I interrupted Grandmère to inform her that I will be fifteen in four months, and also that Juliet was fourteen when she married Romeo. To which Grandmère replied, “And that relationship turned out very nicely, didn’t it!”
Grandmère clearly has never been in love. Furthermore, she has no appreciation whatsoever for romantic tragedy.
“And in any case,” Grandmère added, “if you hope to keep that boy , you are going about it all wrong.”
I thought it was very unsupportive of Grandmère to be suggesting that I, after only having had a real boyfriend for twenty-five days, during which time I had spoken to him exactly three times on the phone, was already in danger of losing him to someone with multicolored eyes, and said so.
“Well, I’m sorry, Amelia,” Grandmère said. “But I can’t say you know what you’re about if it’s true you actually want to keep this young man.”
I swear I do not know what came over me at that moment. But it was like all the pressure that had been building up—the parking-meter thing; missing Michael and my mom and Fat Louie; what I was going to say to Prince William; my zit—all became too much, and I heard myself spewing, “Of course I want to keep him! But how am I going to be able to do that, when I am an entirely un–self-actualized, talentless, breastless, un–Kate-Bosworth-like princess FREAK????”
Grandmère looked kind of surprised at my outburst. She didn’t seem to know which issue to address first, my talentlessness or breastlessness. Finally she settled for saying, “Well, you could start by not staying on the phone with him until all hours of the night. You do not give him any reason to doubt your affections.”
“Of course not,” I said, horrified. “Why would I do that? I love him!”
“But you mustn’t let him know that!” Grandmère looked ready to throw her mid-morning Sidecar at me. “Are you completely dense? Never let a man be sure of your affections for him! You did a very good job at first, with this business of forgetting his birthday. But now you are ruining everything with this calling all the time. If that boy realizes how you really feel, he will stop trying to please you.”
“But Grandmère.” I was way confused. “You married Grandpa. Surely he figured out you loved him if you went ahead and married him.”
“Grandpère, Mia, please, not this vulgar Grandpaw you Americans insist upon.” Grandmère sniffed and looked insulted. “Your grandfather most certainly did not ‘figure out’ my feelings for him. I made quite certain he thought I was only marrying him for his money and title. And I don’t think I need to point out to you that we had forty blissful years together. And without separate bedrooms,” she added, with some malice, “unlike some royal couples I could mention.”
“Wait a minute.” I stared at her. “For forty years, you slept in the same bed as Grandpère, but you never once told him that you loved him?”
Grandmère drained what was left of her Sidecar and laid an affectionate hand on top of Rommel’s head. Since returning to Genovia and being diagnosed with OCD, most of Rommel’s fur has started to grow back, thanks to the plastic cone around his head. White fuzz was starting to come out all over him, like down on a baby chicken. But it didn’t make him look any less repulsive.
“That,” Grandmère said, “is precisely what I am telling you. I kept your grandfather on his toes, and he loved every minute of it. If you want to keep this Michael fellow, I suggest you do the same thing. Stop this business of calling him every night. Stop this business of not looking at any other boys. And stop this obsessing over what you are going to get him for his birthday.He should be the one obsessing over what he is going to buy to keep you interested, not the other way around.”
“Me? But my birthday isn’t until May!” I didn’t want to tell her that I had already figured out what I was getting for Michael. I didn’t want to tell her because I had sort of snitched it out of the back of the Palais de Genovia museum.
Well, nobody else was using it, so I don’t see why I can’t. I’m the Princess of Genovia, after all. I own everything in that museum anyway. Or at least the royal family does.
“Who says a man should give a woman gifts only on her birthday?” Grandmère was looking at me like she pretty much despaired of me as a Homo sapien. She held up her wrist. Dripping from it was a bracelet Grandmère wears a lot, one with diamonds big as Euro one-cent pieces hanging off it. “I got this from your grandfather on March fifth, forty years or so ago. Why? March fifth is not my birthday, nor is it any kind of holiday. Your grandfather gave it to me on that day merely because he thought that the bracelet, like me, was exquisite.” She lowered her hand back down to Rommel’s head. “That, Amelia, is how a man ought to treat the woman he loves.”
All I could think was, Poor Grandpère . He couldn’t have had any idea what he was getting himself into when it came to Grandmère, who’d been a total babe back when she was young, before she’d gotten her tattooed eyeliner and shaved off her eyebrows. I’m sure Gramps just took one look at her across that dance floor where they met back when he was just the dashing heir to the throne and she was a pert young debutante, and froze, like a graffiti artist caught in a cop car’s headlights, never suspecting what lay ahead….
Years of subtle mind games and Sidecar shaking.
“I don’t think I can be like that, Grandmère,” I said. “I mean, I don’t want Michael to give me diamonds. I just want him to ask me to the Prom.”
“Well, he won’t do it,” Grandmère said, “if he doesn’t think there’s a possibility you’re entertaining offers from other boys.”
“Grandmère!” I was shocked. “I would never go to the Prom with anybody but Michael!” Not like there was a big chance of anybody else asking me, either, but I felt that was beside the point.
