Perfect on Paper (9 page)

“Well, at least I didn’t lose anything other than my dignity and my dinner,” I said to no one. But I didn’t feel like laughing.

I kicked off my shoes, then crawled across the bed and reached over to the top of the dresser for the manila file folder that held my itinerary. I opened it up and pulled out my flight info. My flight back to San Francisco was at ten o’clock, which meant I needed to leave for the airport by eight thirty. At least I hadn’t slept through my flight.

Very, very slowly, I stood up and walked to the minibar. I opened a four-dollar bottle of water and drank the entire thing without stopping. Then I pulled off my clothes, threw them in a pile on the floor, and walked into the bathroom. I turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it and gently stepped inside. The steam was so thick that I couldn’t see anything, which was just as I wanted it.

I leaned my head against the glass door and sighed. I was pretty foggy on the details, but the main events of the previous evening were painfully clear. Getting plastered and throwing up? What was I, a cast member of the
Real World
? And at a client event, no less. In the image-driven world of PR, that’s the professional equivalent of, hmm, maybe being a driving instructor and running over your student’s grandparents?

The last thing I could remember clearly was being on the dance floor and suddenly feeling too dizzy to stand up. I vaguely remembered getting sick in the bathroom, and that was it. I didn’t even know how I had gotten home. Had Jake seen me like that? Had anyone else seen me like that?

If it were possible to die from shame, that morning would have been the end of me. I looked down at the big freckle on the top of my left foot. If they found me dead in the shower, the coroner would declare humiliation as the cause of death, and McKenna would have to fly in to identify my naked body. That stupid freckle I’d always hated would finally serve for something.

Before it had been speculation, but now it was official.

I was the biggest loser ever.

At 8 a.m., the elevator doors opened to the lobby, although my stomach felt like I was still moving. I shakily walked out wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and black clothes to reflect my state of hangover-induced near-death. I checked out and left my suitcase with the concierge, then headed over to the breakfast buffet to get some coffee and eggs. One of the only things I learned in college that I still remember is that a plate of salty scrambled eggs with cheese is the world’s best cure for a hangover.

I sat down at a booth and ordered a cup of coffee, then took off my sunglasses and looked around. The lobby and restaurant were relatively empty, and I was praying that I could make it out of there without having to speak to anyone.

I put my head in my hands and groaned. I don’t think I’d ever been so hungover, or at least not since before I’d met Aaron, who wasn’t much of a drinker. I loved a tasty cocktail as much as the next person, but puking in a public restroom? Please. And for the first time since Aaron, I’d met a guy I was actually interested in, and I’d managed to screw it up before we’d even had one dance. Nice.

I boarded my plane an hour later, and neither my pounding head nor the three cups of coffee I’d drunk could keep me from crashing out. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamt that the captain came back to the main cabin to speak to me. He said he’d met me the night before at a bar. His name was Chuck, and he offered me a complimentary rookie if I would come up to the cockpit and sit on his lap.

When I woke up, we were landing at San Francisco International Airport. I had been asleep for nearly five hours. We waited for what seemed like an eternity to be let off the plane, and of course everyone insisted on jumping out of their seats the second the plane came to a stop, even though it was obvious that we weren’t going anywhere. I had the aisle seat, and the guy next to me and his wife stood all hunched over me for, like, five minutes. I will never understand people.

By the time I got back to my apartment, it was nearly two o’clock, and despite my marathon cross-country siesta, I was still exhausted. I dropped my suitcase on the floor of the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and buried myself under the covers, where I decided to stay until the year 2037.

When I opened my eyes Sunday morning, I didn’t know where I was. For about six seconds, I was blissfully unaware. And then I remembered everything. I put my head under the pillow and groaned.

At least my hangover was gone.

I shuffled into the kitchen wearing my robe and slippers to make some coffee. I leaned one hip against the counter and watched the water slowly drip into the pot, wondering if it would ever finish. Have you ever noticed how coffee pots seem to know when you’re standing there watching them? It’s like they’re friends with the regular pots.

While I waited for the coffee, I grabbed a piece of paper from the shopping list magnet on my fridge and sat down at the kitchen table.

