I put on my coat, then bent down to pick up the cardboard box that, thank God, had arrived in time.
An hour before the meeting, I stopped by the Sun. Eloise Zimmerman’s secretary had left me a voicemail asking me to drop by her office at some point during the week. She hadn’t specified a day or a time, so I figured I might as well go then. That way I would only have to get dressed up once.
I stopped first on the eighth floor to see if Nick was around. I found him working intently at his desk.
“Hey, stranger, how are you?” I said.
He turned around and smiled, then put a finger to his lips. You’d think I’d learn to stop interrupting him. I put the box down and turned on my heel toward the kitchen. On the way there I passed by Larry Berman’s office, still quiet, dark, and empty. The entire floor was subdued, with nearly as many vacant cubes as occupied ones. It all felt so stiff, so stale. Are they ever going to refill those positions? I was glad to have Eloise in my corner.
A few minutes later, I returned to Nick’s cube holding a cup of coffee for each of us. This time he turned around and stood up.
“Bryson, how are you? It’s been ages.” He held his arms open to reveal a green T-shirt that said “Witty Saying” in white.
I laughed and placed both cups on his desk, then straightened up to give him a hug. “I brought you some caffeine. And I love the shirt.”
“Of course you love it. It’s amazing. Why are you so dressed up? You look hot.”
I curtsied. “Why thank you. I’ve got a meeting with Eloise Zimmerman.”
“You two still buddy-buddy?”
I smiled. “Actually, the column is going really well. The e-mails I’ve been getting from readers are mostly positive. Eloise said advertisers like my demographic.”
“Sounds like you’re cruising along splendidly.”
The second I heard the word cruising, I yelled, “Oh my God!” then immediately covered my mouth with my hands. “Oh my God,” I whispered. “I totally forgot to tell you. I figured out the deal with Ivy’s boyfriend.”
He raised his eyebrows, and I could see the hope in his eyes. “And?”
I shook my head. “Different guy.”
His shoulders dropped a bit.
“And get this. It turns out that my friend Andie’s guy was cheating on her, just not with another woman.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes, I mean.”
“For real? With a dude?”
“For real. With a dude.”
He sat down in his chair. “Ouch.”
“Tell Andie about it. She’s pretty down. And she’s never down about anything.”
He stroked his chin. “Hmm. Now that would make a sweet T-shirt.”
“What would? You mean what happened to Andie?”
“Think about it. How amazing would it be to see me in a shirt that says, ‘Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?’”
I kicked him in the shin. “Hey now, Andie is hot. Any guy would be lucky to have her. Any straight guy, that is.”
“Ouch.” He leaned down to rub his leg. “That hurt.”
I picked up the box. “The truth hurts, my dear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”
“Eloise?” I leaned my head into her office. She was sitting at her desk in front of her computer. “Is now a good time?” I smiled at her.
She turned her severe profile toward me. “I prefer Mrs. Zimmerman.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I could feel my cheeks turn red.
“Please, have a seat.” She slowly swiveled her chair to face me, and I sat down across from her and set the cardboard box on the floor. She was wearing an expensive beige pantsuit and pearls, her hair in her usual stiff beehive.
“I got a message that you wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Thank you for stopping by.”
I shifted in my seat and smiled again. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve been having a lot of fun with the column, and the e-mails I’ve been getting from readers lately have been extremely positive—well mostly positive. In fact, just the other day I ran into—”
She held up her hand. “The reason I asked you to stop by is to inform you that we’ve decided to make some more editorial changes, one of which regards Honey on Your Mind.”
I swallowed.
“We’ve decided go with Love, Wendy.”
What?
“Love, Wendy? You mean Wendy Davenport’s column?”
She rolled her pearls between her fingers. “Her popularity is growing quite rapidly, especially now that she has her own TV show.”
“Oh.”
What does that mean for me?
I bit my lip “So what does that mean for—”
She interrupted me again. “It’s more economical for us to subscribe to a syndicated column than to pay for original content. Unfortunately, that means we no longer need your services, effective immediately.”
My jaw dropped. Wendy Davenport, aka resident bottle blonde nightmare, had just taken my job? Effective immediately?
“Of course you can finish whatever you’re currently working on, but that will be all.” She swiveled her chair toward her computer, signaling that the meeting was over.
I sat there for a moment, not sure what to do.
“Did you need something else?” she said with her back to me.
I stood up slowly.
That’s it? No parting words? No thanks for a job well done?
“Um, no, Mrs. Zimmerman.”
I picked up the box and quietly left her office.
“Waverly, it’s so nice to see you again.”
“You too, Wyatt. Thanks for having me.” We were in the Smithers conference room. I was still rattled from my meeting with Eloise, but I forced a smile as I stood up to shake his hand. Wyatt Clyndelle, for better or for worse, looked exactly like Clay Aiken. I really liked him.
“Can I get you a drink? Dean is on his way.”
“Anything with caffeine and sugar would be great.”
“I think I can manage that.”
He left the room, and I sat back down and pulled a manila folder out of my bag. I glanced at the floor next to me, where I’d placed the cardboard box. I set the folder on the table.
