Forever Princess (19 page)

Wednesday, May 3, 4 p.m., limo on the way to
Grandmère's condo at the Plaza

Sebastiano has picked out a half dozen gowns from his latest collection for me to try on to wear to the prom, and I'm meeting him at Grandmère's to check them out.

I have a feeling they're going to be horrible, but I guess I shouldn't be so judgmental. I really liked the last formal gown of his that I wore (to the Nondenominational Winter Dance my freshman year. Can it really have been so long ago? It seems like yesterday). Just because Sebastiano's selling his stuff at Wal-Mart doesn't mean it's going to be awful.

Anyway, I've been writing and deleting texts to Michael the whole way up in the car. I've been trying them out on Lars. (He thinks I'm nuts, clearly. But then, what else is new?) It's really hard to capture just the right casually breezy, yet still warmly sincere tone.

Lars thinks I should go with this:

I do think this has just the right polite yet friendly tone. It's the sort of thing a girl who is promise-ringed to someone else could send and not have misinterpreted. Or have intercepted by the paparazzi and get herself into trouble.

I added the stuff about meeting in person because…well, it just seems like you should thank someone in person for a gift that cost over a million dollars. Not because I want to smell him again. No matter what Lars thinks (I really wish he wouldn't eavesdrop on all my conversations. But I guess that's one of the hazards of guarding someone).

I'm going to hit SEND before I chicken out.

Wednesday, May 3, 4:05 p.m., limo on the way to Grandmère's condo at the Plaza

Oh my God! Michael got the text and texted me back already! I'm freaking out. (Lars is laughing even harder at me but I don't care.)

Now what do I do????

Lars has no answer for me. Well, he does, but it's completely unreasonable. He's like, “Call him. Go out with him tonight.”

But I can't go out with him tonight! Because I've got A BOYFRIEND! Plus, I've got J.P.'s play tonight. I promised I'd be there to support him.

And I
want
to be there for J.P. Of course I do. It's just that—

What can Michael mean, his motives were entirely selfishly motivated? Does he mean what Lars says he thinks he means, that he only sent the CardioArm because he likes me?

And wants to get back together?

No. That's not possible. Lars has spent too much time in the desert sun, setting off explosives with Wahim. Why would Michael want to get back together with me, when I am so obviously a crazy person? I mean, when we were together last time, I went positively Britney on him. I can't imagine any boy would ever sign up for a second helping of that.

Even though, of course, like Dad said, I have grown up a lot since then….

And we did have a nice time at Caffe Dante. But that was just an interview.

Oh! But he did smell nice! I don't suppose he thought
I
smelled nice, too?

I've got to check with Tina…even though she's nuttier than I am, if you ask me.

But never mind about that. I'm forwarding his text to her…And, dang, we're at Grandmère's now, I've got to go endure trying on clothes for hours. Who has the patience for fashion when all THIS is going on?

Wednesday, May 3, 8:00 p.m., the Ethel
Lowenbaum Theater

It's really very hard to write in here since the lights are down and J.P.'s play is going on. I'm doing this, in fact, by the glow of my cell phone.

I know I shouldn't be writing in my journal at all—I should be paying attention to the play, since the senior project committee is here (and so are J.P.'s parents, as are all our friends who didn't stay home to study for finals), and I should be trying to look like I support J.P., and all.

But I just have to write more about Michael's e-mail.

Because, of course, I couldn't keep it to myself. I
had
to show everyone at Grandmère's.

Grandmère said it just proves that Michael harbors
une grande passion
for me. She says a million-dollar piece of medical equipment as a gift isn't quite as romantic as a three-carat diamond and platinum promise ring.

“But,” she went on, “the fact that Michael donated it without your having asked for it is rather extraordinary. I'm starting to wonder if I wasn't wrong about That Boy after all.”

!!!!!!

Honestly, I nearly fainted on the spot. I have NEVER heard Grandmère say she was wrong about ANYTHING!!!!!

Well, hardly ever.

Anyway, this was such a startling thing to hear coming from Grandmère's lips that I nearly tumbled off the stool Sebastiano had me standing on while he stuck pins into the gown I was modeling. He said, “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” and asked
me if I wanted to be stuck all over like a porcupine.

Only, of course, Sebastiano still hasn't grasped the basics of the English language, so he just called it a “porc.”

“G-Grandmère,” I stammered. “What are you saying? Sh-should I give Michael another chance? Should I give J.P. his ring back?”

I swear my heart was slamming so hard inside my chest, I felt like I could hardly breathe as I waited for her reply. Which is weird because it's not like I particularly VALUE advice from Grandmère, as she is, in fact, a certified lunatic.

