Honey on Your Mind Part 23

"You could use it, my dear," Wendy said under her breath.

a a a I called Jake as soon as the meeting broke up, but he was already on a plane to Boston from Atlanta, so I had to leave a message about my change in plans. If the taping ended on time, which was never a guarantee, I might get out of the studio by three-thirty. That would probably give me enough time to catch my train.

Wendy was already in makeup, so I settled into an empty conference room to prepare for my appearance on her show. What was I supposed to do at the last minute? If I'd had proper notice, I would have pulled together a fun montage of my favorite clips with a soundtrack and graphics, but there was no time for that now. Clearly, I just was going to have to wing it and talk. About what, I had no idea. I wondered why Wendy hadn't told me about this earlier. Was she trying to ambush me again? Was she more upset about the holiday party than she'd let on?

Scotty had already left, so I couldn't check in with him. I scribbled a few notes and tried to think of what to say on camera. This could be a Honey on Your Mind segment on its own, I thought. "So what's on your mind, Waverly? Wondering how to deal with a lunatic boss, that's what."

I chewed on a pencil and stared at the page in front of me.

I am so screwed.

I let out a loud sigh and put both my hands on my head.

Ugh.

"You doing all right, Waverly?"

The sound of a voice startled me. I looked up and saw the skinny intern standing in the doorway.

"Are you OK? I heard that sigh all the way down the hall," he said.

I offered up a weak smile. "Oh, hi, Ben. I'm fine, just preparing for the show this afternoon." I covered the sheet of paper with my hand, not wanting him to see that it was nearly empty.

He laughed and pointed to my hand. "It's OK, I'm not going to steal your answers to the history midterm. Or is it the SAT?"

I looked at the paper and laughed too. "Sorry, I have no idea why I did that."

He sat down across from me. "Let me guess. You're brainstorming ideas for what to say on the show...because you didn't prepare anything...because Wendy never told you about it?"

I pointed at him. "Bingo." This was the most I'd ever heard him speak.

"Why not read some of those hilarious e-mails you've shared with us in the staff meetings?"

I chewed on my pencil again. "You think so? You like those?"

He nodded. "I love them. They keep me from falling asleep when Wendy starts droning on about her latest shopping spree on Fifth Avenue."

I laughed. "I hadn't thought of that. What a great idea."

"I think the audience would really enjoy it."

"Thanks so much, Ben, really. You may have just saved me from completely humiliating myself on national television."

"My pleasure, Waverly. Happy holidays."

As he sauntered down to the break room, I ran to an empty workstation and logged on to my e-mail account. It wasn't a video montage, but within seconds, I had a pile of potential material staring back at me.

Score one for the intern.

a a a "Waverly, it's so nice to have you join us on the set like this. It's been awhile." Wendy beamed at me from her plush chair.

I smiled back and shifted slightly in my intentionally not-as-plush seat. "Thanks, Wendy. I'm glad to be here."

She clapped her freshly manicured hands together and looked out at the audience. "So, my friends, I know you've all enjoyed Waverly's Honey on Your Mind segment, so I thought it would be fun to invite her on stage for a little behind-the-scenes gossip." She turned to me again. "Waverly, can you share with us some of the moments that didn't make it on camera? It would be a hoot to see some bloopers."

Like a seasoned politician, I deflected her question to focus on the answer I had prepared. "Actually, I thought I'd do something a little different." I looked out at the audience. "What do you all think? Mix it up a little?"

As a small cheer erupted from the crowd, I could feel visual daggers coming from Wendy's direction. At least I was ready for them this time. I turned to face her with a forced smile. "Does that sound OK to you, Wendy?"

Her own phony smile was even bigger than mine. "Why suuure, Waverly. That sounds wuuunderful. What did you have in mind?" Wow, she's a genius at being fake, I thought.

I sat up a little straighter and turned back to the audience. "Great. Well, as you know, on my segment I talk about things that are on my mind as well as on the minds of people on the streets of New York."

