Princess on the Brink (11 page)

It’s getting harder and harder to find Grandmère for my princess lessons these days. We finally tracked her down in the penthouse of the Four Seasons, but when I walked in, it was bedlam, as usual.

“These curtains are unacceptable,” Grandmère was saying to a man in a business suit whose gold nametag read Jonathan Greer.

“I’ll have them replaced immediately, madam,” Jonathan Greer said.

Grandmère looked kind of surprised that he wasn’t arguing. She said, “A floral print. NOT stripes.”

“Absolutely, madam,” Jonathan Greer said. “They’ll be replaced with floral patterned curtains at once.”

Grandmère gave him a startled look. She was clearly used to more resistance from the hotel concierges she’s been dealing with lately.

“And I cannot abide leather furniture,” she said, pointing to a very nice club chair in the corner. “It’s far too slippery, and Rommel dislikes it. The smell makes him nervous. He was kicked in the head by a cow once.”

“I’ll have the chair re-covered at once, madam,” the concierge said. He caught my eye, and nodded politely in my direction. But then he turned back to Grandmère. “Perhaps in the same material as the curtains?”

Grandmère looked even more taken aback. “Why, yes…yes, that would be acceptable.”

“And would Your Highness care for tea,” Jonathan Greer wanted to know, “as I see your granddaughter has arrived?
Service for two can be brought immediately. Finger sandwiches or scones or both?”

Grandmère looked like she might pass out, she was so astonished. “Both, of course,” she said. “And Earl Grey tea.”

“Absolutely,” Jonathan Greer said, as if there were no other kind. “And perhaps a cocktail for you, Your Highness? I believe a Sidecar—served in a stemmed cocktail glass, no sugar on the rim—is your preference?”

Grandmère had to sit down. She did it gracefully—well, except for the part where she almost sat on Rommel. But he got out of the way in the nick of time. It’s not like he hasn’t had plenty of practice.

“That would be lovely,” she said faintly.

“Anything that we can do to make your stay in the Royal Suite more pleasurable, Your Highness,” Jonathan Greer said, with a bow. “You need only call.”

And with that, he stepped smartly out of the room and into the hallway—where I saw my dad, out of Grandmère’s sight, slip the guy a folded-up bill and murmur his thanks.

Wow. My dad can be slick sometimes.

“So,” he said to Grandmère, as he strolled back into the room. “What do you think? Does this place meet with your approval?”

“It’s called the Royal Suite,” Grandmère said, still a bit faintly.

“Indeed it is,” my dad said. “Three bedrooms of luxury for you, Rommel, and your maid. I hope you approve. Look…there’s even an ashtray.”

Grandmère blinked at the crystal bowl he held up. “There
are roses,” she said. “Pink and white. In vases everywhere.”

“Well, look at that,” Dad said. “So there are. Do you think you can stand to live here until your condo at the Plaza is completed?”

Grandmère rallied herself. “I suppose it will be
tolerable
,” she said. “Though hardly what I’m used to.”

“Of course not,” Dad said. “But sometimes in life we must suffer. Mia. How are you?”

I jumped away from the window, which I’d been looking out of. We were on the thirty-second floor, and I have to say that the view, while beautiful, wasn’t doing much for the vomity feeling I was kind of pushing down.

I didn’t just feel like throwing up, either. There was fluttering going on in my stomach. It was like there was one of those hummingbirds, that sometimes hover around outside my window back in Genovia, trapped inside my abdomen.

I’m sure this was just nervous anticipation of the ecstasy I am bound to experience tonight in Michael’s arms.

“I’m fine,” I said to my dad. Too fast, though, since he gave me a strange look.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You look…pale.”

“I’m good,” I said. “Just, um, ready for today’s princess lesson!”

My dad gave me an even STRANGER look at that. I have NEVER been ready for a princess lesson. EVER.

“Oh, Amelia,” Grandmère groaned, from her couch. “I haven’t the time or patience today. Jeanne and I have so much unpacking to do.” Which translates from Grandmère speak to
My maid, Jeanne, has to unpack while I, the dowager princess, boss her around.
“I need to get settled before I can
think of more things to teach you. This constant moving about has been VERY unsettling. Not just for me, but for Rommel, as well.”

We all looked at Rommel, who had curled into a ball at the end of the couch and was snoring fitfully, while he dreamed of being far, far away from Grandmère.