“Well,” Grandmère said, looking thoughtful. “It is a terribly
large
ring. On the other hand, it's a terribly expensive piece of medical equipment. But you can't
wear
a robotic surgical arm.”

See what I mean?

“I know what you should do, Amelia,” Grandmère said, brightening. “Sleep with both of them, and whichever young man performs better in the boudoir, that's the one you keep. That's what I did with Baryshnikov and Godunov. Such lovely boys. And so flexible.”

“Grandmère!” I was shocked. I mean, seriously: How evil is she? How could we even be of the same bloodline?

Honestly, I don't consider myself a prude. But I think you should at least be
in love
with someone before you do
that
with them (something I have tried unsuccessfully to impress upon Lana. Oh, and my grandmother).

Anyway, I told her not to be stupid, that I'm not sleeping with anybody. Mia Thermopolis's Big Fat Lie Number Nine.

But what
am
I going to do? I've gotten a confirmation e-mail back from Tina. (She's here tonight with Boris. But, of course, we can't
talk
about it. Not with J.P. around. Oh, and Boris.)

She thinks Michael's note meant what Grandmère thinks it did (but who even counts what Grandmère thinks, as she's clearly unhinged): Michael really did send the CardioArm for me. ME!

Tina says I've got to write him back and truly make some kind of arrangement to see him in person. Because, as she just texted from
her
seat:

You can't leave Michael hanging. He
could
just be flirting with you…but I doubt it. He went to a lot of trouble to send that CardioArm…not to mention Micromini Midori along with it.

And the only way to find out what's really going on with him is to see him in person. You'll know when you look him in the eye whether he's playing or for real.

This is serious, Mia: You could find yourself TORN BETWEEN TWO LOVERS!!!!

I know you're probably really upset about this, but is it wrong that I for one find it VERY VERY EXCITING????? Okay, I'm sorry, I'll stop bouncing up and down in my seat. Someone in the next row just shot me a very annoyed look, and Boris wants me to pay attention to the play now.

I'm glad someone's happy about it, but I personally am not. I honestly don't know how it happened. How could I, Mia Thermopolis, go from being the most boring person on the planet (except for the princess thing), who has basically never left her house for the past year and a half because she was always working on her senior project, a history on Genovian olive oil pressing, circa 1254–1650 (and, okay, it was really a historical romance novel, but so what?), to a girl who is being sought after by two highly desirable men?

Really, how????

And, according to my best friend, what I'm supposed to do about it is arrange to meet the one to whom I am not engaged-to-be-engaged….

But how can I arrange to meet Michael now, knowing my weakness for him—especially the smell of his neck—when he might possibly
like
me—enough to send my country a CardioArm (and someone to teach our surgeons how to use it)?

I can't do that to J.P. J.P. has his faults (I still can't believe he hasn't read my book), but he's never met his exes behind my back (not that he has any exes, besides Lilly). He's never
lied
to me.

And admittedly, I don't think that whole Judith Gershner thing is as big a deal now as I used to, considering it all happened before Michael and I ever went out. I never did flat out ask Michael if he'd ever been with anybody else before me, so, technically, it's not like he actually lied.

But there is no denying the fact that that was an important piece of information that he really ought to have shared with me. People in romantic relationships really are supposed to share their sexual history with each other. Their
complete
sexual history.

Although I guess he
did
share it with me. Eventually.

And I behaved with about as much maturity as a five-year-old. Just like he knew I would.

Oh, God! I'm so confused. I don't know what to do! I need to talk this all out with someone sane—someone who is
not
related to me (see previous statement re: someone sane) or who I go to school with.

Which just leaves Dr. Knutz, I think, unfortunately.

But I'm not seeing him until Friday for what will be our last appointment ever. So.

LUCKY ME!!!! I get to sit around and try to figure out what the right thing to do is on my own until then.

I guess this is how people who are eighteen and soon-to-be high school graduates deal with things.

(You know, there's someone in this audience who looks so familiar and I've been sitting here trying to figure out who it is all night and it finally just hit me: It's Sean Penn.

No wonder J.P. was acting so nervous before.

Sean Penn
, his favorite director, is here in the audience for the big performance of his play,
A Prince Among Men
. J.P. must have told him about the show when they were talking on the boat at my birthday party. Either that, or Stacey did, since she's been in one of Sean Penn's movies before.

That's awfully nice of Mr. Penn to come.)

