Perfect on Paper (5 page)

Kent loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair. “I feel like I was just run over by a train. Did any of you even get a chance to walk around the show floor and check out the other booths?”

“Are you kidding me?” Davey laughed. “I barely had time to use the restroom.”

I pressed my face flat on the conference table. “I need a margarita. And a massage. And did I mention a margarita?”

“I haven’t even seen the trade show bunnies yet,” Davey said. “What a rip-off.”

Shane looked at him. “Trade show bunnies?”

“You know, the lovely ladies hired to attract visitors to the various booths,” Davey said.

“Also known as trade show bimbos, in some circles,” I said, my face still flat on the table.

Davey laughed. “In your circles, you mean.”

I raised my head and pointed at him. “Hey now! Someone needs to take a stand against the shameless exploitation of women, right?”

“Oh please, like you didn’t want to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader when you were a kid?” Kent said.

I laughed. “Okay, busted.”

“So who’s up for a huge dinner on JAG to celebrate a job well done?” Davey said. “I’m starving.”

I raised my arm. “Count me in.”

“Me too,” Kent said.

Shane nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

A half-hour later we were seated at a large booth at the back of Morton’s Steakhouse. When he’d seen who we were with, the maître d’ had been kind enough to put us in a back corner where Shane wouldn’t be super-noticeable, not that a six-foot-eight man isn’t super-noticeable everywhere. Then we ate and ate and ate until we couldn’t eat anymore.

I tapped my fork against my wine glass. “All right, gentlemen, I would like to make an announcement.”

“This should be good,” Davey said.

“For the record, I’m going to work out every day for a week straight when I get home. Understood?” I said.

They all nodded.

I smiled. “Excellent, I’m glad we’re clear on that. Now may I please see the dessert menu?”

The waiter brought out a dessert cart with every possible sweet you could want: pastries, cakes, sundaes, pies, and cookies. And I wanted everything. Everything! But I controlled myself and decided on the cheesecake … and a chocolate cookie.

I swallowed a bite of cheesecake and turned to Shane. “So, Mr. Kennedy, how are you able to take a few days off to be here with us? Isn’t the NBA in full swing?”

He pushed his sleeves about thirty-six inches up to his elbows. “Actually, we play the Hawks here in Atlanta on Saturday, so we had today off, and tomorrow and Friday I’ll practice with the team in the afternoon.”

“Thank God for that,” Kent said.

I nodded. “No kidding. Who would care about those stupid basketball shoes without you?”

“Good point,” Davey said, pointing his fork at me. “But keep that to yourself.”

“Hey, Shane, is Kristina doing any work at the show?” I said.

Kent looked at me. “Who?”

“His wife, Kristina Santana. You know, the Olympic figure skater?” I said.

“You’re married to Kristina Santana? Really? I didn’t know that,” Kent said to Shane.

I rolled my eyes. “Hello? How can you not know that? Don’t you watch
Entertainment Tonight
?”

“Is that on ESPN?” Kent said.

“Guys are worthless,” I said. Kristina Santana was as famous for her beauty and brains as for her jumping ability. After winning a silver medal at the Olympics, she’d gone on to become a pediatrician. She was also the new spokesperson for Whisper perfume, so her face was everywhere.

“She’s amazing. You two are going to have bionic children—very smart, attractive bionic children,” I said to Shane.

He smiled. “She’s actually coming into town on Friday to watch my game on Saturday night, so maybe I can introduce you.”

I clapped my hands together. “I would love that! Are you going to bring her to the big JAG party on Friday night?”

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to make the party, but we’ll try,” he said.

“Don’t forget to introduce us, too,” Kent said. “Man, married to Kristina Santana. Go figure.”

I punched him in the shoulder. “
Go figure?
Who says that?”

“Chill, Bryson,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “So, how long have you and Kristina been married?”

Shane picked up a forkful of tiramisu. “Almost five years. Are any of you married?”

“Four years, two kids,” Kent said.

“Living in sin, five years, no kids,” Davey said.

They all looked at me.

“Can you pass the sugar, please?” I said.

Davey shook his head. “Waverly is what you call a heartbreaker,” he said to Shane. “Stomps all over them.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“She even broke off an engagement last year,” Davey said.

Kent looked at me. “You were engaged? I didn’t know that. What happened?” he said.

I swallowed and looked above him at the wall. “Um, it, uh, it just didn’t work out,” I said.

“She crushed the dude,” Davey said. “Called it off two weeks before the big day. Poor guy never had a chance.”

I poured some sugar in my coffee and sighed. “Can we please change the subject? I’m sure Shane doesn’t want to hear about this.”

“You know, Waverly, you’ve got to lower your standards,” Davey said. “The way I see it, dating is like being in the jungle. Now, a relationship is a vine, and when things don’t work out, you’re basically hanging from a vine that ain’t swinging anymore. Now, you may
want
to jump to another vine, a healthier vine, a more supportive vine, or maybe a more exciting vine, but if none of the other vines are good enough for you, or if you just don’t have enough energy to make the jump, you’re going to spend the rest of your life clinging to the lifeless bottom of a dead vine just so you don’t fall into the abyss below.” He accompanied this speech with sweeping apelike arm gestures and a variety of animal sounds.

There it was, my dysfunctional love life, acted out in a crowded restaurant by a 34-year-old monkey.

“Well done, man. Well done.” Kent stood up and clapped.

Davey bowed his head. “I’ll leave a tip jar outside my room.”

“Thank you for that, Davey, now will you please stop talking?” I said.

Shane looked at me. “Why do you call this guy Davey anyway?”

I pointed at Davey. “Just look at that cute little boy face. How can you not call him Davey? And I’m sort of a nickname person.”