“Well, Mother,” Dad said. “Now that you have Mr. Greer looking after you, I feel as if I can leave you for a bit—”

Grandmère just snorted. “Which lucky Victoria’s Secret lingerie model is it tonight, Phillipe?” she wanted to know. Then, before he could even answer, she went on to say, “Amelia, all of this rushing around town has wreaked havoc on my pores. I’m going to have a facial. Princess lessons are canceled for the day.”

“Um,” I said. “Okay, Grandmère.” It was really hard to hide my relief. I have a LOT of shaving to do.

Hmmm, I wonder if she knows this, and that’s WHY she’s letting me go home early?

But no, that’s not possible. Not even GRANDMÈRE could actually WANT me to have premarital sex.

I mean. Could she? Why else would she have—

No. Not even Grandmère could be that calculating.

Okay, so I’m here. I’m shaved and exfoliated and conditioned and the sponges are secured in my backpack and I think I’m ready.

I mean, aside from the throwing-up feeling, which still hasn’t gone away.

Everything is
crazy
here. Michael is packing to leave, and his mother seems to think they don’t actually have things like shampoo and toilet paper in Japan. She keeps slipping that kind of stuff into his suitcase. She and Maya, the Moscovitzes’ housekeeper, went to Sam’s Club in New Jersey and bought a year’s supply of stuff like family-size containers of Tums for him to take with him.

He’s like, “Mom, I’m sure they have Tums in Japan. Or something similar. I do not need a family-size container of them. Or this giant vat of Listerine mouthwash.”

But Dr. Moscovitz doesn’t care, she just keeps putting them back in his suitcase every time Michael takes them out.

It’s kind of sad. I mean, I know how Dr. Moscovitz feels. She just wants to have SOME feeling of control in a world that is rapidly spinning into chaos. And apparently making sure her son has enough antacid to last him until the next millennium helps Michael’s mother feel more in control.

I wish I could tell her she has nothing to worry about, since Michael won’t be going to Japan after all. But I can’t really let HER in on my plan before I let MICHAEL in on it.

Anyway, I already told him we’re going to be sneaking
out. He doesn’t like it—he’s always afraid of getting on my dad’s bad side, which I can understand might be a concern to anyone, seeing as how my dad has command of an elite security task force—but I can tell he’s intrigued. He was like, “Okay. Let me just find my jacket. I know it’s in my room…somewhere.”

Little does he know he’s not going to need his jacket.

Lilly just came out of her room with her video camera and said, “Oh, good, POG, I’m glad you’re here. Quick—what are some ways you’d reduce climate-heating pollution so that we don’t experience a climatic disaster equivalent to the ones portrayed in
The Day After Tomorrow
and
Category 6
? I mean, if you ruled the world, and not just Genovia.”

“Lilly,” I said. “I am not in the mood to be on your TV show right now.”

“This isn’t for
Lilly Tells It Like It Is
, it’s for the campaign. Come on, quick. Pretend you’re addressing the Genovian parliament.”

I sighed. “Fine. Well, instead of spending three hundred billion dollars a year extracting and refining fossil fuels, I’d urge world leaders to spend that money developing alternative clean energy resources, like solar, wind, and biofuels.”

“Good,” Lilly said. “What else?”

“Is this part of your scare-the-freshmen-into-voting-for-me thing?” I asked. “Because I’m such a worrywart, I’ve already researched what to do in the event of most disasters??”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’d help developing nations, which are the ones causing
the most pollution, switch over to clean energy resources, too. And require automakers to manufacture only gas-electric hybrid cars, and buy back everyone’s SUV, and provide tax breaks to consumers and businesses that switch from fossil fuel burning to solar or wind power.”

“Awesome. Why do you look so funny?”

I put a hand up to my face. I’d been extra careful with my makeup, because Michael would be seeing it extra up close. I didn’t want it to look like I was wearing any. Boys like the natural look. Well, boys like Michael, anyway.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Funny how?” Was I getting a zit? That would be just my luck.

“No. You just look really nervous. Like you’re going to throw up.”

“Oh.” Thank God it wasn’t a zit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“POG.” Lilly lowered the camera and stared at me curiously. “What’s going on? What are you up to? What are you and Michael doing tonight, anyway? He said you had some kind of surprise for him.”

Thank God Michael just came out from his room, carrying his jean jacket and going, “Sorry, I’m ready now.”

I wish I could say the same.

