Meg Cabot - Every Boy’s Got One

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Now who’s stating an opinion for which she has no factual basis?

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Um, hello, any MORON can tell you that marrying a model you’ve known for a month is stupid. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Has anyone ever told you, Ms. Harris, that your tactlessness is astounding?

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

ME??? I’m not the tactless one, Mr. There’s No Such Thing as Romantic Love. Holly and Mark are in their thirties, not their twenties, and they’ve lived together for over two years. They are NOT making the same mistake you did. They are consenting adults—neither working in the modeling industry—who are in love. End of story.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Perhaps we should discuss this face-to-face. My persuasive powers are at a disadvantage on handheld portable devices.

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

No way! I don’t want Holly getting wind of the fact that you aren’t one hundred percent behind this wedding thing. She’s freaking out enough about her family not being behind the idea. If she finds out the best man’s against it too, she’ll die.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

I meant sometime when Holly and Mark were not with us.

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Well, I don’t see when that’s going to happen.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

You don’t anticipate that, during the next seven days we will be spending together, there will be a time when we will be alone together?

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

God, I hope not. I mean, no, I don’t. Let’s just keep this conversation on paper. Or email. Or whatever. I don’t want Holly getting wind of it. I—

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine

Jane Harris

Well, THAT was totally humiliating. Holly’s cell phone went off right when I was about to rewrite that last message to Cal, and I accidentally pushed Send.

Then Holly asked me to answer her cell phone, since she was concentrating on driving, and her purse was in the back-seat anyway with me and Mark (Cal, of course, got the front seat, since he’s so TALL) and the phone was ringing.

And so I answered it, and this weird old lady was all, “Hellooo? Hellooo-ooo?” and I was all, “Holly Caputo’s line,” and the old lady was like, “Vat? Vat?” with this German accent, and I was like, “Holly, there’s a German lady on the line.”

And Holly went, “Oh, that’s Frau Schumacher, my uncle’s housekeeper. She’s meeting us at the exit to take us to the house since I haven’t been there since I was little and I don’t remember the way, and she says it’s too hard to explain. Tell her we’re on our way.”

So I went, “Oh. OK. Hello, Frau Schumacher?”

And Frau Schumacher was all, “Helloooo, Holly?”

“No, this is Holly’s friend, Jane,” I said. “Holly can’t talk now because she’s driving. But she said to tell you we’re on our way.”

“Vere are you?” Frau Schumacher wanted to know.

So, to be helpful, I looked out the car window, and saw one of those green-and-white signs that let you know the name of the next city that’s coming up.

“We’re just outside Carabinieri,” I said.

Which made Cal start laughing VERY VERY hard. Even though to my knowledge, I hadn’t said anything funny.

“Vat?” Frau Schumacher sounded confused. But it was hard to tell with all the LAUGHING in the car.

“Vere are you?”

“We just passed Carabinieri,” I said into the phone. Now Holly was laughing, too. I leaned forward and swatted her, while Mark asked, confusedly, “What’s so funny?”

“Jane,” Holly choked, between chortles. “Carabinieri isn’t the name of a town . It means police. We drove by a police station just then.”

Really, I don’t see what’s so funny about that. I mean, how am I supposed to know what carabinieri means? I’ve only just gotten down si—yes—andgrazie —thank you. I’m still trying to keepbuon giorno — good day—andbuona sera —good night—straight… not to mention Non ho votato per lui (I didn’t vote for him) in the event of any rampant anti-Americanism that might rear its ugly head.

“Vere are the carabinieri?” Frau Shumacher wanted to know, sounding panicky. “Zey are following you?”

“No, no,” I said, into the phone. “Sorry. No, I made a mistake.”

“Zey zink zey own the roads, the carabinieri!” Frau Schumacher shouted. “In Germany, the polizia, zey know zeir place!”

“No, no carabinieri,” I said. “There isn’t any carabinieri… I made a mistake…”

“Give me that.” Suddenly, the Modelizer was leaning over, trying to snatch the phone from me.

“I’ve GOT it,” I said, outraged, and yanking the phone out of his reach.

“You guys,” Holly yelled, jerking the wheel.

“I told you you don’t know how to drive a stick,” Mark said, as Holly’s suitcase landed on him.

Then, because of the knowing look Cal threw me—as if, just because Mark was criticizing Holly’s driving, they weren’t destined for each other—I tossed the phone at him.

