Princess in Pink (13 page)

So then I had to explain to her that Michael and I still weren't going to the prom.

She didn't react to the news like a normal grandmother, of course. A normal grandmother would have been all sympathetic

and would have patted my hand and given me some home-baked cookies or a dollar or something.

Not my grandmother. Oh no. My grandmother was just like, 'Well, then you obviously didn't do as I instructed.'

Jeez! Blame the victim, Grandma!

'Whaddaya mean?' I blurted out. So of course Grandmere was all, 'What do I mean? Is that what you said? Then ask me properly.'

'What... do ... you . . . mean . . . Grandmere?' I asked her more politely, though inwardly, of course, I didn't feel very polite

at all.

'I mean that you haven't done as I said. I told you that, if you found the right incentive, your Michael would be only too happy to escort you to the prom. But clearly you would rather sit around and sulk than take the sort of action necessary to get what

it is that you want.'

I took umbrage at that.

'I beg your pardon, Grandmere,' I said, 'but I have done everything humanly possible to convince Michael to go to
the prom.' Short, of course, of actually explaining to him why it was so important to me to go. Because I'm not so sure that even if I did tell Michael why it was so important to me he'd agree to go. And how much would THAT suck? You know, if I bared my

soul to the man I love, only to have him decide that his desire not to attend something as lame as the prom was stronger than

his desire to see my dream come true?

'On the contrary, you have not,' Grandmere said. She stubbed out her cigarette and, exhaling plumes of grey smoke from her nostrils - it is totally shocking how the weight of the Genovian throne rests solely on my slender shoulders, and yet my own grandmother remains unconcerned about the effects of her second-hand smoke on my lungs - went, 'I've explained this to you before, Amelia. In situations where opposing parties are striving to achieve detente, and yet are failing to reach it, it is always

in your best interest to step back and ask yourself what the enemy wants.'

I blinked at her through all the smoke. Tm supposed to figure out what Michael wants?'

'Correct.'

I shrugged. 'Easy. He doesn't want to go to the prom. Because it's lame.'

'No. That is what Michael doesn't want. What does he want?'

I had to think about that one.

'Um,' I said, watching Rommel as he, seeing that Grandmere was otherwise occupied, leaned over and surreptitiously began

 licking all the fur off one of his paws. 'I guess . . . Michael wants to play in his band?' 

'Bien,' Grandmere said, which means good in French. 'But what else might he want?'

'Um,' I said. 'I don't know.' I was still thinking about the band thing. It is the duty of the freshman, sophomore and junior

classes to put on the prom for the seniors, even though we ourselves do not get to go, unless invited by a senior. I tried to remember what the Prom Committee had reported in TheAtom, so far as the arrangements they'd made for music at the

prom. I think they'd hired a DJ or something.

'Of course you know what Michael wants,' Grandmere said sharply. 'Michael wants what every man wants.'

'You mean . . .' I felt stunned by the rapidity with which my grandmother's mind worked. 'You mean I should ask the prom committee to let Michael's band play at the prom?'

Grandmere started to choke for some reason. 'Wh-what?' she demanded, hacking up half a lung, practically.

I sat back in my seat, completely at a loss for words. It had never occurred to me before, but Grandmere's solution to the problem was totally perfect. Nothing would delight Michael more than an actual, paying gig for Skinner Box. And I would get to go to the prom . . . and not just with the man of my dreams, but with an actual member of the band. Is there anything cooler in the world than being at the prom with a member of the band playing at the prom? Um, no. No, there is not.

'Grandmere,' I breathed. 'You're a genius!'

Grandmere was slurping up the last of the ice in her Sidecar. 'I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, Amelia,' she said.

But I knew that, for the first time in her life, Grandmere was just being modest.

Then I remembered that I was supposed to be angry with her, on account of Jangbu. So I went, 'But, Grandmere, be serious

a minute. This thing with the busboys ... the strike. You've got to do something. It's all your fault, you know.'

Grandmere eyed me over all the blue smoke coming out of the new cigarette she'd just lit.

'Why, you ungrateful little chit,' she said. 'I solve all of your problems, and this is the thanks you show me?'