Wendy nodded, as did the audience.

"However, I also receive a lot of e-mails from viewers across the country who like to share with me what's on their minds."

More nods.

"So I thought it would be fun to share some of the, um, more colorful ones, with you today."

Wendy raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly to the side. "That sounds like it could be a little...shall we say...dangerous." She turned to the audience and winked. Everyone laughed.

I laughed too. "This is true. I definitely get some e-mails that aren't fit for public consumption. However, the majority of them are very entertaining." I held up a piece of paper and looked out at the audience. "I've got some fun ones here. Anyone interested?"

"Yes!" the audience shouted.

"Well there you go," Wendy said with a smile that could melt steel. "Let's hear them."

"OK, here goes." I cleared my throat and began to read: "Dear Waverly, I just saw a lady pushing a dog in a baby stroller. A dog. No baby in sight. What the h.e.l.l? That's what's on my mind, why people are such idiots."

Laughter from the audience.

"Hi, Waverly, you know what's on my mind? b.u.mper stickers. I'm of the opinion that the number of b.u.mper stickers on a person's car is roughly the same as the number of days that person goes between showers. Just thought I'd share."

More laughter.

"Dear Waverly, why is there never enough parking in Chicago? It drives me crazy. I even saw a sign in front of a church the other day that said, THOU SHALL NOT PARK HERE. At least G.o.d is laughing with us, not at us."

More laughter.

I glanced over at Wendy. She was nodding and smiling and truly seemed to be enjoying herself. This is going really well.

I kept reading.

"Hi, Waverly, here's what's on my mind: I'm recently divorced and decided to give the online dating thing a try. The first woman I had a conversation with seemed nice, so I asked her out to dinner. She accepted, but then immediately sent me another message that said, and I'm quoting verbatim here, *You do make more than $400K a year, right?'"

The audience totally cracked up at that one, so I felt good as I entered the homestretch.

"Dear Waverly, I could stand to drop a few pounds, so ever since college I've been joking about how I need to *lose my baby fat.' Now that I'm in my thirties, I've unfortunately realized that I can't do that anymore. The last time I said it, the person I was speaking to asked me, *How old is your baby?'"

"Oh my," Wendy said, putting her hand over her heart.

I laughed and looked at her. "I know. Brutal, huh?"

"Oh yes, just awwwful. Actually, that reminds me, Waverly, wasn't having a baby on your mind?"

I looked at her.

What?

I hoped my jaw hadn't visibly dropped.

"I'm sorry?" I said.

"Weren't you talking about having a baby soon?"

I didn't reply. I wanted to, but my mouth was frozen.

What?

Before I could speak, Wendy put her hand on my arm and laughed. "I'm just joking, my dear. I know you're not even close to being married." She held up her ring finger and kissed it. "True love like mine doesn't come around every day, but maybe one day your prince will come. I'm holding out hope for you."

I still didn't say anything. I willed my brain to kick into gear and come up with a clever comeback, but all I kept thinking was, What?

As I sat there like a stone, Wendy smiled out at the audience. "Well, I'm sorry to say, folks, but it looks like we're out of time. Waverly, luuuv, thanks so much for visiting us. You were veeery entertaining, as always. Ladies and gentleman, let's give a big round of applause for Waverly Bryson!" She put her hand on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze, then clapped her hands enthusiastically.

The audience erupted in applause.

a a a As soon as the director cut the scene, I stood up and yanked off my microphone with such force that I nearly broke it. Is she kidding me? I couldn't bring myself to look at Wendy, who was still seated on the couch with a strange grin on her face. What is her problem? The audience, clearly enamored despite her psychotic behavior, was already lining up for autographs (hers not mine). I just hoped I wouldn't get caught up in the traffic as I tried to make a gracious exit. If I was going to make my train, I needed to sprint out of there faster than the lifespan of a celebrity romance.

No such luck.

"Waverly, Waverly!"

