The Wedding Wager (McMaster the Disaster) (12 page)

“Oh, I remember,” I said, thinking back to that first day when it felt like the whole world was watching my every move. Which, if you count anyone who even had a glance at a paper or an entertainment broadcast, it pretty much was.

“What I propose is to set it up to look exactly like a journal should, of course it will be up to the publisher that buys it how they want to present it, but I’m picturing a leather-bound book with a lock on it, just like a real diary. It would likely be catalogued in the memoir section of the bookstore, which would be ideal since it’s such a great gateway to a possible next memoir.” She talked faster now, her speech more animated.

“Memoir?” I asked, not having the first clue what on Earth she thought I, of all people, would write a memoir about.

“Yes, you’ve already got such a rich background, a sort of rags to riches fairy tale life. And like I said, another wonderful opportunity is the wedding. Heck, it wouldn’t even be that much work for you if you so choose, we can really showcase your wedding planner here, have them do much of the set up, talk about the planning and the budget. All the small details.”

I imagined her pulse beating about a thousand beats a minute.

“Um, I wasn’t really looking for a literary agent.”

“I know, but you really must give it some thought. It’s an opportunity that won’t be around forever. I mean, I know money isn’t really an issue for you now that you’ll be living in the lap of luxury, but it would certainly be a significant sum to have around for… whatever. Something that’s all your own.”

I did not like the way she implied that I might need my own money someday. Of course, I didn’t like it any better that she thought I was just going to loaf off of Jake for the rest of my life.

Or maybe I was just too sensitive over the whole thing because I’d been thinking about it so much lately.

“I really don’t think I’m interested,” I said. “I mean, things are so busy right now with the wedding…”

“Which is exactly why this is the best time to jump on it. Think about it,” she said. “The diary is obviously already written, right? So there’s really very little work to do there. You could have a contract by the end of this month. An advance in your account shortly after. Things would practically take care of themselves.”

“Uh huh,” I said, still skeptical. I mean, if this girl hadn’t been a friend of my sister’s I would have probably hung up on her a long time ago. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’ll have to think about it.”

“Great!” she said, as if I’d already agreed to something. “I’m going to email over some projections on what we might be able to expect as far as an advance goes, along with some information on how advances work, some possible marketing strategies, that sort of thing. And again, Josie, don’t stress over it too much, the work is already done. It’s just a matter of putting the wheels in motion. Oh, and uh, you do have an electronic version of the diary, right? I mean, if you don’t I guess we can have someone here type it up or something.”

“Um, yeah, sort of,” I said, having only half finished typing it up in Bali.

I don’t even know why I started. The journal was just starting to get a little worn. I mean, it had certainly been through some tears and trauma.

“This is so wonderful Josie. And again, I can’t stress what a great opportunity this is for you. It is rather time sensitive though. It would be ideal if it could be rushed through and released around the same time as your wedding. And believe me, that is not normally the case, a book usually takes much longer, but in certain instances, like with celebrities, publishers will fast-track if there’s a good reason. And I’d say a wedding is definitely a very good reason.”

“Um, yeah. Okay,” I said. “I’ll check out your email, I guess.”

“Thanks so much for talking to me Josie, I just know this is the beginning of an amazing professional relationship, and for you, an amazing writing career. Well, continuation of one, really.” She giggled conspiratorially.

Thanks to Rosie, she was in on the secret about me ghostwriting the Prince’s memoir, but still, I wasn’t really all that comfortable with her turning it into an inside joke.

I hung up the phone a little shell-shocked.

“What the heck was that?” Jake asked.

I hadn’t even known he’d walked into the room.

“Oh,” I shook my head a little, still trying to get a handle on the phone call. “Nothing. Just a friend of my sisters. She’s a literary agent now I guess.”

“Huh,” Jake said, stretching, still waking up. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah,” I sat down. “She thinks I should publish the Disaster Diary.”

“Yeah right,” he snorted. “Doesn’t she know that’s sort of been done already?”

“Yeah,” I said, laughing a little too. “It’s just that the whole thing hasn’t been published, just those few stories in the newspaper.”

“Yeah, what a nightmare that was. Thank God we don’t have to go through that again.”

“Yeah. I mean, well, unless it does get published.”

“Which would never happen, because you would never put yourself through that again, right?”

“Right,” I said, though something was niggling in the back of my mind. “But… what if I decided to consider this. I mean it could be the start of something for me career wise.”

He laughed again. “You’re worried about money now? Because I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but I make plenty for both of us.” He leaned in to wrap his arms around me.

I pushed him away. “I said career, not money.”

He crinkled his brow. “So, now you want to be a writer?”

“What do you mean, now?” I said, my jaw dropping.

“Well, it’s just kind of out of the blue, don’t you think?”

“Out of the blue?” I yelled. “What do you think I’ve been doing my entire adult life?”

He made a face like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Um… working at that advertising place.”

“As a copywriter!” I shouted.

“Yeah, so? So that makes you a writer?”

“Um, yeah!” I said, my eyes bugging out. “That what writers do to pay the bills. It’s a gateway into a more advanced writing career. And hello? Did you forget about the friggin’ book I wrote a few months ago?” Technically it was only half a book, but still.

He just kept sitting there, scrunching up his face like the fact that I’d made plans for my life, or had any sort of ambition at all was coming as a complete shock to him. “But that was just for the money, right? A way to run away from your life for a little while.”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish, the words about to spill out, then nothing would actually come. I wondered if steam was actually seeping off the top of my head, or maybe out my ears.

“Is that really who you think I am?”

“Well, it’s not all you are,” he said, going on the defensive now that he’d gotten me so worked up. “And it’s part of your charm, the quirky way you jump from job to job.”