'I'm serious, Grandmere,' I said. 'You've got to call Les Hautes Manger and tell them about Rommel. Tell them it was your

fault that Jangbu tripped, and that they've got to hire him back. It isn't fair, otherwise. I mean, the poor guy lost his job!'

'He'll find another,' Grandmere said dismissively.

'Not without references,' I pointed out.

'So he can go back to his native land,' Grandmere said. , 'I'm sure his parents miss him.'
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'Grandmere, he's from Tibet, a country that has been under Chinese oppression for decades. He can't go back there.

There are no jobs. He'll starve.'

'I no longer care to discuss this,' Grandmere said loftily. 'Tell me the ten different courses traditionally served at a royal Genovian wedding.'

'Grandmere!'

'Tell me!'

So I had no choice but to rattle off the ten different courses traditionally served at a Genovian wedding - olives, antipasto, pasta, fish, meat, salad, bread, cheese, fruit, dessert (note to self: when Michael and I get married, remember not to do it in Genovia, unless the palace'll do an all-vegetarian meal).

I don't understand how someone who has embraced the dark side as fully as Grandmere can come up with brilliant stuff like getting Michael's band to play at the prom.

But I guess even Darth Vader had his moments. I can't think of any right now, but I'm sure he had some.

Monday, May 5, 9 p.m., the Loft

Bad news:

I spent the whole evening pouring over back issues of The Atom, trying to figure out who was head of the Prom Committee,

so I could email him/her with my request that Skinner Box be approached as a possible live entertainment alternative to the

DJ I know they've got lined up. So you can only imagine my surprise and disappointment when I finally stumbled across the article I was looking for, and saw the horrifying answer right there in black and white:

Lana Weinberger.

LANA WEINBERGER is head of this year's Prom Committee.

Well, that's it. I'm dead. There is NO WAY I'm going to get to go to the prom now. I mean, Lana would sooner go off her Atkins diet than hire my boyfriend's band. I mean, Lana hates my guts, and always has.

And I can't say the feeling isn't mutual.

What am I going to do NOW? I CAN'T miss the prom. I just CAN'T!!!!!!!!!

But I guess I don't have the biggest problems in the world. I mean, there are people with worse ones. Like Boris, for instance.

I got this email from him just now:

JoshBell2

Mia, I just wanted to say thanks for what you did for me today. I don't know why I behaved so stupidly. I guess I was just overcome with emotion. I love her so much! But it is clear to me now that we are not destined for one another, as I so long thought (erroneously, I realize at last). No, Lilly is like a wild mustang, born to run free. I see now
that no man — least of all someone like me — can ever hope to tame her.

Treasure what you have with Michael, Mia. It is a rare and beautiful thing, to love, and be loved in return.

Boris Pelkowski

PS My mother says she will get your sweater dry-cleaned so I can give it back to you at the end of this week. She says Star Cleaners think they can get the blood out without any permanent staining. B. P.

Poor Boris! Imagine thinking of Lilly as a wild mustang. Wild mushroom, maybe. But a mustang? I don't think so.

I figured I'd better check on how she was doing, since last time I'd seen her, Lilly'd been looking kind of green around the gills. I sent her a totally non-accusatory, completely friendly email, inquiring into her mental health after her ordeal earlier in the day.

You can imagine my outrage when this is what I got for my efforts:

WomynRule: Hey, P.O.G!

(Pog is the nickname Lilly decided to give me a few weeks ago. It stands for Princess of Genovia. I have asked her repeatedly not to use it but she persists, probably because I made the mistake of letting her know it bugs me.)

Whazzup? Missed you at tonight's SATWDOJPA press conference. Looks like we may actually get the hotel workers' union behind our cause. If we can get hotels 2 strike as well as the restaurant workers,

We'll bring the city 2 its knees! Finally, people will start realizing that service industry personnel are not to be messed with! The common man deserves to be paid a

living wage!

Wasn't that wild about Boris this afternoon? I have to say, it gave me quite a scare. I had no idea he was such a psycho. Then again, he IS a musician. I should have known. That was pretty cool the way you and Michael handled the situation, tho. You two were just like Dr. McCoy and Nurse Chappell. Though you'd probably prefer it if I said you were like Dr. Kovach and Nurse Abby. Which I guess you kind of were. Well, gtg. My mom wants me to put the dishes away.