Have to write fast—Michael is tipping the room service guy. Everything is going perfectly…we got out of the building without anyone suspecting a thing. Michael thinks we’re just having a romantic good-bye dinner for two in my grandmother’s abandoned hotel suite (which, thank God, they’ve cleaned since she left. I don’t think I could go through with this if the place still reeked of Chanel No. 5, as most rooms tend to after Grandmère’s been there). He doesn’t know I’m about to make him the recipient of my Precious Gift.

Ooooh, he’s coming back. I will drop the bomb after dinner…the sex bomb, I mean.

Hey, isn’t that the name of a song?

I can’t believe he—

Oh my God, how am I even going to write this down? I can’t even THINK it, how can I WRITE it???? I really can’t even SEE to write it, the light in here is so bad. I can only see the page when we’re stopped in traffic under a streetlamp.

But since Ephrain Kleinschmidt—that’s my cab driver’s name, according to his license in the bulletproof screen between him and me—took Fifth Avenue and not Park, like I asked, we are stopped in traffic A LOT.

Which is good. No, really, it’s GOOD. Since I guess it means I can hopefully get all my crying out of my system before we get to the loft, so I don’t have to face the Big Interrogation from Mom and Mr. G when I walk in looking like Kirsten Dunst after the hot tub scene from
Crazy/Beautiful
. You know. Crying hysterically and all.

The crying is really freaking Ephrain Kleinschmidt out. I guess he’s never had a sobbing sixteen-year-old princess in his cab before. He keeps on looking back here in his rearview mirror and trying to hand me Kleenexes from the box on his dashboard.

As if Kleenex is going to help!!!!!

The only thing that’s going to help is getting this down in some kind of lucid manner to help me make sense of it. Because it
makes no sense. None
of this makes any sense. It CAN’T be happening. It CAN’T.

Except that it is.

I just don’t understand how he could never have TOLD me. I mean, seriously, I thought we had a perfect relationship.

Okay, maybe not PERFECT because no one has a PERFECT relationship. I will admit the computer stuff really, really bored me.

But at least he KNEW that, and didn’t bore me with it. That much.

And I know the princess lessons stuff really bored him, too. I mean, the stuff about who to curtsy to when, and all. So I tried to spare him, too.

But other than that, I thought we had a good relationship. An OPEN relationship. A relationship where we could TELL each other things, and didn’t have any secrets.

I had no idea Michael has been keeping something like this from me the WHOLE TIME we’ve been going out.

And his excuse—that I never asked—is BOGUS. I’m sorry, but that is just—OH MY GOD, EPHRAIN KLEINSCHMIDT, NO I DO NOT WANT ANY KLEENEX—stupid. You don’t NOT tell your girlfriend something like that, even if she never asked, because she just ASSUMED….

Although I should have known. I mean, what was I THINKING???? Michael is way too hot not to have—

Okay. Lucid. Right.

Everything was going great. At least, I THOUGHT everything was going great. The throw-up feeling had even gone away. It’s true I couldn’t eat very much—I ordered the bluefin tuna two ways with artichoke salad with fava beans and scallions and Parmesan shavings for me, and the chicken
à la moutarde, fresh peas, cipollini onions, baby carrots, and pea “cappuccino” sauce for Michael, plus milk chocolate mousse to share for dessert. I was kind of worried about the scallions but I had a Listerine Pocket Pak in my bag—because I was so nervous about what I knew I was about to do.

But just BEING with Michael and in the vicinity of his neck and therefore his pheromones calmed me down so much that by the time we got to the mousse, I felt like I really could go through with it.

So I went, summoning all my courage, “Michael, remember that time my mom and Mr. G went to Indiana and I got to stay in that hotel room at the Plaza and I invited Lilly and Tina and everyone to stay there with me, and not you, and you got so mad?”

“I didn’t get mad,” Michael pointed out.

“Yeah, but you were disappointed I didn’t invite YOU to stay in it with me.”

“That,” Michael said, “is true.”

“Well, so, I have this hotel suite to myself now,” I said. “And I invited you, and not Lilly and those guys.”

“You know,” Michael said, smiling. “I’d sort of noticed that. But I didn’t want to say anything, in case the girls were coming by after dinner.”

“Why would the girls come by after dinner?”

“That was a joke. I sort of figured they weren’t. But with you it’s kind of hard to predict sometimes.”

“Oh. Well, the thing is—” And it was SOOO hard for me to say this, but I HAD to do it. What’s more, I WANTED to do it. I mean, I genuinely and truly felt like
I was ready to Do It. “I know I said I wanted to wait until my senior prom for us to have sex. But I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I really think I’m ready now. Tonight.”