You can do this. Forget about the Sun.
Wyatt and Dean Paxton entered a few minutes later with a tray of cappuccinos. I stood up again to greet Dean, whom I hadn’t seen since the launch of my Honey Notes nearly a year before.
“Dean, hi, it’s nice to see you.” I extended my hand.
“Likewise.” He took my hand and shook it. “Welcome back.”
We settled into our seats and made light chitchat. After a few minutes Wyatt cleared his throat just slightly, enough to signal the start of the meeting.
“Waverly, to begin I must admit that we were both happy and a bit surprised to hear that you wanted to meet with us. We’d nearly given up on you.”
“I’m glad to be here, and thanks for not giving up on me.”
They both smiled politely.
I swallowed. “Well, like you just said, I know you’ve been waiting for me to come up with some more ideas for Honey Notes, which I’ve finally done. I’m sorry about the delay. I guess you could attribute it to a form of writer’s block. Life-induced writer’s block.”
They laughed, and I opened the manila folder on the table and pulled out several sheets of new ideas for Honey Notes, then slid them across the table. “You’ll see that this time I’ve gone with occasions: birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, Valentine’s Day, and thank you.”
They each took a page. Wyatt began to nod his head as he read. So did Dean.
“These are great, Waverly,” Wyatt said. “Occasion-focused cards are exactly what we wanted.” He handed his page, the one with birthday Honey Notes, to Dean. I’d put my two favorites at the top:
Front: Sick of seeing other women in your office get flowers on their birthday?
Inside: Honey, they probably sent the
m to themselves. And if they didn’t send them, whoever did is probably ugly anyway. Happy birthday!
Front: Can’t take another birthday without a boyfriend?
Inside: Honey, that’s okay. Your girlfriends are here for you! And you know you hate wearing lace underwear anyway.
Dean laughed. “Not bad, Waverly.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“We’ll definitely run these by the team,” Wyatt said. “I’m sure they’ll love them.”
“I appreciate that. But that’s not the only reason I wanted to meet with you today.”
“It’s not?” Wyatt said.
I shook my head. “I’ve come up with something else I’d like to share with you. That’s another reason it’s taken me so long to get in touch. I wanted to do something…more.”
“More than the Honey Notes?” Dean said.
“Much more.”
“Let’s hear it,” Wyatt said.
Then I told them my idea.
Fifteen minutes later, I sat with my hands interlaced on the table in front of me, waiting for one of them to say something. Wyatt was still reading the new papers I’d pulled from my manila folder.
Finally, Dean spoke. “I’m impressed, Waverly. That’s definitely more than Honey Notes, and extremely creative as well.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“I agree,” Wyatt said. “Well done, Waverly. We’ll run this by the powers that be and see what they say. Give us a week or two to get back to you, okay?”
“Sure, that sounds good.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Thanks so much for coming in. I appreciate all the thought you put into this. So we’ll be in touch?”
I nodded. “I look forward to it.”
The three of us exited the conference room together. I thought it had gone well, but I wasn’t sure what would happen next. After what had just happened to me at the Sun, I wasn’t sure about anything.
Actually, that’s not true.
I was one hundred percent sure that my dress had nothing sticking to it.
Later that week, I suffered through my first yoga class in months. I hadn’t even made it back to my apartment when every muscle in my body started tightening up. What is it about yoga that uses muscles you didn’t even know you had? And if you didn’t even know you had them, why do you need them anyway?
On the way back up Fillmore, I stopped in front of the empty storefront Red had shown me. I peered inside, imagining what it would look like as something new.
I wondered when I’d hear from Wyatt and Dean. It hadn’t even been a week yet, but I was anxious. For a moment I thought of McKenna and Andie, of Ivy, of Nick, of Jake, of Red, of everyone in my life who’d played a role in my new idea. I turned away from the store and continued up Fillmore. I crossed Sacramento, then ducked into Noah’s Bagels to buy an Odwalla. When I got back to my street, I saw Red leaving our building.
“Red.” I approached him with a smile. “How are you?”
He tipped his head. “Why hello there, Miss Waverly. I’m doing just fine. How are you?”
My eyes moved from his impeccable suit and hat to my long, hooded Cal Berkeley sweatshirt draped over my yoga pants. “I’m doing better than I look, I promise.”
He laughed. “You’re as lovely as ever, my dear.”
“Thanks, Red. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
A shadow flickered across his eyes, and then it was gone. “I went back to Springfield for a bit, to attend to some personal business. I may be leaving here for good soon.”
“Really? But it seems like you just got here.” I was surprised by how much the thought of his leaving upset me.
“Time does fly. It’s one of the wonders of life. How’s that writing of yours going?”
I felt a chill in the air and crossed my arms in front of me. “Actually, in a roundabout way it’s led me to something I’m really excited about. So I’m really…well…excited.” I smiled at him.
“Why that’s splendid, Miss Waverly. You see, sometimes it takes a while to put the pieces in place.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And I love seeing that pretty smile of yours again.”
“Thanks, Red. I like seeing it too.”