Anyway. I know I've got to text Michael back. After all, I'm the one who said I wanted to meet him in person. I just left him hanging after that last text when he said that nice thing about how he did it for me and not my dad or Genovia.

But I don't know what to say, exactly!
I can't tonight
seems obvious since it's after eight already.

On the other hand, people who've graduated from high school stay out really late, so maybe this wouldn't seem obvious to him.

But Tina's right. I do have to see him.

How about:

Hi, Michael! Tonight won't work (obviously), and tomorrow night is Boris's senior project (his concert at Carnegie Hall). Friday is Senior Skip Day. Are you free for lunch on Friday? Mia

Lunch is good, right? Lunch isn't sexy or anything. You can have lunch and still just be friends. Friends of the opposite sex have lunch all the time and there's nothing in the least romantic about it.

There. I sent it.

I think that was a good text. I didn't say
Love, Mia
or anything like that. I didn't get into the stuff about how he gave the CardioArm to Genovia because of me and not my dad. I was just breezy and casual, and—

Oh my God, he wrote back. Already!

The Boathouse! Friends don't have lunch at the Boathouse. Well, I mean, they do, but…it's not casual or breezy. You have to have reservations to get a table, and the lakeside restaurant is sort of…romantic. Even at lunchtime.

And he signed it
LOVE, MICHAEL
! Again! Why does he keep SAYING that?

Oh—everyone is clapping….

Ack! Is it intermission already?

Wednesday, May 3, 10:00 p.m., the Ethel
Lowenbaum Theater

Okay.

Okay, so J.P.'s play is about a character named J.R., who's pretty much exactly like J.P. I mean, he's a handsome, wealthy boy (played by Andrew Lowenstein), who goes to a fancy New York City prep school, which also just happens to be attended by the princess of a small European principality. At the beginning of the play, J.R. is very lonely, because his only hobbies include throwing bottles off the rooftop of his apartment building, writing in his journal, and picking corn out of the chili the lunch ladies in his school cafeteria serve him. This makes his relationship with his self-centered parents very rocky, and he is teetering on the brink of wanting to move to Florida to live with his grandparents.

But then one day the princess, Rhea (played by Stacey Cheeseman, who wears a blue plaid school uniform skirt in the play that, by the way, is much shorter than I've ever worn any of mine), goes up to J.R. in the caf and actually asks him to sit with her at lunch, and J.R.'s whole life changes. Suddenly, he starts listening to his shrink about not throwing bottles off the top of his apartment building, and his relationship with his parents improves, and he stops wanting to move to Florida. Soon, it's all about the beautiful princess, who falls in love with J.R., because of his wit and kindness.

I could tell that the play was about me and J.P. He had changed our names (barely), and a little bit of the details,
but who else could it be about?

The thing was, I'm used to people making movies based on my life, and with them taking little liberties with the facts about that life.

But the people who made those movies don't know me! They weren't there when the things they were showing actually happened.

But J.P. was. The things he had Andrew and Stacey saying in his play…I mean, they're things J.P. and I have actually said to each other…and J.P. has the actors in his play saying them completely out of context!

For instance, there is a scene where Princess Rhea drinks a beer and does a sexy dance and totally embarrasses herself in front of her ex-boyfriend.

Which, okay, totally happened.

But shouldn't that be something that stays private between a boyfriend and a girlfriend? Did J.P.
have
to go and share that with everyone we know (even if everyone we know pretty much already knows about it)?

And J.P. has J.R. nobly standing by the princess's side and supporting her (despite the sexy dancing, which I guess is supposed to make everyone hate her and think she's such a slut and all). Right now there's a scene going on where Stacey Cheeseman is tearfully explaining to Andrew Lowenstein that she could understand it if he didn't want to be with her, because he'll never be able to have a normal life with her, what with all the beer swilling and sexy dancing and the fact that there'll always be paparazzi chasing them around. And then if they were ever to get married (!!!!), of course he'll have to become a prince, and lose all
his anonymity, and as royal consort, he'll always have to walk five feet behind her and never be allowed to drive race cars.

But Andrew Lowenstein is saying, in a very patient voice as he holds Stacey Cheeseman's hand and looks lovingly into her eyes, that he doesn't care, he just loves her so much, he'd be willing to suffer any indignity for her, even her sexy dancing and his having to become a prince….

Oh, and now everyone is clapping like crazy as the curtain falls, and J.P. is joining the cast as they come out to take their bows….

I just…I just don't get it. I mean…his play is about
us
.

Only not really. Half the stuff in it didn't even technically happen the way he has it happening.

Can you
do
that?

I guess so. He just did.