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“Not without references,” I pointed out.
“So he can go back to his native land,” Grandmère said. “I’m sure his parents miss him.”
“Grandmère, he’s from Nepal, 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,” Grandmère said loftily. “Tell me the ten different courses traditionally served at a royal Genovian wedding.”
“Grandmère!”
“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 Grandmère 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 poring over back issues of The Atom , trying to figure out who was head of the prom committee, so I could e-mail 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 Zone 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 e-mail 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 each other, 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
P.S.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 e-mail, 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.)
Whazzap? Missed you at tonight’s SATWDOJPA press conference. Looks like we may actually get the hotel 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 trifled 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 Chapel. Though you’d probably prefer it if I said you were like Dr. Kovac and Nurse Abby. Which I guess you kind of were.