Davey rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Bryson.
Cute little boy face
is just what a grown man wants to hear. Anyhow, Shane, I really think Waverly should put herself out there more, because in my professional opinion—”

I looked up from my coffee cup. “In your
professional
opinion?”

He nodded. “Yes, in my professional opinion, Miss Bryson here is a classic ringleader of what I like to call the Circle of Hatred, which for centuries has defeated even the bravest of single men.”

Shane and Kent both put their forks down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “The Circle of Hatred? What is that?”

“It’s the ring of negative energy emitted by packs of pretty women in bars. Do you know how terrifying it is for a mere mortal to attempt to cross that force field? Just trying to strike up a conversation can cause years of emotional damage.”

“The Circle of Hatred?” Shane said.

Davey nodded. “Totally toxic.”

“Oh, Davey, you’ve outdone yourself this time.” I buried my face in my hands.

“Bravo,” Kent said.

Shane was smiling, but he clearly thought we were insane.

After dinner, Shane headed back to his hotel, and Davey and Kent went off to a party thrown by Nelson Tennis. I briefly toyed with the idea of going with them, but when it was time to pull the trigger, I just couldn’t rally.

I shook my head. “Sorry, boys, but my pink sheets and free payper-view sound much more appealing than a crowded room at this moment.”

“C’mon, Bryson,” Davey said, putting on his coat. “Don’t be antisocial.”

“You sure?” Kent said, standing up. “The man of your dreams might be there….”

I yawned. “Then tell him I’m sorry we couldn’t meet,
again
. If I want to stay awake at the booth tomorrow, I need to get in about fifteen hours of sleep tonight. Aren’t you guys tired at all?”

Davey shook his head. “Nope, gotta enjoy this hall pass.”

“Me neither,” Kent said. “I’m fired up for a free night out.”

They took off, and I headed to the ladies’ room. A hall pass? That’s what they called it? I washed my hands and shook my head. While Davey and Kent both welcomed a night out without their significant others, I felt a wave of loneliness hit me that I hadn’t felt in months.

A free night
out
? I wished I had someone to curl up on the couch with every night, someone who wanted to hear about my day and rub my tired feet. I looked down and tried to remember if anyone had ever rubbed my feet. Aaron definitely hadn’t been a foot rubber.

Sigh.
Why was I still lying about how our engagement had ended?

I pulled my ponytail holder out and shook my head, running my fingers through my hair and stretching my neck from side to side. Good Lord, only one day at the booth and already I felt like I was 130 years old. I thought about all the interviews I’d sat through, all the people I’d talked to, all the follow-up work I’d have to do when I got back to San Francisco. Ugh. I ran my hands through my hair again and looked at my reflection. The Atlanta air was always kind to my hair, and despite the convention arena air-conditioning, it felt healthy and strong and … WHAT?

I leaned close to the mirror and grabbed at a strand of hair on the right side of my head.

It was grey.

WHAT?

I yanked it out and held it up in the light. It was grey and thick, and did I mention it was grey and thick? It was like someone had woven a strand of dental floss into my scalp.

Sweet Jesus.

I tossed the hair into the trash can and looked at myself in the mirror. This couldn’t be happening, could it? I mean, what the hell? I had to get out of there. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and quickly walked out into the empty hallway.

My cell phone rang, but I tossed it back in my purse when I saw my dad’s name on the caller ID. Then I leaned up against the wall and closed my eyes. A grey hair? Was I over the hill already?

“Hey, are you okay?” a male voice said.

I opened my eyes and saw Shane standing outside the men’s room.

“I just found a grey hair!” I blurted out, then immediately covered my mouth with both hands.

“Oh God, please tell me I didn’t just say that,” I whispered.

He smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, too late.”

“I thought you left,” I said.

He pointed to the men’s room. “Pit stop.”

“Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed, Shane. Please don’t tell Kent and Davey, okay? They’ll crucify me.”

“For a grey hair?” he said.

“For anything related to getting one step closer to spinsterhood.”

He nodded. “Those guys definitely like to tease you, but it’s all in good fun, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but, well, sometimes, well, sometimes they go a little too far. And this week is already sucking enough.”

“It is?” He sounded surprised.

“Oh, it has nothing to do with you and the show. It’s just that, well …”

I looked up at him. There was something in his eyes that told me I could trust him. Or maybe it was the two glasses of wine I had drunk at dinner telling me I could. But regardless, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to confide in someone who wasn’t a part of my life in San Francisco. Right there, near the restrooms, at Morton’s Steakhouse.

“Can I be honest with you, Shane?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I, I didn’t call off my wedding at the last minute. My fiancé did … and I just found out he’s getting married to someone else.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said.

“But I’m being totally unprofessional. I’m sorry.”

“Really, it’s okay,” he said.

I could feel the tears lining up to make their entrance. “I just can’t bring myself to tell people the truth about what really happened. I know that’s stupid, but I was so humiliated by the whole thing. And I doubt Kent and Davey would understand anyway.”

“Hey, you might be surprised. Everyone’s been on the losing end of a breakup at some point.”

I frowned. “But being left practically at the altar takes it to a whole new level, you know?”

He stayed silent, sensing that I wasn’t done yet.

“And now he’s getting married and I’m still all alone and now I’m going grey and it’s like time is flying by and I’m missing the boat and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong …” The tears made their debut. “Oh God, I’m rambling. I’m so sorry, Shane, I’m being totally ridiculous.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I can’t believe I’m crying and saying all this.”

He shook his head. “No sweat, Waverly. Seriously, it’s okay. Things will work out.”

“You think so?” I said.

He nodded. “Hey, I want you to try something, okay?”