“I could say the same about you,” Nick said under his breath.
I laughed. “As I was saying, adding the column could also help get the word out.” I bent down to pull a manila folder from the box, then opened it and removed a sheet of paper with a rough timeline. “I think if I power on this, with all your help, I should be able to launch the site in…about three months.”
They all nodded.
“Sounds reasonable,” Nick said.
I took a deep breath. “Great. Now before we get started, there’s just one more thing I have to do.”
“Passport?” Andie said.
“Check.”
“Credit card?” McKenna said.
“Check.”
“Okay, you’re good. That’s all you really need,” Andie said. We were standing outside McKenna’s black Land Rover at the international departures terminal at SFO.
“I can’t believe you’re going to Argentina,” McKenna said.
I held my palms up. “Third time’s a charm, right?”
Andie blew a bubble and popped it. “I thought it was three strikes and you’re out.”
McKenna elbowed her. “Filter.”
“Ouch,” Andie said.
I hugged them both. “I’ll e-mail you.” I reached for the handle of my suitcase and turned to go.
“Vino and cerveza,” Andie said.
“What?”
“That’s wine and beer, in Spanish. Make sure you remember how to say those two words, because you might need them if things don’t go so well.”
McKenna grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the car. “You need a time out.”
Andie laughed as McKenna dragged her away. “We love you!”
“I love you too!” I blew them a kiss and entered the airport.
Nearly twenty hours later, I was in Buenos Aires. It was barely eight in the morning when we landed, which was unfortunate given that the only thing in the world that I wanted to do at the moment was lie down and SLEEP.
Feeling like something the cat dragged in, I jumped in a cab and handed the driver the address of my hotel. It was located in the Recoleta neighborhood, which I sort of remembered from my previous trip way back when. I had a full day to get used to the time change and wander around the city before Jake’s team played the following evening. I also needed to figure out what in the world to say to him.
I squeezed the handle of the “Just Smile” Honey Tote I’d brought with me.
I could do this.
The first thing I did after I checked into my hotel was…pass out. I’d planned to go for a nice long run to wake myself up and explore the area, but who was I kidding?
When I woke up, it was nearly two o’clock, and for a moment I had no idea where I was. Then slowly it dawned on me. I’m in Buenos Aires. Holy crap. I dragged myself out of bed and took a shower, then got dressed and headed downstairs to check out the neighborhood.
Recoleta was quite charming, the tall, European-style apartment buildings adorned with flower-lined balconies. After a couple blocks I stumbled upon the center of the district, which was filled with cafés and bars and people. I spotted an empty bench near a patch of flowers and sat down. The air smelled like freshly cut grass. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes to enjoy it. Then I heard music and opened my eyes. A girl was playing the accordion about fifteen feet away from me, her instrument case laid open on the cement in front of her to collect tips. She was young but obviously very talented, and the gentle music floated through the air over the chatter of the people strolling by or sitting in one of the many cafés lining the main walkway. From what I could tell, everyone was drinking coffee, beer, or red wine. And no one seemed in a hurry.
I sat there for several minutes, people-watching and enjoying the beautiful music. Just sitting. And listening.
After a while I decided to call it a day. On the way back to my hotel I spotted an Internet café. I ducked inside to e-mail Andie and McKenna that I was safely on South American soil.
Then I saw a new e-mail in my inbox.
It was from Paul Bryson.
Dad?
My dad had never e-mailed me before.
I clicked to open the message.
To: Waverly Bryson
From: Paul Bryson
Subject: I GOT THE INTERNET
HI WAVERLY, I AM ONLINE. BETTY GOT ME AN ACCOUNT.
LOVE,
DAD
Ah, Dad.
Gotta love the ALL CAPS.
Gotta love Betty, too.
I woke up the next morning at the crack of…eleven. I took a hot shower, then did a time check to plan the day. Jake’s game was at seven, just a few hours away. I hoped I wasn’t about to humiliate myself in front of him…again. I’d had enough Waverly moments around this one guy to qualify for lifetime elite status in emotional faceplanting.
Around noon I left the hotel, ready to explore the Boca district. The famous part of the neighborhood is called El Caminito, which means “the little street.” True to its name, it’s just a few blocks long in each direction. The area is beautiful in a wonderfully unique way. All the buildings, most of them about two stories high, are painted a mix of bright colors, some with yellow doors and blue shutters, others topped by red roofs and sporting green windowsills and hot pink trim. Arts and crafts and handmade jewelry stands fill the cobblestone streets, most of which are off-limits to cars and lined by cafés, clothing and souvenir shops that sell everything from postcards and full-length leather coats to bottle openers in the shape of Eva Peron and Diego Maradona.
Adding an extra layer to the energy of El Caminito was the distinctive sound of tango. As I began my walk along the pathway, I heard music emanating from a tiny restaurant. I poked my head inside. Two professional dancers regaled the patrons, who cheered and clapped over bottles of wine and big baskets of bread that covered their long wooden tables. The interior had high ceilings and was much larger than I’d expected. Even though everyone was sitting close to each other, the place didn’t seem overcrowded, the dexterous waiters seamlessly darting in and out of the joyful crowd and looking like they were having as much fun as the tourists.