Front: Ever drink too much at a party and make a fool of yourself?

Inside: Honey, that’s okay. At least you weren’t home alone watching
Touched by an Angel
reruns.

Front: Feel like you never do the right thing?

Inside: Honey, look at it this way—if you always did the right thing, you’d probably have no friends, because who wants to hang out with someone that boring?

I thought about writing a Honey Note about getting fired for acting like a total idiot at a work event, but that struck so close to home that I just couldn’t do it.

At two o’clock I walked out of my building into the bright November sun. It was a cold day, but the sky was blue and clear. I pulled my hair into my standard low ponytail as I walked down the street to Dino’s Pizza to meet McKenna and Andie.

Andie waved me over. “Hey, woman, sit down and have a beer and some pizza.” She blew a huge bubble and popped it. “I’ll pour you a cold one.” They were seated at our regular booth with a frosty pitcher of Bud Light and a large pepperoni pizza between them.

I shook my head as I sat down and reached for a glass of water. “Believe me, a beer is the last thing I need right now.”

“Big party week? Did you stalk any figure skaters?” McKenna said. At the Super Show the previous year, I’d taken a picture of Michelle Kwan at the food court with my phone and texted it to her and Andie. They had yet to let me live it down.

“Not this year,” I said, my sour mood raining all over their good one.

Andie took her gum out of her mouth and stuck it on the side of her plate. “So I’m guessing Aaron hasn’t called you yet?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Are you serious? I can’t believe that,” McKenna said. “Do you think he ever will?”

“Who knows?” I said. “If he hasn’t already, I’m guessing he’s not going to.”

“Has the news sunk in yet?” McKenna said.

I bit my lip and tried to smile. “It’s still sinking, along with my self-esteem.”

She leaned over and squeezed my shoulder. “Hang in there, Wave, you’ll get through this.”

“So, did you have fun in Atlanta?” Andie said.

I leaned back in the booth. “Fun? No, I really couldn’t say that. Well, I almost had fun, but it didn’t work out.”

“Because of Aaron?” McKenna said.

“Not really.”

“Not really? What kind of half-ass answer is that?” Andie dipped her pizza in ranch dressing. “Details, please.”

“Well, I sort of met a very cute boy at a party, but then nothing happened.”

“A cute boy?” Andie said.

“What do you mean ‘sort of ’?” McKenna said.

“What do you mean ‘nothing happened’?” Andie said.

“What party?”

“Did he ask for your phone number?”

“Why didn’t it work out?”

“What was his name?”

“How old?”

“Was he hot?”

“Single?”

“Married?”

“Divorced?”

“Straight?”

I put my hands up in front of my face. “Hold on! Hold on … let me speak! Talking to you two is like being strapped to the wall in front of a tennis ball machine.”

“Well?” they said in unison.

I took a sip of my water and slowly put it down on the table. “Okay, ladies, since you asked so nicely, I will tell you.”

And I did.

When I’d finished divulging the details, I took a bite of pizza and looked at them.

“Well?” I said.

“Hot damn,” Andie said.

“You really threw up?” McKenna said.

I nodded. “Yep, and I can’t even remember how I got back to my hotel. For all I know, the CEO of JAG carried me there.”

“Ouch,” Andie said.

“Well at least you were attracted to someone new, right? That’s huge,” McKenna said.

I frowned. “I guess so, but I’m not sure how much consolation that’ll be if I get fired.”

“I highly doubt that’ll happen. You think this guy Jake will try to contact you?” McKenna said.

I put my finger on my chin. “Hmm … given that I literally sprinted away from him to go barf up my dinner, I’m guessing … no.”

“Ouch,” Andie said again. It was the first time I’d ever seen her relatively speechless. But then she quickly recovered. “Well, I have a story that might cheer you up,” she said.

I tried to smile. “I doubt even one of your stories could cheer me up today, but go ahead.”

She put her hands on the table. “Okay, here goes. My sister’s friend Lena called me last week and said she wanted to set me up with this banker friend of hers named Jeff. She said he was tall, successful, and kinda cute, so I figured, why not?”

I nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“I thought so too,” she said. “So he and I talked one time briefly on the phone, and it went fine, so he asked me to sushi. And I made the mistake of looking forward to it.”

“You looked forward to a blind date?” McKenna said.

Andie rolled her eyes. “I know, I know—you’d think I’d learn. Anyhow, when he picked me up, right off the bat I was a little disappointed, because I wouldn’t exactly classify him as good-looking. But he wasn’t totally butt, so I was determined to give him a chance. We walked a few blocks down the street to this sushi place on Fillmore, and the hostess said there was a wait for a table, but if we wanted to, we could eat at the bar.”

“Wait, back up.” I said. “He didn’t make a reservation anywhere?”

“Nope.”

“Strike one,” McKenna said.

Andie took a sip of her beer and shook her head. “No reservation, and then he said he didn’t want to wait for a table. So the hostess walked us over to the bar, which was way too brightly lit and definitely the sort of place you’d sit for lunch alone, not on a first date for dinner. But oh well. We sat down on these low swivel stools, which are really uncomfortable for trying to talk to someone next to you. And Jeff had long legs, so he didn’t really fit that well. So he swiveled toward me and basically straddled my stool.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s quite a visual.”

She pointed at me. “Bingo. And not a good one. Then the waiter came by and gave us each a hot towel to clean our hands, and Jeff used it to totally scrub his face and neck! And when he finished, he looked at me and said, ‘Aaaaah.’”

“He said, ‘Aaaaah’?” I said.

“He said, ‘Aaaaah,’” she said.

“Ick,” I said.

“Exactly,” she said. “And it gets better. So then we ordered, and we started chit-chatting a little, and my neck was killing me from having to look over at him from my stool. But even more painful was the conversation itself. Throughout the whole meal he kept name-dropping and talking about how much money he has and how successful he is and blah blah blah blah blah. It was way boring. Plus, he didn’t ask me
anything
about myself. By the end of the meal I pretty much hated him.”

I took a sip of my water. “Go on.”

“When we finished dinner, we walked out of the restaurant, and as we passed the hostess, we noticed she had a tattoo on the small of her back that was barely visible between her top and her skirt.”

“And?” I said.

“And then Jeff put his hand on the small of
my
back.”

“He did
not
put his hand on the small of your back,” McKenna said.

She nodded. “Oh, yes he did. And he then said, ‘Do you have a tattoo like that for me to see later?’”

“Oh God, please tell me he didn’t say that.” I covered my mouth with my hand.

“Oh, yes he did,” Andie said. “So I politely moved away from him and lied that I was tattoo-free. I wanted to run screaming down the street, but it was still super early, and I just didn’t know how to gracefully get out of the date. He wanted to hang out some more but had nothing planned, so I figured the best thing to do was to take him to Solstice, you know that cute tapas bar on California and Divisadero? A friend of mine was cocktailing there, and I knew a handful of her friends would be there, so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him anymore.”

“Good call,” I said.

“So Solstice was literally five blocks away, but he said he wanted to drive, and I knew it was probably because he wanted to show off his car. So we got to his car, and of course it was a fancy Porsche. Oh, and he also bragged that he had paid twenty dollars to the attendant at the gas station to park there illegally. So we got into the six-figure car to drive five stupid blocks, and I was counting the minutes until I could go home.”

“I would be too,” I said. “What happened next?”

“Well, my thoughts of escaping the date were interrupted by a putrid stench.”

“A putrid stench?” McKenna said.

“He farted,” Andie said.

McKenna lost it and put her face down on the table.

“No way!” Now I was totally laughing too.

“Way. It was totally silent, but so obvious and so heinous, and he didn’t say anything about it. We just sat there in awkward stinky silence, and I was wondering if it would be rude to roll down the window.”

“A silent but violent? That’s unbelievable!” I said.

“Oh, believe it. And parking is a total bitch in that area, as you know, so I breathed through my mouth as we circled and circled for a spot. He thought he saw one on the other side of the street, but I could tell it was a handicapped spot and told him not to bother, but he didn’t believe me and made a crazy illegal U-turn to get it. And of course when we pulled up, he saw it was indeed a handicapped space. And you know what he said?”