“But you must never let him know that, Amelia,” Grandmère said, severely. “You must keep him always in doubt of your feelings, always on his toes. Men enjoy the hunt, you see, and once they have taken their quarry, they tend to lose all interest. Here. This is for you to read. I believe it will adequately illustrate my point.”
Grandmère had drawn out a book from her Gucci bag and handed it to me. I looked down at it incredulously.
“Jane Eyre ?” I couldn’t believe it. “Grandmère, I saw the movie. And no offense, but it was way boring.”
“Movie,” Grandmère said with a sniff. “Read that book, Amelia, and see if it doesn’t teach you a thing or two about how men and women relate to one another.”
“Grandmère,” I said, not sure how to break it to her that she was way behind the times. “I think people who want to know how men and women relate to one another are reading Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus these days.”
“READ IT!” Grandmère yelled, so loudly that she scared Rommel clear off her lap. He slunk off to cower behind a potted geranium.
I swear, I don’t know what I did to deserve a grandmother like mine. Lilly’s grandma totally worships Lilly’s boyfriend, Boris Pelkowski. She is always sending him Tupperware tubs of kreplach and stuff. I don’t know why I have to get a grandmother who is already trying to get me to break up with a guy I’ve only been going out with for twenty-five days.
Seven days, six hours, forty-two minutes until I see him again.
Tuesday, January 13
Royal Daily Schedule
8 a.m.–10 a.m.
Breakfast with members of Royal Genovian Shakespeare Society
Jane Eyre v. boring—so far nothing but orphanages, bad haircuts, and a lot of coughing.
10 a.m.–4 p.m.
Session of Genovian Parliament
Jane Eyre looking up—she has gotten a job as governess in house of very rich guy, Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester v. bossy, much like Wolverine, or Michael.
5 p.m.–7 p.m.
Tea with Grandmère and wife of prime minister of England
Mr. Rochester=hottie. Going on my list of Totally Hot Guys, between Hugh Jackman and that Croatian dude from ER .
8 p.m.–10 p.m.
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Formal State dinner with prime minister of England and family
Jane Eyre=total idiot! It was not Mr. Rochester’s fault! Why is she being so mean to him?
And Grandmère shouldn’t yell at me for reading at the table. She’s the one who gave me this book in the first place.
Six days, eleven hours, twenty-nine minutes until I see him again.
Wednesday, January 14, 3 a.m.,
Royal Genovian bedchamber
Okay, I guess I understand what Grandmère was getting at with this book. But seriously, that whole part where Mrs. Fairfax warns Jane not to get too chummy with Mr. Rochester before the wedding was just because back in those days there was no birth control.
Still—and I may have to consult with Lilly on this— I am pretty sure it is unwise to pattern one’s behavior after the advice of a fictional character, especially one from a book written in 1846.
However, I do get the general gist of Mrs. Fairfax’s warning, which was this: Do not chase boys. Chasing boys is bad. Chasing boys can lead to horrible things like mansions going up in flames, hand amputations, and blindness. Have some self-respect and don’t let things go too far before the wedding day.
I get this. I so get this.
But what is Michael going to think if I just stop calling???? I mean, he might think I don’t like him anymore!!!! And it isn’t like I’ve got so much going for me in the first place. I mean, as a girlfriend, I pretty much suck. I’m not good at anything, I can’t remember people’s birthdays, and I’m a princess.
I guess that is Grandmère’s point. I guess you are supposed to keep boys on their toes this way.
I don’t know. But it seemed to work with Grandpère. And for Jane, in the end. I guess I could give it a try.
But it won’t be easy. It is nine o’clock at night in Florida right now. Who knows what Michael is doing? He might have gone down to the beach for a stroll and met some beautiful homeless musician girl, who is living on the boardwalk and making a living off the tourists, for whom she plays wryly observant folk songs on her Stratocaster. I can’t even play tennis , let alone an instrument.
I bet she is wearing fringy things and is all busty and snaggle-toothed, like Jewel. No boy could be expected just to walk on by when a girl like that is standing there.
No. Grandmère and Mrs. Fairfax are right. I’ve got to resist. I’ve got to resist the urge to call him. When you are less available, it drives men wild, just like in Jane Eyre.
Though I think changing my name and running away to live with distant relations like Jane did might be going a bit too far. As appealing as it seems.
Five days, seven hours, and twenty-five minutes until I see him again.
Wednesday, January 14
Royal Daily Schedule
8 a.m.–10 a.m.
Breakfast with Genovian Society of Medicine
So, so tired. This is the last time I stay up half the night reading nineteenth-century literature.
10 a.m.–4 p.m.
Session of Genovian Parliament
Filibuster by minister of finance! He says Genovia will have parking meters or perish!
5 p.m.–7 p.m.
Session of Genovian Parliament
Filibuster ongoing. Would like to slip out for an Orangina, but am afraid this would look unsupportive.
8 p.m.–10 p.m.
Session of Genovian Parliament
Can’t take it anymore. Filibuster too boring. Plus René just poked his head in and smirked at me. Let him laugh. He won’t have to rule a country someday.