Lil

PS Jangbu did the sweetest thing after the press conference tonight: he bought me a silk rose from a booth on Canal Street. Soooo romantic. Boris never did stuff like that.   L

I have to admit: I was shocked. Shocked by Lilly's cavalier dismissal of poor Boris's pain. Shocked by her whazzup and her reference to the original Star Trek, which if I'd used Lilly would have rebuked me for being passe, the original Star Trek hardly being on the cutting edge of pop culture. And REALLY shocked at her implication that all musicians are psychos. I mean, hello! Her brother Michael, MY BOYFRIEND, is a musician! And yes, we certainly have our problems, but not because he is in any way a psycho. In fact, if anything, my problems with Michael have to do with the fact that he, as a Capricorn, has his

feet planted TOO firmly on the ground, whereas I, a free-wheeling Taurus, want to bring a little more fun into our relationship.

I wrote back to her right away. I will admit I was so angry, my hands were shaking as I typed.

FtLouie

Lilly, it might interest you to know that Boris had to get two stitches AND a tetanus

shot because of what happened in G and T today. Furthermore, he might even have concussion. Perhaps you could tear yourself away from your tireless work on behalf of Jangbu, a guy YOU ONLY MET THREE DAYS AGO, and spare a little sympathy for your ex, whom you dated for EIGHT WHOLE MONTHS.

H

Lilly's response was almost instantaneous.

WomynRule

Excuse me, P.O.G., but I can't say I really appreciate your condescending tone. Kindly don't pull your Royal Highness act on me. I'm sorry if you don't happen to like Jangbu

or the work I am doing to help him and people like him. However, that does not mean I

need to be held hostage to my old relationship by the juvenile theatrics of a self-delusional narcissist like Boris. I did not make him pick up that globe and drop

it on his head. He made that choice all on his own. I would think you, as a faithful viewer of the Lifetime Movie Channel for Women, would recognize manipulative behaviour like Boris's as classic stalker stuff.

But then, maybe if you stopped watching so many movies, and actually tried living life

for a change, you might recognize this. You also might be writing something a little

bit more challenging for the school paper than the cafeteria beat.

I could tell she was feeling guilty over what she'd done to Boris by how thoroughly she attacked him. That I could ignore.

But her attack on my writing could not go unnoticed. I immediately fired back with:

FtLouie

Yeah, well, I may watch a lot of movies, but at least I don't go around with my face glued to a camera lens, the way you do. I prefer to WATCH movies not invent drama FOR the movies. Furthermore, I will have you know that Lesley Cho asked me to cover a hard news story for the paper just the other day.

This is what I just got in reply.

WomynRule

Yeah, a story I made possible. You are so weak. Go back to pining over the fact that

you have to spend your summer in a palace in Genovia (wah-wah-wah) and that my brother doesn't want to go to the prom with you, and leave the REAL problem-solving to people

like me, who are better equipped intellectually to handle it.

Well, that's the last straw. Lilly Moscovitz is no longer my best friend. I have taken all the abuse I can stand. I am thinking about writing back to her to tell her that.

But maybe that would be too childish, and not INTELLECTUAL enough.

Maybe I'll just ask Tina if she'll be my best friend from now on.

But no, that would be too childish, too. I mean, it's not like we're in third grade any more. We're practically women, like my mom said. Women like my mom don't go around declaring who is their best friend and who isn't. They just sort of ... know. Without saying anything about it. I don't know how, but they do. Maybe it is an oestrogen thing, or something.

Oh, my God, I have such a headache.

Monday, May 5, 11 p.m.

I almost burst into tears just now when I checked my email one last time before bed. That's because this is what I found there:

LinuxRulz

Mia, are you sure you aren't mad at me about something? Because you hardly said three words to me all day. Except during the whole Boris thing. Did I do something wrong?

Then another one, a second later:

LinuxRulz

Nevermind that last email. It was stupid. I know if I'd done something to upset you,