It's a Waverly Life (13 page)

After the introductions, Crystal turned to Wendy. “You’re a married mother of three, correct?”

Wendy smiled widely. “I married my high school sweetheart, and now we have two beautiful girls and a boy…and two adorable dogs and a cat. My husband and kids are celebrating Valentine’s Day here in New York with me tonight, probably in Times Square. I’m sure it will be very romantic.” She spoke with a Southern drawl I hadn’t noticed earlier.

Crystal laughed, and I could hear additional laughter throughout the studio.

“Sounds like quite a family,” Crystal said.

“Oh, they’re wuunderful,” Wendy said, patting her hair. “They absolutely make me who I am as a relationship expert. I love my family to pieces, and without them in my life, I wouldn’t feel like I could genuinely offer advice to anyone.”

I blinked.
Did she really just say that with me, the single, childless columnist, sitting right next to her?

“Of course, of course,” Crystal said. “Family is very important. Do many of your readers ask you about that? How to keep the magic going when you have a family?”

“Oh
yes
. So many of my readers are juggling marriage and children, and careers now too, which makes it hard to keep that spark alive. I always tell them it’s critical to keep the channels of communication open. Long-lasting love is
all
about communication.”

Interesting statement coming from someone who doesn’t speak unless the cameras are on,
I thought.

Suddenly Crystal turned her attention to me.

“Waverly, again, thanks so much for joining us this morning.”

I smiled and tried to look her in the eye without getting more nervous than I already was. “I was happy to be invited.”

“So what do
you
have planned for Valentine’s Day?”

I froze for a moment. Why was she asking me that?

“I guess this is it.” I put my palms up in front of me and forced a smile.

She laughed. “You’re not married, correct?”

I nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No, but my column focuses more on dating…as opposed to married life.”

Wendy unexpectedly poured her syrupy voice onto the conversation. “But you
were
engaged once, isn’t that right, Waverly?”

What
?

I hoped she couldn’t see the confusion in my face. Was I on trial? How did she know that? What was going on?

I tried to mask my distress with another smile. “Yes, that’s true. I was engaged once.” I looked out at the sea of cameras and wondered if Scotty was in the room. Why hadn’t he warned me about this airbrushed nightmare?

“Really? So what happened there?” Crystal said.

I cleared my throat and sat up straight. I was determined not to crack. “Unfortunately, we just weren’t right for each other. But the good thing is that we realized it before it was too late.” I stole a glance at Wendy.
Take that, you fake Southern bitch.

“What about now? Do you have a boyfriend?” Crystal said.

FRICK.

I’d prepared a great answer for
Are you seeing someone
? But somehow it never occurred to me that the question would be posed another way.

“A boyfriend? Um, not currently.”

I heard Wendy shift in her seat next to me. I think she may even have chuckled under her breath.

But ask me if I’m seeing someone!
I pleaded with my eyes.
Ask me if I’m seeing someone!

Crystal turned to face the camera and smiled. “Okay then, we have two relationship columnists here, one happily married with three children and three pets, and one single. This should make for a fun conversation.”

More laughter from the camera pit, and suddenly I wanted to drop to the ground and crawl away. I remembered those
Jesus Saves
pamphlets in the subway and thought maybe I should have taken one. I could use a little saving at the moment.

I did my best to keep smiling and nodding as Crystal asked Wendy several questions I didn’t really hear. I didn’t really hear Wendy’s answers either. I spaced out so completely that I don’t think I really heard anything until Crystal uttered my own name several moments later.

“So, Waverly, what about you?” Crystal said.

I blinked and hoped the blank look on my face would tell her to repeat the question.

She didn’t miss a beat. “What’s on the mind of single people out there? Is there a common theme you’ve been seeing?”

I put my index finger on my chin. “Besides bad dates? Because dating disasters are definitely a popular topic of complaint.”

She laughed, as did the crew, and I felt myself loosening up. Despite the rocky introduction and my momentary space out, I had prepared well for the interview, and I knew I could do a good job.

“Dating disasters?” Crystal raised her eyebrows. “That certainly sounds interesting. Do you want to share one or two with us?”

Now we’re talking.

I was about to recite a couple stellar ones from my dating treasure chest of horror, but before I could pull out anything, Wendy pulled the rug out from under me. She leaned toward Crystal and put her hand up.

“If you don’t mind,” she purred in her Southern drawl, “I’d loooove to hear about the last bad date
Waverly
went on.”

I looked at her and hoped my mouth wasn’t open.
What?

She smiled. “I mean, it’s been ages since I’ve been on a date with anyone besides my huuusband, so I’d luuuv to hear what it’s like in the trenches from someone who’s still there. Don’t you agree, Crystal? You’re happily married too. Aren’t you curious?”

“Why, sure,” Crystal said with a laugh. “Why not? Waverly, let’s hear it. Got any good stories of your own for us?”

I dug my fingernails into the fabric of the couch.

Oh my God.