Michael didn’t look as shocked as I thought he would. I think mostly because we were already eating dinner by ourselves in a hotel room. Now that I think of it, all of that might have been a bit of a giveaway.

Then he said something that completely freaked me out (I didn’t know then that it was just the FIRST of MANY things Michael was going to say that would totally freak me out): “Mia,” he said. “Are you sure about this? Because you were pretty firm on the whole prom night thing, and I don’t want you changing your mind just because I’m going away for a while and you’re afraid I might, er, hook up with a geisha girl, like you mentioned before.”

!!!!!!!!!!

Obviously, I was like, “Um…what?”

Because, let’s face it: Michael has been quite vocal in his desire for—well, me—over the past year. And the fact that he was even QUESTIONING my offer had me reeling.

Not to mention the part where he hadn’t yet thrown me down on the bed and declared that he definitely wouldn’t be going to Japan now.

“I know,” he said, looking as if he were in actual physical pain. “It’s just that…well, I don’t want this to happen for the wrong reasons. Like because you think if we do this, I’m going to change my mind about going, or something.”

So then I just sat there blinking at him, because…
well, because I couldn’t believe this was happening!!!! I mean, that he was so completely willing to Do It, and then take off anyway!!!!!! It was quite clear that he believed, as Tina had, initially, that I was only offering to make sweet tender love with him so he’d have a beautiful memory to carry with him as he headed halfway across the world in order to prove himself worthy of me.

Which, excuse me, but—NO. WAY.

“Um,” I said. Because I was so confused. “No. That is not why I changed my mind about prom night. That is SO not why.”

“Really.” Michael TOTALLY looked as if he didn’t believe me. “So if we make love tonight, you are not going to be mad when I leave for Japan tomorrow?”

“No,” I said. I was sure my nostrils were flaring like crazy because I was telling such a whopper. But I hoped the lights were low enough that he wouldn’t notice. “But, I mean…I guess I have to say I’m kind of surprised you’d still WANT to go. Considering, you know. It’s sex. With me. On what could be a regular basis.”

“Mia,” Michael said. “I keep telling you—part of the reason I’m going is for US. So people like your grandmother will stop asking, ‘Why is she with HIM? She’s a princess, and he’s just some random guy she went to high school with.’”

“I understand,” I said. I was trying to be way mature, but I have to admit, I felt like crying. It wasn’t just that he’d said he would still go to Japan even if we Did It. It was that…well, I sort of had the feeling we weren’t actually going to Do It after all now, because truthfully the mood
was kind of spoiled, and I was actually disappointed.

I guess I
had
been kind of looking forward to it. Throw-up feeling aside.

“I know that you feel like you have to prove you’re worthy of me, and all that,” I went on, hardly even knowing what I was saying, I was trying so hard to salvage the situation. Because I thought MAYBE there was a chance, that if we actually went ahead and Did It after all, he’d change his mind afterward. I mean, what if it was just that he didn’t yet know what he was missing? “And I know your robotic surgical arm is important. But I think WE’RE more important. OUR LOVE is more important. And I think giving each other the Precious Gift of our virginity would be the most powerful expression of our love ever.”

And Michael went, “The precious WHAT?”

That is the thing about boys. They just don’t KNOW anything. I mean, they know about Halo and HTML and robotic surgical arms, but important stuff? Not so much.

“The Precious Gift of our virginity,” I repeated. “I think we should give it to each other. Now. Tonight.”

And then Michael said the thing that COMPLETELY and TOTALLY freaked me out. The other stuff—about how he planned on going to Japan tomorrow regardless of whether or not we had sex—was NOTHING compared to what Michael said next. Which was:

“Mia.” He looked at me like I was nuts. “I gave my—what’d you call it? Oh, yeah, my Precious Gift—away a long time ago.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At first I just figured I had misunderstood him. I mean, because he was LAUGHING as he said it, like it was no big deal. Surely no one would LAUGH as they said they’d given away their Precious Gift. No one who meant it SERIOUSLY.

But when I just looked at him, Michael stopped laughing and went, “Wait. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

And this horrible cold feeling crept over me.

“Michael,” I said. It was as if someone had lowered the air-conditioning in the room about ten degrees all of a sudden. “Are you not a virgin?”