Frick.

I turned my head and saw two women waving frantically at me with huge smiles on their faces. They looked so excited that I couldn't just ignore them, much as I wanted to. Then I remembered that fans were the only reason I had my job, so I decided to stop for a minute and be friendly.

I smiled and turned in their direction. As I approached them, I realized they looked familiar, but I had absolutely no idea where I'd seen them before. I smiled and put my hands on my hips. "Well h.e.l.lo there, did you enjoy the show?"

The shorter of the two held out her hand. "Waverly! It's Marge and Evelyn, from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin? Do you remember us?"

Chippewa what?

She squeezed my hand. "We met you in Chicago, remember? We were at the sc.r.a.pbooking convention?"

Suddenly it clicked. How could I forget Marge and Evelyn? How could I forget Marge's banana clip? I stole a glance at their fingernails, which were still pink, acrylic, and square. How could I forget pink, acrylic, square fingernails? The two of them looked like they'd been cut and pasted from a Sears catalog, but they were so friendly that it was impossible not to like them.

"Ah, Marge and Evelyn, of course I remember you. How are you? What brings you to New York?"

"Our silly husbands," Marge said. "They're best friends and wanted a boys' getaway to play poker and smoke cigars, so in return they sent us on a girls' trip to the Big Apple. We can't believe we're really here!"

"We've been everywhere," Evelyn said. "The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Central Park. We even saw a show on Broadway last night." She looked at Marge. "But this has been our favorite activity so far, hasn't it Margie?"

Marge nodded. "Oh yes, of course. Seeing Wendy Davenport in person? We're just tickled pink."

"Yes, she's really something." I looked over at the huge line of fans clamoring for Wendy's attention. If you only knew.

"And of course it's great to see you too," Evelyn said. "We still love Honey on Your Mind."

I smiled. "Thank you. So how long are you in town? Are you spending Christmas here?"

"Oh no, we fly out tonight," Marge said. "Can't miss Christmas at home."

I smiled and grimaced at the same time. If I didn't make a run for it soon, I wasn't going to catch my train.

"What about you?" Evelyn said. "You're not spending the holidays with your family?"

"Um, well, actually, I'm trying to catch a four o'clock train to Boston."

Marge's eyes opened wide. "A four o'clock train? And you're standing here gabbing with us? Sugar, you need to get a move on." She held up her wrist to show me her watch.

"Scoot!" Evelyn said, shooing me away.

"I'm so sorry to run," I said. "I don't want to be rude."

Marge shook her head. "Young lady, you're not being rude. It's Christmas Eve, for gosh sake!"

I smiled. "Thanks so much for understanding. I hope you'll keep watching the show?"

"We never miss it," Marge said.

"Now skat." Evelyn shooed me away again. "We're going to wait to meet Wendy."

I took another look at the pack of eager beavers before Wendy. The line wound all the way around the studio back up into the seats.

a a a Once outside the building, I ran over to Seventh Avenue and tried to hail a downtown taxi, but apparently, everyone in Manhattan had the same idea. The street was a sea of yellow vehicles, all of them occupied. As I watched cab after cab fly by me without stopping, my hopes of catching my train dwindled.

Frick.

Finally, I spotted an empty cab and flagged it. I jumped into the back seat with my carry-on bag, not bothering to put it in the trunk. I leaned forward, told the driver where to go, then fell back against the seat, and hoped for the best.

Traffic crawled along, and when we finally got to Penn Station, I handed the driver some money and jumped out without waiting for change. I ran to the escalator and sprinted down the moving steps, nearly knocking over an old man in the process.

"Sorry!" I yelled as I flew by, not turning my head. I wondered if I'd just officially become a rude New Yorker. I'd certainly become a rushed New Yorker.

When I made it to the center of the terminal, I was out of breath and sweating despite the cold weather outside. I looked up at the huge monitor to see which track my train was on. I scanned until I saw it: BOSTON, 4:00 P.M.