“OK, Miss Honey Shop, finish that drink. We have an early meeting tomorrow.”
I finished the last of my wine and set the empty glass on the bar. “Done.”
“Lobby at eight?” she said.
“Lobby at eight.”
We were about to walk away when the bartender approached us and set a full glass of wine in front of me. “Excuse me, ma’am, but the ladies at the other end of the bar would like to buy you a drink.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
I looked toward the end of the bar and saw two heavyset women with short, poufy hair smiling and waving at me.
“Do you know them?” Paige asked.
I frowned. “I don’t think so.” Do I know anyone in Chicago?
“Well apparently they know you. Listen, would you mind if I headed up to my room? I’m beat.”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t stay out too late, OK? We have to be at our best tomorrow.”
I saluted. “Got it.”
I picked up the wine glass and jostled through the crowd toward the other end of the bar. As I approached, the shorter of the two women stood up.
“Is it really you?” she asked.
I had no idea how to respond, so I just said, “Is it really me?”
“Yes, are you Waverly from Love, Wendy ?”
Ah!
I smiled. “Yes, that’s me. So you’ve seen the show?”
She nodded. “Oh yes , we never miss it! I’m Marge, and this is Evelyn.” She held out her hand, and as I shook it, I couldn’t help but notice her square, pink, acrylic fingernails. Then I shook Evelyn’s hand. She wore her frizzy hair in a banana clip, and her square, pink, acrylic fingernails were even brighter than Marge’s. The kindness in their faces struck me more than their appearance, however, and I immediately liked them both.
“I’m Waverly Bryson. It’s nice to meet you.”
“We’re just tickled to meet you ,” Evelyn said. “We live in a small town called Chippewa Falls, way up in northern Wisconsin, so being in Chicago is exciting enough for us. But running into a real celebrity ? This is just too exciting.”
I laughed and put my hand on my chest. “A celebrity? Me?” Ha.
“Oh yes,” Marge said, completely serious. “I recognized you right away. I turned straight to Evelyn here and said, ‘Gosh darn, Evelyn, if that isn’t the girl who does that fun new Honey on Your Mind segment for Love, Wendy .’”
Evelyn nodded. “We’re both tickled to death to meet you. I loved the segment where you asked people what desserts were on their mind. But I couldn’t believe no one said apple pie. Why didn’t anyone say apple pie? That’s so un-American !” She looked confused, as though I’d just told her Sarah Palin’s grasp of English grammar could use a little work.
I pointed at her. “Now that is an excellent answer. It’s too bad I didn’t run into you on the street that day. You would have made a great interview subject.”
She crossed her hands over her heart. “Me in New York City? Oh my, I don’t think I could handle that.” She looked at Marge. “Could you imagine? Me in New York City?”
“I loved the segment where you asked people what regrets were on their mind,” Marge said to me. “It was just so… honest .”She turned to Evelyn. “Didn’t you just about cry when that woman said she regretted not telling her dad how much she loved him before he died?”
Evelyn nodded. “I cried. Then I called my dad. Right there from the couch.”
Marge laughed. “So did I!” She put her hand on my arm and squeezed, then became very serious again. “You’ve got something really special on that show, Waverly.”
I felt myself blush and had no idea what to say. I often thought of my segment as pure entertainment fluff, but these women were sincere… fans . And I was sincerely touched by their enthusiasm.
Maybe I do have something special , I thought.
Thankfully, Marge broke the silence. “What’s it like working with Wendy Davenport? Is she as beautiful in real life? We think she’s just wonderful.”
I took a sip of
I finished the last of my wine and set the empty glass on the bar. “Done.”
“Lobby at eight?” she said.
“Lobby at eight.”
We were about to walk away when the bartender approached us and set a full glass of wine in front of me. “Excuse me, ma’am, but the ladies at the other end of the bar would like to buy you a drink.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
I looked toward the end of the bar and saw two heavyset women with short, poufy hair smiling and waving at me.
“Do you know them?” Paige asked.
I frowned. “I don’t think so.” Do I know anyone in Chicago?
“Well apparently they know you. Listen, would you mind if I headed up to my room? I’m beat.”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t stay out too late, OK? We have to be at our best tomorrow.”
I saluted. “Got it.”
I picked up the wine glass and jostled through the crowd toward the other end of the bar. As I approached, the shorter of the two women stood up.
“Is it really you?” she asked.
I had no idea how to respond, so I just said, “Is it really me?”
“Yes, are you Waverly from Love, Wendy ?”
Ah!
I smiled. “Yes, that’s me. So you’ve seen the show?”
She nodded. “Oh yes , we never miss it! I’m Marge, and this is Evelyn.” She held out her hand, and as I shook it, I couldn’t help but notice her square, pink, acrylic fingernails. Then I shook Evelyn’s hand. She wore her frizzy hair in a banana clip, and her square, pink, acrylic fingernails were even brighter than Marge’s. The kindness in their faces struck me more than their appearance, however, and I immediately liked them both.
“I’m Waverly Bryson. It’s nice to meet you.”
“We’re just tickled to meet you ,” Evelyn said. “We live in a small town called Chippewa Falls, way up in northern Wisconsin, so being in Chicago is exciting enough for us. But running into a real celebrity ? This is just too exciting.”
I laughed and put my hand on my chest. “A celebrity? Me?” Ha.
“Oh yes,” Marge said, completely serious. “I recognized you right away. I turned straight to Evelyn here and said, ‘Gosh darn, Evelyn, if that isn’t the girl who does that fun new Honey on Your Mind segment for Love, Wendy .’”
Evelyn nodded. “We’re both tickled to death to meet you. I loved the segment where you asked people what desserts were on their mind. But I couldn’t believe no one said apple pie. Why didn’t anyone say apple pie? That’s so un-American !” She looked confused, as though I’d just told her Sarah Palin’s grasp of English grammar could use a little work.
I pointed at her. “Now that is an excellent answer. It’s too bad I didn’t run into you on the street that day. You would have made a great interview subject.”
She crossed her hands over her heart. “Me in New York City? Oh my, I don’t think I could handle that.” She looked at Marge. “Could you imagine? Me in New York City?”
“I loved the segment where you asked people what regrets were on their mind,” Marge said to me. “It was just so… honest .”She turned to Evelyn. “Didn’t you just about cry when that woman said she regretted not telling her dad how much she loved him before he died?”
Evelyn nodded. “I cried. Then I called my dad. Right there from the couch.”
Marge laughed. “So did I!” She put her hand on my arm and squeezed, then became very serious again. “You’ve got something really special on that show, Waverly.”
I felt myself blush and had no idea what to say. I often thought of my segment as pure entertainment fluff, but these women were sincere… fans . And I was sincerely touched by their enthusiasm.
Maybe I do have something special , I thought.
Thankfully, Marge broke the silence. “What’s it like working with Wendy Davenport? Is she as beautiful in real life? We think she’s just wonderful.”
I took a sip of
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