“Here, you big baby,” I said—probably sounding like a baby myself. But I don’t care.

Cal picked up the phone and began talking to Holly’s uncle’s housekeeper in smooth, fluent German. While the two of them were yakking away, I poked Holly in the shoulder and asked, “Why does your uncle have a German housekeeper in Italy, anyway?”

“How should I know?” We were almost out of the mountains now, but Holly was still paying rapt attention to the road. “She’s just lived in the cottage next door forever, so Uncle Matteo made her his housekeeper.”

This was a very unsatisfactory explanation.

About as unsatisfying as that email conversation with Cal. Just who does he think he is, anyway, presuming to tell me MY friend isn’t worthy of his? And what did he mean by wanting to talk about this face-to-face? Is he high? I am never letting myself be alone in the same room with him. He might try to work his Large Appendage magic on me! Just like Curt Shipley used to! Girls—and, I know now, boys too—were powerless when Curt Shipley had them in his sights. It could be the same with Cal Langdon! Men who are supremely confident in the size of their own you know what do seem to exude a certain something….

Although, really, he’s so pompous, I can’t actually see myself falling for him, Large Appendage magic or not.

He is kind of hot, though, the way his hair sometimes falls over his eye…

If only he’d shut up about stupid Saudi Arabia once in a while.

AAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOO

Sorry. Suddenly we went over this peak, and my eyes were DAZZLED by what I was seeing below us:

Deep green valleys, over which tiny little cities are perched (the ancient fortified cities from the guidebook) clustered together within stone walls on brightly sunlit hillsides….

Crumbling castles presiding over a patchwork of farmyards below them…

Sun-baked houses with orange tiled rooftops, with chickens in the yard pecking beneath brightly colored laundry hanging from lines outside shuttered windows….

Oh, my God. I think we’re here ! Le Marche!

And that Customs guy was wrong. It’s BEAUTIFUL.

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To: Graziella Fratiani <grazielle@galleriefratiani.co.it>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Yesterday

If you really meant it when you said you’d come, you’d be entirely welcome… by me, at least. I can use an ally. My ego has taken about enough bruising as it can during this trip. The maid of honor is, to coin a phrase, a bitch.

Looking forward to seeing you.

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Ruth Levine <r.levine@levinedentalgroup.com>

Re: Hello!

Cal, it’s me, Mark’s mom! How are you? I understand you’re with Mark right now on his little European jaunt. I hear it’s very nice in Italy this time of year. I hope you’re getting plenty of rest and relaxation— you certainly deserve it after all that hard work you put in on your book. I saw it the other day at the Barnes and Noble. It was in the number-six spot for the bestsellers. Congratulations! That is fantastic.

Of course, Mark’s father and I always knew you were destined for great things. It was pretty obvious from the day we met you, when you and little Markie took apart our vacuum cleaner’s motor on the kitchen floor to see how it worked. It still ran perfectly well after you put it back together, despite those leftover pieces.

Well, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing to you after all these years, so I’ll get to the point:

I’m worried about Mark. I’m sure this Holly is a very nice girl.

But I’m not so sure she’s right for our Mark. She’s the ARTISTIC type, for one thing. I know she has a very good job with the paper Mark sometimes writes that little column for. But let’s face it: she doesn’t exactly earn the kind of money I know some of Mark’s past girlfriends are making now—Susie Schramm, for instance. You remember Susie, don’t you, Cal? She’s a lawyer now, with a very high-powered firm. I think Susie’s SO MUCH more of Mark’s type than this Holly girl.

And I DON’T mean because Holly’s not Jewish. You know I NEVER judge people by their religion. After all, your family was—what was it again? Protestant?—and it never bothered me a bit! We quite enjoyed your mother’s Christmas Eve cocktail party every year.

It’s just that Mark has always been such a romantic. I’m sure deep down he thinks things like religious background don’t matter. But you were always much more practical, Cal—not to mention, you’ve been around the world, and seen much more than Mark has—so I know you understand.

Plus, having been through a divorce yourself, I’m sure you wish someone had taken you aside in a brotherly manner and warned you not to rush into anything with that Valerie person. She was no good for you, anyone could see that. I knew it the minute I met her. What was she thinking, wearing that off-the-shoulder thing at your wedding? I realize it was couture and that Oscar de la Renta designed it just for her. Still, it hardly fit in at the country club here, now, did it?