“I tucked another letter under your door. Looks like it was delivered to my place when I was in Springfield.”
“Another one? Our postman really needs to stop sniffing the glue on those envelopes.”
He chuckled. “Well, you take care now, Miss Waverly. I’ll be seeing you real soon.”
“Bye, Red.”
He tipped his head and ambled slowly toward Fillmore Street. I watched him for a moment as I fished my keys out of my pocket. When I opened my front door, I bent down to pick up the envelope he’d slid underneath. I was about to open it when I heard my phone ringing in my office. I hurried down the hall, tossing the envelope toward the coffee table as I passed by the living room. I checked the caller ID, but it was a private number.
“Hello?”
“Waverly, it’s Wyatt Clyndelle.”
I sucked in my breath. “Wyatt, hi. What’s up?”
He paused for a moment, and I held my breath.
“I’m sorry, Waverly, but we’re going to have to pass.”
I frowned. “Really?”
“The thing is, we’re a publishing company. And while it’s a fun idea, we just don’t see how it would fit into our product line. I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” I said softly.
“The good news is that everyone here loves the new Honey Notes you came up with. We’ll definitely work those into our next product cycle.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll keep you posted on their status, okay?”
“Okay, thanks Wyatt.”
“Take care, Waverly.”
I hung up the phone and sighed.
Fired by the Sun, then rejected by Smithers. Minor celebrity or not, how quickly I’d gone from up-and-coming columnist and aspiring entrepreneur to…unemployed.
Suddenly I wanted to go for a run. Even though I’d just come from yoga and was already pretty tired, I thought it might clear my head. I went into my room and changed into shorts and a long-sleeve shirt, then laced up my running shoes and headed out the door, unsure of which direction to go.
How appropriate.
I thought about it for a moment, then decided to retrace the steps of the walk McKenna and I used to take before work, back when she lived around the corner and I worked at KA Marketing. Maybe something familiar, something from the past, would help me feel less anxious about the future.
I’d never done the route as a run, if you could call my sluggish pace a run, and never without McKenna. This time I noticed several things I’d never paid any attention to before. A pretty house here, a postcard view there. It was all familiar, yet unfamiliar.
Beauty that had always been there, but which I’d never taken the time to notice.
When I reached the Lyon Street steps, the steepest part of the hill leading back to my neighborhood, I stopped to stretch my legs before putting them through the pain I knew was coming. I set my right foot on a bench and leaned forward. My body was sore, but the disappointment I felt hurt more.
Smithers had shot me down. Eloise Zimmerman had canceled my column. What was I supposed to do now?
I still had my Honey Notes, but they weren’t enough.
When I got home, exhausted and vowing never to run the Lyon steps again, I kicked off my shoes and dragged myself to the kitchen for some water. I refilled it once more and plopped on the couch, too tired to take a shower just yet.
I lifted my head toward my still shaking legs. “Legs, please forgive me. I’m so sorry, but I really needed that.”
Then I noticed the letter on the floor near the coffee table, which I’d totally forgotten. I leaned down to pick up the envelope and studied the neat red handwriting. Who are these letters from?
I removed the sheet of pap
er inside. Like the others, this one had a single word. But unlike the others, it didn’t make any sense.
ve
“Ve? What is ve?”
I stood up and went to the bookcase, then ran my fingers across the spines until I stopped at a huge Webster’s Dictionary. I pulled it down and sat back on the couch. I flipped to the V section and ran my finger down the side of the page. Vault, vaulting, vaunt, VD (yuck), veal, vector…
I moved my finger to the top of the page and repeated the search.
“Ve” apparently meant…nothing.
What?
I tossed the letter on the coffee table and stood up to get some more water. Halfway to the kitchen, I froze.
Red’s words from earlier rang in my ears.
Sometimes it takes a while to put the pieces in…place.
Suddenly my legs weren’t so tired. I hurried to the coffee table, picked up the letter, and ran to my office. I opened the desk drawer and reached toward the back. I unfolded the other two anonymous letters I’d received and laid all three side by side.
be…lie…ve
Believe?
I glanced at the floor, where the cardboard box I’d brought to Smithers was sitting. Then I stood up straight and looked at the mirror on the wall.
I smiled at my reflection.
All the pieces were there. They’d been there all along.
It was time for me to put them together.
“I do believe,” I said to myself.
I checked the clock as I sliced the apples. It was nearly seven o’clock. Ack. I opened a box of water crackers and placed several on a platter with cheese and grapes, then ran into my room and stripped. I tossed my clothes in the hamper and opened my closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a sleeveless black top. I slipped on some green flats and rushed into the bathroom to brush my hair.
At seven sharp, the doorbell rang. I ran to the bathroom mirror and dusted a blusher over my cheeks. I hope it’s just Andie, I thought. I’d invited her, Red, Nick, and Ivy over, and while I couldn’t care less what Andie thought of me or my apartment, I wanted to look nice for the other guests, especially Red. McKenna couldn’t make it because she and Hunter were meeting with their realtor to make an offer on a house.
It's a Waverly Life Page 19
