Perfect on Paper (32 page)

Andie was all smiles. “I can’t wait to check out some of those great boutiques in the West Village. I’ve been looking forever for a pair of—oh hell, it’s Princeton Hopper.” She pointed to a guy leaving the first-class lavatory and sitting down three rows in front of us.

I sat up straight and looked around the cabin. “Who?”

“Princeton Hopper. I met him at the Kilkenny with some work friends back in January.”

“And?” McKenna said.

“And we ended up having breakfast together, if you know what I mean.”

“Excellent,” McKenna said with a laugh.

Andie lowered her voice. “But get this: a couple weeks ago I ran into him at the Starbucks on Montgomery Street downtown, and he didn’t recognize me.”

McKenna coughed. “You’re joking.”

Andie shook her head. “Nope. I looked right at him and got zero, zilch, nada. Not a spark of recognition! I mean, am I that forgettable?”

“Do you think he would have recognized you if you took your clothes off?” I said.

“Waverly!” McKenna hit me on the shoulder.

“I’m just asking,” I said.

Six hours later we were at JFK’s baggage claim. Luckily we didn’t have to wait long, because the airline crew had tagged the first-class luggage and brought it out before the bags of the unwashed masses in coach. We were out of there and in the taxi line within minutes.

I looked at my watch. It was five thirty. We had two and a half hours to make it to the hotel, shower, and change for the auction. The taxi line was long, and with Friday traffic it was going to be tight.

“I’m so stupid,” I said. “Why didn’t I book an earlier flight? If I don’t have time to take a shower, I’m going to show up at the auction with plane hair. Will you guys promise to bid on me if no one else does?”

“Don’t they have a bunch of stylists to make you all beautiful?” Andie said.

I shook my head. “I wish. I guess all the real celebrities bring their own entourage for that sort of thing. We imposters get the hotel shampoo.”

Traffic was nice to us, and we made it to the hotel with just enough time to get ready. The hotel shampoo turned out to be nice, too, way nicer than my normal shampoo. And our room turned out not to be a room at all. It was a suite, and it was ridiculous.

“Holy crap,” I whispered as we walked in.

The living room was enormous, with a high ceiling and bright white walls. French doors opened to a large balcony with bamboo trees and pink rose bushes lining the sides. The floors were marble, the furniture a dark, rich walnut. On one side of the room was a massive home entertainment center with a stereo, a huge flat-screen TV, a DVD player, and three shelves full of movies. Facing it was a huge sectional couch that could probably sleep four people comfortably. On the other side of the room was a large desk with a PC, a fully stocked wet bar with an espresso machine, and another couch and matching love seat. An exquisite oriental rug filled the center of the room, and a large crystal chandelier hovered over it.

The bathroom in the master bedroom was the biggest I’d ever seen. In addition to two sinks and a huge shower with showerheads on both sides and steam holes along the wall, it housed a massive Jacuzzi that could easily seat six people. The bedroom itself, also huge, had two king beds, another flat-screen TV, and another desk and PC. Yet another room featured a treadmill and stair machine, both armed with headphones and hooked up to a wall-mounted TV/DVD unit.

“Wow.
People
magazine doesn’t mess around,” McKenna said as we walked back into the living room.

I tipped the bellboy, who bowed slightly and promptly disappeared. “Apparently not,” I said.

“This place is straight out of a movie,” Andie said.

A huge basket overflowing with flowers, fruit, and snacks sat on the glass coffee table by one of the couches. I walked over and picked out the card.

The spa was expecting me
and
my two friends? And how did she know it was my birthday?

“Wow. Tracy would sure give Penelope French at JAG a run for her money,” I said.

“Huh?” McKenna picked through the basket and unwrapped a Twix.

“Oh, nothing, just talking to myself.” I handed her the card. “Take a look at this. We’re in the spa business! Now let’s get a move on, or we’re going to be late to the party.”

At 8 p.m. sharp, the three of us stood in front of the huge mirror in the master bedroom. My dress was dark red and strapless, fitted tightly at my waist, with a line of tiny black silk roses sewn across the bust. The cut was A-line and fell two inches above the knee. Along the bottom hem was another line of tiny black silk roses. My hair was pulled straight back off my forehead and up into a high bun. I wore no jewelry except for my small diamond earrings. My black strappy heels put me at a solid five feet ten inches.

McKenna wore a simple fitted black strapless crepe dress that stopped just above her knees. Her blonde hair was pulled into a low bun, her only jewelry a thin silver bracelet. Her black strappy heels put her at a solid six feet two inches.

Andie wore a gold shimmery halter top and black pants, soft pinkish-brown lipstick, and big dangly gold earrings. She had her short blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Her black strappy heels put her at a solid five feet four inches.