I watched the couple dance in perfect unison to the music, fascinated as much by their precision and physical beauty as by the woman’s ability not to trip in her stiletto heels. After a few minutes they took a break, so I kept moving and continued to explore the area, wandering in and out of shops and eventually arriving back to where I’d begun.
With a tinge of disappointment, I realized I’d finished walking the Caminito loop. I’d enjoyed the mental break from stressing about the real reason I was there, but I knew it was time to head back to the hotel.
What in the world am I going to say to him?
At six o’clock I left my hotel again, this time in a taxi for the basketball arena. I was so nervous that my hand was shaking as I handed the driver the piece of paper with the address. I was either the most romantic person alive or completely insane, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know which.
We drove past the Obelisco, the most famous landmark in Buenos Aires, which looks exactly like the Washington Monument. I remember reading somewhere that once a year the Obelisco is covered in a huge condom to promote safe sex. I can only imagine the right-wing outrage if Planned Parenthood tried a stunt like that in DC.
As we rolled along, I played with my earring, mentally rehearsing what I’d decided to say to Jake. It had been weeks since we’d had any contact at all. I’d thought a hundred times about e-mailing him, but given how complicated and messed up everything had become, it just didn’t seem…appropriate. I pressed my palm against my forehead. Like flying halfway around the world—uninvited—is appropriate?
The cab stopped, jolting me out of my thoughts. I blinked and realized we had arrived. I paid the driver, then stepped outside to find the ticket line. I had no concrete plan for reaching Jake after the game was over, but I figured if I’d come this far, I’d find a way.
A little more t
han two hours later, the final buzzer buzzed, and the game was over. Jake’s team, Deportivo Libertad, had beaten its rival, Boca Juniors, by just two points, and the fans were going nuts. I was sitting in the home team section, so all around me people were hugging and crying. In the nearby Boca Juniors section, people were also crying, but they certainly weren’t tears of joy. Apparently people in Argentina take their sports seriously.
I kept my eyes peeled to the side of the court, where I’d spotted Jake late in the first half. He’d attended to several players throughout the action, most notably an enormous man who had apparently suffered an ankle sprain. He returned to the court after Jake quickly taped him up, so I guess Jake had done his job.
As the crowd thinned, I casually made my way toward the court. The security guards were focused on herding everyone through the exits, so I managed to blend in with a bunch of official-looking people moving toward the private hallway that led to the offices and locker rooms. I followed along and put my head down, hoping no one would actually speak to me. Then the jig would be, as they say, up. And I’d be, as they say, on the street.
The group began to shrink as people disappeared through various doors, and it was only a matter of time before someone noticed that I didn’t belong. In a moment of panic, I ducked into a ladies’ room and hid in a stall.
Nice. I’m hiding in a restroom stall.
When I emerged about ten minutes later, all was quiet.
I glanced up and down the hallway.
I was alone.
Slowly I started walking, peering carefully at the closed doors. Several had the word Oficina on them, along with someone’s name. I kept moving, and soon I came across a placard that said Vestuario de Visitantes. I could hear loud voices inside.
“Visitor locker room,” I whispered to myself. I’d looked up the translation for “locker room” ahead of time.
I continued walking, and then I saw it.
Vesturaio: Deportivo Libertad.
I could hear the sound of voices behind this door, too.
This had to be it. I took a deep breath, then slowly pushed the door open.
I poked my head inside and scanned the room. To the left was a long corridor lined by a row of lockers, followed by the entrance to a shower area. I could hear water running, loud voices, and even some singing. To the right was another hallway. Straight ahead of me was a sitting area with a few chairs and couches. The back wall was covered with posters and announcements in Spanish.
I didn’t want to go near the showers, and I didn’t want to wander into someone’s office, so I walked to the back of the room and examined the posters, which were mostly of individual players. One showed the whole squad, including the coaches and support staff. I spotted Jake in the back row, his blue eyes smiling at the camera.
“Hola, Jake,” I whispered.
Just then I heard a noise.
I froze.
Very slowly, I took a few steps backward and peered down the hall to the left. I saw a very tall man wearing nothing but a towel. Before he could see me, I slipped toward the couches, away from his line of sight.
The sound of voices grew louder as more men exited from the showers and headed to their lockers. I wondered if the door I’d come through was the one they’d use to leave. Was I trapped? I sat down on a couch to think.
What am I doing here?
A moment later I heard the click of the door opening.
A man in a coat and tie stood in the entrance, a clipboard in his hand and a confused look on his face.
“Te ayudo?” he said. I think that meant, Can I help you?
“Um, Jake McIntyre?” I stood up and pointed to the poster of the team behind me.
He took a few steps toward me. “Are you American?” he said in English.
“You speak English?”
He smiled. “Little bit. You are looking for Jake?”
I bit my lip. “Is he here?”