I hadn’t been on a bad date in months. Except for my December trip to see Jake in Atlanta, I hadn’t been on a date at all.

Crystal was eagerly waiting for me to reply, probably along with a good chunk of the TV audience. I’d already said I didn’t have a boyfriend, so it was too late to mention Jake. And if I wasn’t dating, what the hell was I doing writing a column about dating?

I’m so dead right now.

Then suddenly it came to me.

Lie.

Just tell some stories from before you started seeing Jake,
a little voice in my head said.

Technically, that isn’t lying, right? Just a chronological adjustment?

You can do it,
the little voice said.
You are the queen of bad dates.

I smiled and sat up a little straighter. I could do this. I could totally do this.

“Actually, I’ve had some pretty crazy dates lately.”

“Really?” Crystal said. “Do share.”

I took a deep breath, then I jumped in…reached back in time…and pulled some of my legendary dating disasters into the present.

First I told the story of the guy who took me to a lovely dinner up in Sausalito for our first date, with great conversation and chemistry, followed by a walk along the water and a stunning view of the San Francisco skyline. During the walk he held my hand and told me what a great time he’d had, and how much he was already looking forward to seeing me again. After that romantic declaration, he kissed me gently on the mouth, squeezed my hand, then calmly mentioned that—by the way—his last relationship was with a
man
. Then he asked if I was okay with that.

Next I explained how a coworker wanted to set me up on a blind date with his college roommate, so I agreed to meet the guy for a drink. He was nice enough, so one drink turned into two, which turned into dinner, over which the guy casually mentioned that he was…still married.
Oh, so you’re separated?
I asked, to which he coughed and replied,
Not legally.
In other words,
I’m totally married.
Nice. Might want to punch that ticket before you get on the dating train, my friend. Might also want to punch my idiot friend who set us up, while you’re at it.

I topped it off with a gem about a man McKenna’s husband Hunter set me up with. He was an ER doctor who worked with Hunter on occasion at UCSF, and Hunter said he was friendly and single. That was pretty much all I knew going in, but at least he wasn’t married. When I showed up at the bar, he was wearing a huge Yankees jacket, like the scary replica kind that is blue wool with white leather sleeves and all sorts of awful patches all over it. It also turned out that he lived in Fresno, which on a
good
day is a four-hour drive from San Francisco. He said he trekked all the way to UCSF twice a month because he loved blood and the “rush of working on gunshot victims.” Oh, and he was fifty-one years old, with two ex-wives
and
two kids in college. I thanked Hunter for introducing me to Fresno Gramps, then promptly asked him not to set me up anymore.

When I finished speaking, Crystal’s mouth was open, as I imagine was most of Middle America’s. Wendy was a bit pale.

“Wow,” Crystal said. “You’ve just made me appreciate my husband more than I did this morning. Thanks so much for sharing.” Everyone in the camera pit laughed.

“My pleasure.” I laughed too. It was frightening how much material I had to draw on from my own life. I was, indeed, the queen of bad dates.

It was a dubious title, but it was all mine.

Crystal smiled at the camera, then turned to face us. “So moving on, how about a word of Valentine’s Day advice for our viewers? Wendy, have any tips for our married fans out there?”

Wendy smiled, then slowly crossed her hands over her heart and sighed. I wanted to kick her.

“To me, every day with my husband is Valentine’s Day, and that’s how I think every married person should live their life. So my word of advice today—and every day—is to say
I love you
, every single morning when you wake up, and every single evening before you lay your head on the pillow. Don’t take a minute for granted, and be sooooo grateful that you’re not going through life…alone.”

Again, I hoped my mouth wasn’t open.
Is she for real?

“Thanks for that, Wendy,” Crystal said. “And Waverly, what about you? Any parting words for our non-married viewers out there?”

“I guess…I guess I’d have to say, don’t post anything about your Valentine’s Day plans on Facebook.”

“Don’t post your Valentine’s Day plans on Facebook?”

I nodded. “Yes, don’t do it, because all you’re going to do is annoy your single friends. And it’s important not to annoy your single friends, because you never know when you’re going to need them.”

She laughed, and suddenly I realized that I’d forgotten to heed Kristina’s suggestion to throw sex into the conversation. So out of nowhere I blurted, “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of Facebook, I don’t recommend being Facebook friends with anyone you’ve slept with either. That can get a little dicey.”

The entire camera crew cracked up. I think Wendy may have gasped, but I couldn’t be sure.

Oops.
Had I just made myself sound like a slut?

I panicked and threw a Hail Mary. “Um, I got that last nugget of advice from my good friend Andie. She’s says it’s a lot harder to do than you might think.” As soon as her name flew out of my mouth, I wished I could reel it back in. Why hadn’t I stopped at
good friend
?