And he went, “No, of course not. You know that.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To which, of course, I replied, “NO, I DID NOT KNOW THAT!” and “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

And Michael actually started to look alarmed. I guess because I yelled it so loud. But I didn’t care. Because

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Well,” he said. “I guess we never actually TALKED about it, but I didn’t think it was a big deal—”

“YOU HAVE HAD SEX BEFORE, AND YOU DIDN’T THINK THAT WAS A BIG DEAL??? A BIG ENOUGH DEAL TO TELL YOUR GIRLFRIEND????”

Seriously, I know it sounds lame, but I was about to cry. Because—his Precious Gift! And he had given it to someone else! And never even thought it was a big enough deal to tell me about it!

“It was before you and I even started going out,” Michael said. He looked totally panicky now. Not that I cared. “I didn’t think—I mean, it was so long ago—”

“WHO?” I couldn’t stop yelling. I wanted to. I knew I wasn’t being cool. I’m sure this wasn’t how Tina acted when Boris tearfully confessed about Lilly having Touched It.

But I genuinely couldn’t help myself. “WHO WAS IT?”

“Who’d I have sex with?” Michael kept blinking. “I don’t think I want to tell you. You might try to kill her or something. Your eyes are actually spinning around in their sockets a little bit right now.”

“WHO WAS IT??????”

“God, it was Judith, okay?” Michael had stopped looking scared. Now he just looked annoyed. “What is WITH you? It didn’t mean anything, we were just messing around. It was before I even knew you liked me, so what do you care?”

“Judith?” So many thoughts were colliding into one another inside my head, it was like the inside of my brain had turned into a giant demolition derby. “Judith GERSHNER???? YOU HAD SEX WITH JUDITH
GERSHNER???? YOU SAID YOU WERE JUST FRIENDS!!!!!!”

“We were!” Michael had stood up. So had I. We were standing across the room from each other, yelling. At least, I was yelling. Michael was just talking. “But we were friends who mess around a little.”

“You told me you weren’t going out with her! You told me she had a boyfriend!”

“I wasn’t,” he insisted. “And she did! But…”

“But WHAT?”

“But.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. We were just messing around. I TOLD YOU.”

“Oh, REALLY?” I couldn’t believe this. I could not believe that Michael and Judith Gershner had—had—I mean, I’ve HUNG OUT with Judith Gershner. Well, not HUNG OUT with her, necessarily. But TALKED to her.

And the whole time, I’d never had the slightest idea that SHE had had carnal knowledge of my boyfriend. SHE had been the recipient of his Precious Gift. Not me. NEVER ME.

Because once you’ve given your gift away, you can’t take it back and give it to someone else you might happen to like better, or even love. No. It says so right in Tina’s book. It is GONE.

GONE.

“Did JUDITH feel that way?” I heard myself yelling. “Did JUDITH think the two of you were just messing around? Or was she in love with you? Did she know she was giving you her Precious Gift just so you could turn
around and start dating me?”

“First of all,” Michael said, “if you don’t stop saying
Precious Gift
, I’m going to hurl. Second of all, I told you, we were just messing around. Judith wasn’t in love with me and I wasn’t in love with her. I wasn’t even her first, for crying out loud!”

I felt myself blanch. “OH MY GOD. Did you use protection? What if she GAVE YOU SOMETHING?”

“She didn’t give me anything! Of course I used protection! I don’t understand what the big deal is. It’s not like I cheated on you. This was before you even sent me those anonymous love poems. I didn’t have the slightest idea you liked me. If I’d known—”

“If you’d known WHAT?” I demanded. “You wouldn’t have given your Precious Gift to Judith?”

“I told you not to call it that. But, yes, basically.”

“So it’s MY fault?” I shrieked. “It’s my fault you lost your virginity to someone other than me, because I was SHY????”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You could have told me you liked me, you know, instead of sleeping with JUDITH GERSHNER!”

“What would have been the point?” Michael demanded. “You were going out with Kenny Showalter at the time, if I recall.”

I gasped. “BUT I DIDN’T LIKE HIM!”

“How was I supposed to know that? You claim you didn’t like Josh Richter, either, but you certainly acted like you did.”

I gasped even louder. JOSH RICHTER? He had the nerve to bring up JOSH RICHTER? TO MY FACE?

“You certainly hung out with Kenny enough,” Michael went on. “I mean, for a guy you claim not to have liked. Which is fine—I don’t care, because you came to your senses in the end. But don’t get mad at me because you took your sweet time about admitting you liked me, and I didn’t wait around for you.”