, and I wished my camera had fit into my elf-size purse.

  After the party ended, the three of us headed out to a small jazz club in Greenwich Village. We made our way through the crowd and sat down in the back. “Okay, ladies, what’s the drink of choice?” Andie said. “Lemon drops? Kamikazes? Jägermeister?”

  “Jägermeister?” I said. “That stuff is still around? Have you ever noticed that you can taste that stuff days later when you burp?”

  “That’s gross,” McKenna said.

  “Yes, yes it is,” I said. “And that’s why I’ll be ordering a vodka tonic.”

  “And a lemon drop to go with it,” Andie said. “You’re not getting off that easy, birthday girl.”

  “All right, fine.” I hated shots, but hell, it was my birthday. Okay, it was after midnight and thus no longer technically my birthday, but whatever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The next morning we didn’t wake up until after eleven, and it wasn’t pretty when we did. I called room service and ordered three plates of scrambled eggs with cheese, two orders of curly fries, three large bottles of lemon-lime Gatorade, a bottle of aspirin, and three Diet Cokes. Nothing was going to make our suffering go away completely, but I was pulling out all the stops to try.

  When the food arrived, I tipped the bellman and rolled the huge tray into Andie and McKenna’s bedroom. They were still facedown on their beds.

  “Rise and shine, honey buns, time to get a move on,” I said.

  “I gave at the office,” Andie said.

  McKenna groaned and sat up with her arms crossed over her face. “Aspirin, I need aspirin.”

  At noon we finally made it down to the luxury spa on the second floor, all three of us wearing dark sunglasses, shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops. I gave the receptionist my name, and she smiled and looked down at the schedule in front of her. “Welcome to the Plaza Spa, Miss Bryson. It looks l
ike we’ll be treating you and your guests to a steam sauna, a Swedish massage, and a European cleansing facial. Then we’ll serve you a light lunch in our sun room, followed by a deluxe manicure and a paraffin wax pedicure. You’ll finish off with a tray of chocolates and coffee, all compliments of People magazine, with birthday greetings from Tracy Leiderman.”

  Andie and I took off our sunglasses and looked at each other.

  “I could get used to this life,” I said.

  She nodded. “Hell yes, you could.”

  The receptionist walked us back to the changing room, where thick robes and slippers were waiting. I looked around. Vases of fresh flowers were on nearly every flat surface.

  She handed us each a steaming tea cup with tiny green flowers painted on it. “Your aestheticians will be by for you shortly. Feel free to relax in the recliner couches in the lounge area while you’re waiting,” she said.

  I took a sip. “Okay, thank you so much.” I hadn’t even started my treatments, and I already felt like a princess. As she walked away, I lowered my voice and leaned toward Andie and McKenna. “It’s amazing how a spa visit can make you feel so special, as if the people you’re paying to saw the calluses off your feet really want to be there, ya know?”

  “Totally,” Andie said.

  Hours later, we floated out of the spa feeling like new women. A thousand dollars worth of pampering can do wonders for a hangover. We had been rubbed and scrubbed, manicured and pedicured, oiled and spoiled, then fed and fed some more. We graciously thanked the staff and headed back upstairs.

  I opened the door to our suite and walked into the master bedroom. “All right, I’m finally ready to get dressed and take on the day,” I said.

  “You mean ready to get dressed and take on the afternoon,” McKenna said. “It’s four o’clock.”