Crystal laughed again and faced the TV audience. “Well, there you have it, America, advice from the experts. From all of us at NBC, I’d like to wish our viewers a happy Valentine’s Day, no matter how you spend it. Wendy Davenport of Love, Wendy, Waverly Bryson of Honey on Your Mind, thank you so much for joining us. It’s been a pleasure. Matt, Ann, back to you.”

The stage manager cut to a commercial break, and the bright lights finally dimmed.

Crystal stood up and removed her microphone. “Thanks, ladies. That was great, really great.”

“Thanks, Crystal,” I said.
Had
it gone well? I was in a daze.

“It was just wonderful,” Wendy said, standing up and giving Crystal a hug.

Crystal hurried off and disappeared, and I stayed seated, relieved it was over.

“Good luck with that little column of yours,” Wendy said, her Southern accent suddenly way less noticeable. “If you get your readership up
and
work on your stage presence, maybe I’ll invite you to appear on my new show sometime. You might want to do something about that hair, though.”

I looked up at her bleached blonde helmet.
What?

But she was already gone.

“How could you let that happen, Scotty? She totally ambushed me!”

He reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, gorgeous. Believe me, I’m flabbergasted, and I feel awful. I can’t believe what happened in there.”

It was about an hour later. Scotty and I were seated at one of the approximately fifty thousand Starbucks in Manhattan, a block away from Rockefeller Plaza. I opened a pack of sugar and stirred it into my latte. “Wendy Davenport,
blech
. Why was she so horrible to me? Why does she hate me so much? And why didn’t you warn me about her at dinner last night?”

His shoulders drooped. I’d never seen him look so rattled. “Scout’s honor, I swear that I literally found out
while you were on camera
that the network is launching a new talk show about relationships, and apparently Wendy is auditioning to be the host. I guess she saw you as a threat, so she wanted to make it clear that she’s more qualified than you for the position. At least that’s my take on it. I’m so sorry, hon.”

“I can’t believe she brought up my engagement. What a
bitch
.”

“You did great.” He put his hand over mine. “You held your own, and I don’t think it was that obvious that she was trying to undermine you. She clearly had done her homework on you, though.”

“You don’t think it was
obvious
? Are you on crack? I kept waiting for her to pull out a photo of me in my heinous prom dress or something, just to make me even
more
insecure.”

He winked. “Hey now, no one looks good at the prom. It’s part of the fabric of American culture.”

I half laughed, shaking my head. “After the segment was over, she even made fun of my hair.
MY
hair. I bet that woman sprays her way through a can of Aqua Net a week.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

I took a sip of my latte and set it down on the table. “Okay, Scotty, tell me the truth. Did I recover okay?”

“You were splendid.”

“Are you just saying that because I’m upset? It’s all kind of a blur right now.”

“Positive. You were very entertaining. Witty, too.” He looked remorseful, but sincere.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You owe me for not hating you right now.”

He reached across the table and touched my cheek. “I truly am sorry, and I feel just terrible. I hope you believe me.”

“Well at least you’re human. It’s nice to finally know I’m not the only screw-up in this friendship.”

“Waverly, you’re hardly a screw-up. And I promise I’m not just saying that.”

I half smiled. “Thanks. I admit I’m feeling a little better now. How do you always know how to pick me up, even when I’m face down in the emotional gutter?”

“It’s part of the job description, princess.”

“You mean the job of Mr. Perfect?”

He laughed. “Only for you.”

When I got back to San Francisco late that night, there was another envelope slipped under my door. It had my name and address in the same neat handwriting as before, again in red pen, again with no return address. How inept was my postman to keep delivering my mail to the wrong apartment? And what did it say about me that I was more concerned with the intelligence of my postman than the possibility that I had a stalker? Call it a sixth sense, but I had a feeling that it was innocuous. I just couldn’t believe someone would bother to stalk
me
.

I rolled my carry-on into the living room and sat down on the couch. I opened the envelope. Just as before, the note inside had just one word on it.

lie

“Lie about what?”

Suddenly I remembered what I’d said on
The Today Show
about not being in a relationship—and the stories about my “recent” dates.

“Oh my God,” I said to the letter. “How did you know?”

I put the paper back in the envelope and tossed it onto the coffee table, then leaned my head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. After a moment I sat up again. “Technically, I wasn’t really lying, you know. I just moved up the timeframe of a few dates.”

I chuckled and pressed my palm against my forehead.
Why am I talking to a piece of paper?

I thought about my experience on the
Today Show
set and suddenly wished I had someone to share it with other than Scotty. I’d left a message for Andie before getting on the flight home, but she hadn’t called me back and was now probably on a date with Gaslamp Guy. McKenna and Hunter were at her parents’ ranch in Oregon, where she never got reception.

I looked at the old-fashioned clock on the wall above my pine armoire. It was nearly nine o’clock. Exhausted, I stood up and stretched my arms over my head, then wheeled my carry-on bag toward my room.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jake,” I said softly. “Wherever you are.” I’d checked my phone every few minutes all day in hopes of seeing a Valentine’s message from him, to no avail.