Thursday, January 15,
State dinner in neighboring Monaco
Grandmère finally noticed my zit. I guess the idea of me meeting Prince William with a giant zit on my chin was too much for her, since she completely flipped out. I told her I had the situation under control, but Grandmère clearly does not put as much faith in toothpaste as a complexion aid as I do. She sent for the Royal Dermatologist. He injected my chin with something, then said not to put any more toothpaste on my face.
I can’t even seem to handle a zit right. How am I ever going to rule a country?
TO DO BEFORE LEAVING GENOVIA
Find a safe place to put Michael’s present where it will NOT be found by grandmother or nosy ladies-in-waiting while packing my stuff (inside toe of combat boot?).
Say good-bye to kitchen staff, and thank them for all the vegetarian fare.
Make sure harbormaster has hung pair of scissors off every buoy in port for use of yachting tourists who didn’t bring along their own set to snip six-pack holders.
Take funny nose and glasses off the statue of Grandmère in the Portrait Hall before she notices.
Practice my “Meeting Prince William” speech. Also “Good-bye Prince René” speech.
Break François’s record of twenty feet, seven inches sock-sliding along Crystal Hallway.
Let all the doves in the palace dovecote go (if they want to come back, that is fine, but they should have the option to be free).
Let Tante Jean Marie know that this is the twenty-first century and that women no longer have to live with the stigma of dark facial hair, and leave her my Jolen.
Slip minister of finance details on parking-meter manufacturers that I got off the Internet.
Get scepter back from Prince René.
Friday, January 16, 11 p.m.,
Royal Genovian bedchamber
Tina spent all day yesterday reading Jane Eyre per my recommendation and agrees with me that there might be something to the whole letting-boys-chase-you-as- opposed-to-you-chasing-them thing. So she has decided not to e-mail or call Dave (unless he e-mails or calls first, of course).
Lilly, however, refuses to take part in this scheme, as she says game playing is for children and that her relationship with Boris is one that cannot be qualified by modern-day psychosexual mating practices. According to Tina (I can’t call Lilly because Michael might pick up the phone and then he’ll think I’m chasing him), Lilly says that Jane Eyre was one of the first feminist manifestos, and she heartily approves of us using it as a model for our romantic relationships. Although she sent a warning to me through Tina that I shouldn’t expect Michael to ask me to marry him until after he’s gotten at least one postgraduate degree, as well as a starting position with a company that pays at least two hundred thousand dollars a year, plus annual performance bonus.
Lilly also added that the one time she saw him ride a horse, Michael looked way unromantic, so I shouldn’t get my hopes up that he’s going to be jumping any stiles, like Mr. Rochester, any time soon.
But I find this hard to believe. I am sure Michael would look very handsome on a horse.
Tina mentioned that Lilly is still upset about the movie of my life they showed the other day. Tina saw it, though, and said it wasn’t as bad as Lilly is making it out to be. She said the lady who played Principal Gupta was hilarious.
But Tina wasn’t in the movie, on account of her dad having found out about it beforehand and threatening the filmmakers with a lawsuit if they mentioned his daughter’s name anywhere. Mr. Hakim Baba worries a lot about Tina getting kidnapped by a rival oil sheik. Tina says she wouldn’t mind being kidnapped though if the rival oil sheik was cute and willing to commit to a long-term relationship and remembered to buy her one of those diamond heart pendants from Kay Jewelers on Valentine’s Day.
Tina says the girl who played Lana Weinberger in the movie did a fabulous job and should get an Emmy. Also that she didn’t think Lana was going to be too happy about how she was portrayed, as a jealous princess wannabe.
Also the guy who played Josh was a babe. Tina is trying to find his e-mail address.
Tina and I vowed that if either of us ever felt like calling our boyfriends, instead we would call each other. Unfortunately I have no cell phone so it is not like Tina will be able to reach me if I am in the middle of knighting someone or anything. But I am fully going to hit my dad up for a Motorola tomorrow. Hey, I am heir to the
sovereign of an entire country. At the very least I should have a beeper.
Note to self: look up word “stile.”
Four days, twelve hours, and five minutes until I see Michael again.
Saturday, January 17,
Royal Genovian Polo Match
Could there be a more boring sport than polo? I mean, besides golf? I think not.
Furthermore, I do not think it is very good for the horses, swinging mallets that close to their heads. It is like Silver, the Lone Ranger’s horse. The Lone Ranger kept shooting off guns next to Silver’s ear. It was no wonder the poor thing kept rearing.
Also, René isn’t too competitive with Prince William, or anything. René keeps riding in front of the poor guy and stealing the ball from him every chance he gets… and they are supposed to be on the same team!
I swear, if René’s team wins, and he pulls a Mia Hamm and swings his shirt around over his head, I will know he is just doing all of this for the benefit of the hordes of Prince William fans who are here. Which I guess is understandable. It probably is disconcerting to him that Wills is so much more popular than he is. And René does have pretty impressive pecs.
If only all those girls knew about the Enrique Iglesias lip-synching….
Three days, seventeen hours, and six minutes until I see Michael again. Talk about impressive pecs…
Saturday, January 17, 11 p.m.,
Royal Genovian bedchamber