I picked up a piece of pizza. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“He said, ‘Goddamned handicapped people. They have too many parking spots in this city.’”

“No way,” I said. McKenna was still facedown, laughing.

“Way. So finally, after fifteen minutes of circling, we got lucky and found an open spot right across the street from Solstice. And get this: when we got out and started to cross the street, he reached his hand back to grab mine.”

“He tried to hold your hand after he ripped one in the car like that?” I said.

She nodded. “Yep. And I would have rather put my hand into a bowl of hot vomit, so I just pretended not to notice. Then we went into the bar, and about five of my friends were sitting down at a table, so we sat down next to them. And believe me, I made a point of sitting on the opposite side of the table from him.”

“I would have too,” I said.

“So then he went to the bar with this girl Bev I know and bought us all a round, which was nice enough, but I had no intention of ever being close enough to him where I might risk any sort of actual contact. After about fifteen minutes, he got up to go to the restroom, and my friends asked me the scoop on him. I told them that it was a blind date from hell and quickly listed the highlights.”

“What did they say?” McKenna said, coming up for air.

“Bev said that he had farted AGAIN when they were standing next to each other at the bar.”

“Oh God, tell me you got the hell out of there before he came back,” I said.

She shook her head. “I know I can be mean, but I just couldn’t be
that
mean, even though I was totally grossed out. Plus I was afraid of dating karma coming back to bite me in the ass. So after he got back from the restroom, I waited about fifteen more minutes and then told him I had an early swim session in the morning and had to go to bed. I said I was training for a triathlon.”

“A triathlon? Classic,” I said. Andie hated all forms of exercise and never got up before eleven o’clock on the weekends.

She laughed. “I know. The chances of my training for a triathlon are about as good as the chances of the Olsen twins’ spearheading a reunion show of
Full House.
”

I took another sip of water. “Did he drive you home?”

“Yep, and I don’t think the car had come to a full stop when I jumped out. I didn’t even give him a chance to speak. I just thanked him for dinner and bolted.”

“Do you think he’ll call you again?” McKenna said.

“Oh God, I hope not. And do you know what the kicker is?”

“There’s more?” I said.

She nodded. “Yep, get this: I told my sister the story today, and she said that Lena had tried to set her up with Jeff a few years ago, but that he didn’t call for a year and a half after Lena gave him my sister’s phone number!”

“A year and a half?” I said. “Are you serious?”

“Yep, a year and a half. So when he finally called my sister to ask her out, she was like,
Uh, I’m engaged, you moron
.”

“Oh, man, what a loser. Did you tell Lena?” McKenna said.

Andie put her gum back in her mouth. “Not yet. But believe me, she’s gonna hear about it.”

“Good God, that
is
quite a story,” I said.

“It might even crack my top ten for the year,” she said.

“So after hearing that, do you feel better?” McKenna said to me.

I smiled. “You know, I actually do. It’s sad to admit, but hearing other people’s horror stories always cheers me up. It’s like for a brief moment my life doesn’t suck as much as I thought it did.”

Andie laughed. “That’s why reality TV shows are so popular.”

After lunch, the three of us wandered about our neighborhood and window-shopped. McKenna and Andie both lived around the corner from me in Pacific Heights, which was filled with picturesque Victorian houses and quiet, tree-lined streets. I loved it because it had everything I could ever want within two blocks: great restaurants, three coffee houses, a bank, a supermarket, a bagel shop, a combo coffee house/laundromat, a bunch of cute boutiques whose clothes I could never afford but liked to look at, a video store, Dino’s Pizza, and the Kilkenny, our favorite neighborhood pub. Plus the people who lived there were friendly and always picked up after their dogs. So despite the creepy movie of the same name from the late ’80s, I felt really safe there. And I had rent control, so I wasn’t going anywhere. Thank God I hadn’t given up my apartment before the “wedding,” although I'd realized afterward that Aaron had never officially asked me to move in with him.