“We look like Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear,” I said.

“I think we look pretty good,” McKenna said.

I nodded. “I agree, not bad at all.”

“
Pretty good? Not bad?
Are you two crazy? We look HOT,” Andie said.

“Hey, maybe Princeton Hopper will be there,” I said. “I’d pay to see
that
reunion.”

“Thanks, you beeyatch,” Andie said, pretending to slap me on the cheek.

“Hey now, don’t touch the makeup!” I said, laughing.

“You two are ridiculous,” McKenna said.

“Sorry, Papa Bear,” I said, hanging my head.

We walked to the elevator, and Andie turned to me as she pushed the down button. “Hey, Waverly, you never said how the auction is going to work. Do you have to prance around on a stage like at a beauty pageant?”

I looked for a breath mint in my purse, the same cute yet basically useless black one I’d brought to Cynthia’s wedding. “Oh God, I hope not. I couldn’t bring myself to ask for any details. All I know is that after the auction I’m supposed to sit at dinner with whoever bid the most on me, and I’m supposed to dance with him a bit too, you know, like a real date.”

“That’s supposed to be like a real date?” Andie said. “When was the last time anyone took either of you to dinner and dancing on a date?”

“Good point,” I said.

“Hunter likes to dance,” McKenna said with a tiny smile.

“Hunter’s way too perfect,” I said.

McKenna put her hand on my head as the elevator door opened. “Yeah, but at least you’ll have free health care until you get a new job. Okay, let’s go. I can’t wait to see this.”

Andie waved her arms in the air and did a little dance. “I can’t wait to see the open bar either, birthday girl. It’s all good—woohoo!”

I pushed her into the elevator, and we were off like a prom dress.

The auction party might have been for charity, but someone certainly paid a ridiculous amount of money to put it on. It wasn’t half as large as Cynthia’s wedding, but the glamour was definitely on a par. And the celebrity sightings alone were worth the trip. From what Tracy Leiderman had told me, including me, there were thirteen men and women from the 50 Most Beautiful list on the auction docket, nearly all of them actors. And twelve of them were way better looking than me. There were also twenty other singles on the block who had been featured one way or another in the magazine, but I didn’t know who they were, because the room was also filled with a bunch of McKennas and Andies who were there to support (or heckle) their friends.

We wandered over to the bar, ordered three glasses of wine, and checked out the crowd.

“Wow, all these guys are single?” McKenna scanned the room. She looked down at her engagement ring and then at me. “Remind me again why I’m getting married in a couple weeks?”

“Oh yeah, like your surgeon fiancé isn’t a total babe. Now shut up and mingle,” Andie said.

“Touché,” McKenna said.

Drinks in hand, we decided to look for Tracy.

“What does she look like?” McKenna said.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I said.

“You don’t know?” she said.

“Well, I’ve never met her before,” I said.

“Then how are we supposed to spot her in this crowd?”

I shrugged. “I guess I never thought about that.”

She laughed. “You didn’t think about that?”

I held out my hand. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Waverly Bryson.”

Just then we noticed a short, plump woman approaching the microphone on a small elevated platform at the back of the room.

The band stopped playing, and everyone turned their attention toward her.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Tracy Leiderman, head of community relations at
People.
”

“I guess that answers that question,” I whispered to McKenna as I set my drink down on a nearby table.

“I can’t say I was all that worried,” she whispered back.

Tracy smiled at the crowd. “On behalf of our entire staff, I’d like to thank you for coming tonight. We know all of you have busy schedules and have gone out of your way to be here, and we very much appreciate it. Please enjoy the cocktails and appetizers. In a few minutes we’ll bring the singles up on stage and open the doors to the bidders. We have thirty-three singles up for auction, but our auctioneer is very fast, so the whole thing shouldn’t take more than forty-five minutes. We’ll have all the singles up here together first so the audience can get a look and pick out their favorites, and then we’ll go one by one with the bidding.”

“Oh God, kill me now,” I whispered, squeezing McKenna’s and Andie’s hands.

“It’ll be fine,” McKenna whispered back.

“I need another drink,” Andie whispered.

Tracy was still talking. “… and when the auction is over, we’ll introduce you to your dates. They’ll join us all for cocktails for a half-hour or so before we move to dinner in the room next door, followed by some fun dance music. We’ll have to take a few photos for the magazine, but we promise to keep it light so you can enjoy yourselves. And I promise we’ll be all done by eleven.”

My ears perked up. “Fun dance music? You think they’ll play ’80s tunes?”

“If they do, please promise me you won’t try to convince them to play “YMCA” like you did at Whitney’s wedding, okay?” McKenna said.

I shrugged. “Okay, okay. But I still say that crowd was on its deathbed before I took charge.”