Perfect on Paper (26 page)

Print ads?

Billboards?

A press tour?

“Waverly, are you okay?”

I realized that I hadn’t said anything for a while and that they were all staring at me.

“Can we get you anything?” Dean said.

“No, no, I’m fine.” I blinked a few times and smiled. “Just fine.”

Apparently I had chosen the right outfit for the meeting.

When I walked out of the Smithers Publishing offices, I felt totally numb. Assuming that I accepted what I had just been offered, my life was about to change … completely. Suddenly I felt like I was standing on a skateboard, and I have really crappy balance. Was I ready for this? What about my job? What was I going to tell Jess and Kent and Davey? Emily had assured me that they would accommodate my work schedule for photo shoots and interviews and such, but if I really wanted to promote my cards, I knew I’d have to devote a significant amount of time to it. To do a good job I’d probably have to take some time off and essentially be like one of my own clients.

Wait a minute.

To promote my cards I’d essentially have to be like one of my own clients
.

Could I be my own client? Could I get Smithers to hire K.A. Marketing to publicize the cards?

Why not? If we could publicize tennis balls and hockey sticks, why couldn’t we do greeting cards? And bringing in a new client might be just what I needed to get my career back on track.

From that point on, things started happening fast. Really, really fast. The team at Smithers didn’t mess around, and before I knew it I was approving artwork, fonts, and colors for the national launch of something that had once been a Word document on my PC. And Emily Walton had agreed to hire K.A. Marketing to manage the press campaign, so suddenly I was in the position of doing PR for myself, which ironically made me my own annoying client.

“You’re going to love the advertising campaign, Mackie. It’s really cute,” I said. We were walking down to the Marina Green one Friday morning in early June.

“Well? Tell me about it,” she said.

“The slogan’s going to be
Sometimes we all need a spoonful of honey.
The idea is to have me in a variety of print ads, and in each one I’m going to ask a question of an imaginary friend. Her response will always be
Honey, pick up a Honey Note to find out.
Isn’t that great?”

She looked over at me and smiled. “Adorable.”

I clapped my hands together. “I know. I’m so excited!”

“So how was the photo shoot?” she said.

I reached over and grabbed her arm. “Oh my God, it was hilarious. I’ve attended tons of client photo shoots over the years, but all I’d really ever done was hang out by the buffet and watch, ya know? It’s another world on the other side of the camera.”

“Lots of fussing?”

I nodded. “Exactly. With the hairstylists, makeup artists, wardrobe consultants, lighting people, directors, camera operators, ad agency people, and Smithers people, I felt like I was on a VH1 diva special.”

She laughed. “Did you demand a thousand white lilies in your dressing room?”

“No, but I did request fifty gallons of Evian to wash my hair.”

“Excellent. So when’s the big press tour?”

“We leave Monday morning. And ask me what perk I managed to weasel into the contract Smithers signed with K.A. Marketing?”

“Something tells me you’re going to tell me anyway.”

I smiled. “Can you say first-class airfare?”

“Really? Well done, Bryson, well done.”

I stretched my arms over my head. “
Gracias
… so, are we still on for the Union Street Fair tomorrow?” The first weekend in June every year, nine or ten blocks of Union Street in the Cow Hollow neighborhood were blocked off for two days and filled with arts and crafts booths, free concerts, and a boatload of drunk people.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “Andie’s coming over to pick me up at noon, then we’ll come get you.”

“Of all the summer street fairs in San Francisco, that one’s by far my second favorite,” I said.

“Your second favorite? Which one’s first? North Beach?”

I punched her in the shoulder. “Hello? Fillmore Street Fair?”

“Oops. How could I forget? Is that because of the thirty-two-ounce margaritas or because it’s half a block from our apartments?”

“Um, that would be both.”

“So you’d pick that one over the Union Street Fair?” she said.

I put my palms up like a scale. “Hmm, it could be a toss-up. As a single woman I’d say Union Street because there are cuter guys there, but so many of them are under 25 that it takes them out of contention.”

“Andie might disagree with you on that,” she said.

“This is true,” I said. “To her, hooking up with younger guys is like a sport. Actually, that’s probably the only sport she’s actually good at.”

“She
is
pretty good at it,” McKenna said.

“This is true,” I said again. “Anyhow, I still think it’s a tie between the street fairs.”

“Either way it’s research for the Honey Notes, right?” she said.

I laughed. “Exactly.”