“Un momento.” He held up a finger and disappeared down the hall toward the lockers.
I stood there, not sure what to do. I could hear more players making their way from the showers to the lockers, some of them still singing in Spanish. Without moving my feet, I turned my head and studied the posters again.
After a minute or so, I heard the sound of footsteps.
“Senorita?”
Clipboard Guy was back, gesturing for me to follow him. I smiled nervously and complied. He led me down the long hallway past the lockers and stopped in front of a closed door. Then he winked and walked away.
“Gracias,” I said softly.
I stared at the door for a moment.
Then I knocked.
Nothing.
I waited.
Still nothing.
I knocked again, this time louder. Then I heard footsteps.
I held my breath, and a moment later the door opened.
There he was.
I think my heart may have momentarily stopped beating.
“Waverly? What are you doing here?”
I smiled awkwardly. “Um, surprise?”
“What are you doing here?” he said more quietly.
“I…I came to see you.” I kept smiling and held onto my “Just Smile” tote bag for dear life.
He didn’t smile back, and in that instant, I knew I’d made a mistake.
A horrible mistake.
Oh my God.
What have I done?
“Waverly—” He opened his mouth to speak, but I reached up and covered it with my hand, my tote bag dropping to the ground. After coming so far, physically and emotionally, I couldn’t let him turn me away again. I just couldn’t, not without telling him how I felt.
“Please, before you say anything, please just let me speak.”
“Waverly—” he said through my hand.
“I know that it’s crazy for me to be here, but I need to talk to you.”
“Wav—”
“Please, Jake, please just let me say this, before I lose my nerve.” I kept my hand on his mouth and used the other one to wipe away a tear from my cheek. “I know I screwed up. I know I blew it. And you were right, I wasn’t ready before.”
“Please, don’t—”
I kept my hand on his mouth. “But I’m ready now, Jake. I promise you I am. Please let me show you that I am.” I blurted it out, my voice rising. “I know I’ve been afraid, but I can’t let you go just because, just because I’m scared of getting hurt again…”
“Waverly, I—”
I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I want to make it work. I don’t care about distance…I don’t care about your ex-girlfriend…I don’t care about anything else. You…you bring out something special in me, Jake…you make me believe in myself.”
“Wav—”
I kept pushing my hand against his mouth. “I know you think I’m nuts to come all this way, but I did it because…because…because I love you, Jake McIntyre. I…I…love you.”
I finally removed my hand from his mouth.
“There, I said it.” I raised my palms and smiled weakly at him. “Okay? I said it. I love you, Jake. I need you. I want to be with you. I’m ready to be with you. And I’m not just saying that. I believe it.”
He sighed but didn’t say anything.
My voice began to crack. “I just hope…I just hope it’s not too late for you to believe it too.”
He still didn’t say anything, and I could feel my heart starting to break. I looked at the floor.
“Now you can say whatever you have to say. Go ahead.” I was exhausted.
He took a step backward, then opened the door the rest of the way.
I looked up, and my jaw dropped.
Behind him were about a dozen extremely tall men in various states of undress, plus about six men in suits and a few others wearing white polo shirts and khaki pants, some of them holding clipboards.
Every single one of them was staring at me.
Jake held out his arm. “Wa
verly, I’d like to introduce you to the Deportivo Libertad squad, plus the entire coaching staff, and two assistant trainers.”
“Oh my God.” I covered my face with my hands.
All the men started laughing, then clapping, then cheering. “Amor!” one of them yelled, taking off his towel and waving it above his head. Yes, that left him naked.
Jake leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
“I can’t believe I poured my heart out in front of a roomful of half-naked men. I’ll never forget that fully naked guy at the end.”
“Hey now, I tried to stop you, several times, I might add.” Jake laughed and refilled my wineglass. It was about an hour later, and we were seated at an upstairs table at Las Chulitas, a trendy, intimate restaurant just a few blocks from my hotel.
“You could have tried a little harder.”
“You’ve got quite a death grip, Miss Bryson.” He put a hand on his jaw, then leaned over the table and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. When he touched my skin, I felt a current of heat run all the way down the side of my body.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
I smiled. “I’ve missed you too. Obviously.”
He leaned back in his chair and scratched his eyebrow. “I still can’t believe you flew all the way here. You’re kind of crazy, you know that?”
I nodded. “I’ve come to accept that about myself.”
“It suits you.”
“Hey, speaking of crazy, I have a joke for you.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
I sat up straight in my chair. “Okay, so these two psychologists share an office, and the Monday after Thanksgiving they’re chatting about their respective weekends with their families.”
He nodded.
“So they’re chatting, and the first guy asks the other how his Thanksgiving went. And the second guy says, ‘Actually, it didn’t go so well.’ So the first guy says, ‘What happened?’ And the second guy says, ‘Well, everything was okay until we sat down for dinner. I was sitting directly across from my mother…and I wanted a hot buttered roll. So what I meant to say was, Will you please pass me the hot buttered rolls. But what came out was, You bitch! You ruined my life!’”
It's a Waverly Life Page 21