I gasped. “I do not jump from job to job! I had the copywriting job for three years before the stupid Bridesmaid Lotto came along!”

“Oh,” he said, crossing his arms. “So now you regret the Bridesmaid Lotto, do you? Well I suppose you regret meeting me too.”

I sighed, dropping my arms to my sides. “Of course not. It’s just… I guess you have a different picture of me in your head than I thought you did. I didn’t know I was such a messed up ‘quirky’ person,” I said, using the good ol’ sarcastic finger quotes.

“Josie, I love you no matter what you do. That’s all I meant.”

“Even though I apparently have absolutely no ambition in this world whatsoever.”

He tilted his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” I said, and got up to leave the room.

More than anything, I needed time to think, so I headed straight for the bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

Half an hour later, I emerged feeling only slightly better. Especially once I discovered that Jake had left.

I guess he needed some time too.

~ ~ ~

I flipped through the Disaster Diary, wondering if I could go through the whole thing again. I mean, Jake obviously didn’t want to, but the thing was, I’d kind of started owning my humiliations and embarrassments. They’d become a huge part of who I was. I mean, I kind of felt like the class clown or the court jester most of the time, but when the diary came out in the paper, things kind of changed.

I mean, sure, it was mortifying at first, when the whole world found out all my deepest, darkest secrets, but the thing was, it made people open up to me. Tell me they were exactly the same. That knowing there was someone out there who had gone through similar stuff made them feel better. And let’s face it, everyone has their moments right?

It was like suddenly, the whole world could relate to me.

More importantly, for the first time in my life, I felt like I could relate to the world. Not just the world on a whole, but each individual person I talked to. There would always be an icebreaker.

I flipped through page after page, a smile crossing my face more often than not.

Dear Disaster Diary,

I was asked to sit at the popular table at school. Me. No seriously.

There was this whole thing where Missy Owens tried to stick toilet paper to the back of Karen Sawatski’s shoe so she would trail it along behind her down the hall. Which would just be so embarrassing.

In hindsight it was actually an ingenious plan, and took some guts to pull off. She used the tiniest dot of chewed gum on the end of the strip of toilet paper, then had to sit there in the bathroom the whole time to make sure no one else accidentally took off with her little trick.

So, just as she was about to leave the restroom, I tapped Karen on the shoulder to let her know she was trailing TP and she was actually thankful. I mean, Missy was steaming, but I had been that girl with paper trailing behind me before, and I just couldn’t bear to see someone else go through it, even if it was the girl who basically made most of my friend’s lives miserable.

So my big reward was to sit with Karen at lunch… and it was so awesome. The boys all said hi and the girls just acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, as if Josie McMaster belonged there.

Sigh. But of course I screwed it up.

Royally.

I took a big sip of my grape juice box right when Les Hardwick said something really funny, God, I can’t even remember what it was, but I inhaled because I was going to laugh. Of course, a bit of the grape juice went down my windpipe and I began to choke.

But under no circumstances would I spew out my grape juice at the cool table. I mean, I’d never be asked to sit there again. So I held in the cough as hard as I could, struggling to swallow and struggling even harder to breathe slow and controlled through my nose. My windpipe, however, was not cooperating. It had sealed itself off so tight, not a wisp of air could get through.

Things turned from not wanting to spit out grape juice to not wanting to die, really quickly. It didn’t take long before people were starting to notice, to look around for an adult or someone to tell them what to do.

Somehow I willed my body to just go ahead and spit out the juice, popularity be damned. I didn’t see where it flew but relief flooded over me as my windpipe began to open—just a smidgeon—and air finally filled my lungs.

Of course I pretty much sounded like a donkey, that first gulp of air trying to fight its way in through a tiny hole, but at least I was alive!

Five minutes later though, I wasn’t feeling quite as good when I looked over to see Karen’s white shirt covered in a nasty, purple stain.

Damn.

On the bright side, at least Missy felt so sorry for me, she wasn’t that ticked off anymore.

And they only called me donkey for a few months.

I ran my finger over the page, smiling at how dramatic everything seemed back then. I could totally see another teenage girl relating to my dorky antics in high school. And there were certainly enough entries from my adult life to make anyone squirm a little.

And probably laugh a lot.

I had to admit it, I was actually starting to entertain Carla’s offer.

CHAPTER 13

I spent the rest of the day typing the diary into digital format. I mean, I hadn’t made my decision or anything, goodness knows that hardly ever happened, but what could it hurt having it ready to go if I did decide to do it?

It was kind of fun, actually, reliving some of those ridiculous memories. It was certainly a lot nicer this time around than it had been that gloomy day in Bali. Sure, I was alone in my apartment here too, but at least I didn’t feel as abandoned as I had that day. It was a little weird, I guess, since Jake had left without saying goodbye, but who could blame him since I pretty much walked out myself.

Before I started with the diary though, I’d emailed everyone to let them know we’d chosen a date. I knew I’d probably have a few emails in my inbox awaiting my arrival back, but I was so not prepared for what I found.

There were over thirty new messages. Of course, twenty-five of then were either from Mattie or my mother.

I guess they were starting to panic, which meant I could not waste any more time. I had to do it.

I had to choose.

Which definitely called for a hot chocolate.

I snuck down to the street, waving at Andrea and headed to the coffee shop, ordering a Salted Caramel to go.

Back at the apartment, my mother stood, waiting for my return.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Mother!” I said, whisper-yelling. “Can you wait until we get inside please?” I glanced at Andrea and the gang, smiling through gritted teeth.

“Well hurry up then!” she whisper-yelled back.

The paparazzo was intensely intrigued by the exchange, the big guy writing away furiously already.

The door latched behind us. “There are gossips out there mother!” I said sternly.