The following Monday morning, Kent and I were comfortably cruising thirty-five-thousand feet above the ground and laughing at our good fortune.

I looked over at him. “Okay, Mr. Tanner, let’s review the situation. No, wait, first let’s have a toast with our free mimosas. Cheers!”

“Okay, but hurry up, because I have a movie to watch and a nap to take before we land. I want to take full advantage of this recliner lounger and personalized entertainment system.”

“Fine, I’ll hurry.” I sat up straight and counted on my fingers. “Let’s see. We’re being paid to:

1. Fly first class

2. Stay in a sweet hotel

3. Eat at the best restaurants in Manhattan

4. Bitch about being single

5. Promote something that could quite possibly make me rich if it works out

… Not bad at all, I must say.”

He coughed. “ME being the key word in that last bullet point, missy. Don’t forget the little people when you give up first class for your own jet, okay?”

I smiled at him. “Okay.”

“And just to clarify, you’re the one who’s bitching about being single, not me,” he said. “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Touché. But seriously, Kent, this is like a joke. Do you realize that?”

He took a sip of his mimosa and fiddled around with his private video screen. “Yes, HONEY, I do.”

On our last night in New York, Kent and I met Kristina at a sports bar to watch Shane on the road in a playoff game. I had never seen Kent so nervous. We got there before she did, and he was practically shaking.

I put my hand on his arm. “Calm down, Kent Tanner. You’ll be fine. Kristina is totally normal and nice, just like Shane was at the Super Show. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember, but that was Shane. Shane is a man, an M-A-N. I do not find him physically attractive. Kristina, on the other hand …”

“Shut up.” I punched him in the shoulder. “You, my friend, are a happily married man. You have two hyperactive children who are always filthy dirty and never stop screaming and leave you zero time for yourself. Why would you want to give that up to be with a stunning supermodel Olympic-gold-medalist millionaire doctor?”

He took a sip of his beer and looked over my shoulder. “What time did she say she’d be here?”

I looked down at my watch. It was nearly nine o’clock, and the place was packed. The Knicks were playing against the Heat in Miami, but because of the West Coast TV audience, the game didn’t start until nine fifteen New York time.

“Any minute now, tiger. Chill.” I got up and headed to the restroom.

He held up his glass. “Don’t forget to bring me back another glass of liquid courage.”

Kristina arrived in a rush at 9:14, straight from the hospital and looking more beautiful than ever. She turned more than a few heads but seemed not to notice as she maneuvered her way through the tables and sat down.

“Hi, Kristina, how’s it going?” I leaned over and gave her a hug. It had been more than four months since we had seen each other. “You look perfect, as usual.”

“It’s nice to see you, sweetie. You look great, too.” Then she turned toward Kent and extended her hand. “Hi there, you must be Kent.”

“Um, hi. Nice to meet you.” Kent shook her hand, smiled weakly, and turned his eyes toward the big-screen TV.
Typical guy
, I thought, shaking my head and laughing to myself. Completely smitten but gives the impression of total disinterest.

“What’s so funny?” Kristina took off her coat to reveal a cute fitted black tank top and jeans.

“I’ll tell you later.” I grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowl in front of us. “What can we get you to drink? And let’s get a menu over here. I’m starving.”

After we ordered, Kristina put her hand over mine on the table. “So, how did the press tour go? Tell me tell me tell me,” she said.

Kent and I looked at each other. “You or me?” I said.

“Ladies first,” he said.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I don’t want to sound full of myself, but the press tour was, well, a smashing success.”

Kristina smiled. “Really?”

“Really,” Kent said, nodding.

“Let’s see, what were the phrases we heard the most
? Unique … hilarious … it’s about time … single women need something like this …
what else?” I looked at Kent.

“Don’t forget
striking a chord
. I sort of got sick of that one,” he said.

I laughed. “Ahhh, yes, we did hear that one a lot.”

Kristina squeezed my hand. “That’s fantastic, Waverly. It looks like you’ve got something special on your hands.”

“I know, can you believe it?”

“So what happens now?” she said.

“Well, in a few weeks the advertising campaign starts, and the official launch of the cards is at the end of next month, which is when the print publicity should hit. They’ll do the online stuff then, too.”

“Wow. So soon?”

I nodded. “Yep, it’s crazy how fast this is all happening. And if the response we got this week is any indication of what’s to come, soon there might be thousands of Waverly Brysons out there lining up to buy Honey Notes.”