Except that if this were true, why is he currently dancing with Frau Schumacher in a completely sober (and yet completely engaging and charming) manner? He’s navigating her across the terrazza—ahem, and toward me—with perfect ease. In fact, Peter’s great-grandmother looks as if she just died and went to heaven, she’s so thrilled by the manly embrace she’s floating in. She doesn’t even seem to be aware of the fact that she’s dancing to “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Which is coming to its head-bobbing end shortly. Surely he’s not getting any ideas. You know, about asking ME to dance. Not after the dressing down I gave him last night. LIKE THE HUGE IDIOT I AM.

Oh my God. I’m actually considering APOLOGIZING to him for not kissing him last night. That’s how much he’s psyched me out with this sudden about face of his. I mean, endorphins? ENDORPHINS? He never said a word to me about endorphins. He was all phenylethylamine yesterday. Now suddenly he’s Mr. Endorphin?

“Oooooh, such a lowely party!” That’s what Frau Schumacher just said, as Cal twirled her into a seat near me, “Bohemian Rhapsody” having come to its rousing (and second in the past hour) finish.

Me: “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Frau Schumacher. I had no idea you were such a good dancer.”

F.S.: “Me? I am nozing. Zees man, here” (clutching Cal’s hand. He, by the way, looks ready to flee to the other side of the room again)—“he is the party animal!”

Cal: (looking—I have to say it—sweetly embarrassed) “Now, Frau Schumacher. Don’t be modest. We know you must have been quite a party girl yourself once.”

F.S.: (dismissing this with a wave of her hand) “Vell, yes, of course. But zat vas long ago. Oh, the parties zey used to zrow at the headquarters of the Fuhrer! Zis reminds me of zem, a little. Zere the champagne flowed and flowed, just like here.”

Cal and I exchange wide-eyed glances.

Me: “Excuse me, Frau Schumacher. Did you say… headquarters of the Fuhrer?”

F.S.: (wide-eyed with innocence) “Yes. But of course. Zat is vhere I go as young girl to dance. Ven I vorked for theS.S..”

Cal: (stunned) “Frau Schumacher… you worked for the S.S.?”

F.S.: (waving her hand again) “Of course, of course. Ve all did! Vell, zat is vhat you did back then! Zere is more champagne?”

Cal hastened to refill Frau Schumacher’s glass. “Under Pressure” came on over Peter’s CD player, and his great-grandmother leaped back to her feet, declaring, “Zis is my faworite!”

Then she threw herself back onto the dance floor/pool deck.

Cal and I are staring at each other.

“We can never,” I warn him, “ever tell Mark and Holly that someone who used to work for the S.S. made their wedding breakfast.”

Cal shrugs. “Vhat’s the big deal, Jane? Ve all did it,” he says, in a perfect, deadpan imitation of Peter’s great-grandmother.

“Swear,” I say to him.

“Sworn,” he says. Then: “So. Still writing in that book, I see.”

Me: (unable to drag my gaze from his hands, which are looking even sexier holding a champagne glass than they did last night, holding playing cards) “Yes.”

Cal: “You’re not going to give it to them, then?”

Me: (Is it my imagination, or do his eyes actually match the blue of the sky above our heads?) “Give what to whom?”

Cal: “Mark and Holly. As a wedding present. The travel diary you’ve been keeping for them.”

Me: (He’s wearing a jacket and tie in honor of the occasion. Can I just say that he looks almost as good in them as he does without a shirt on?) “Oh, no. Not anymore. I changed my mind. Kind of the way you did.”

I know! Bold move on my part!

He looks confused. May I just say that confused, on him, is completely adorable?

Cal: “I beg your pardon?”

Me: “Well, this party, of course. When did you decide marriage is a good thing that ought to be celebrated instead of dreaded?”

Cal: “Oh, that. Well. Listen, would you quit writing in that book for a minute? It’s kind of distracting.”

Me: “But it’s my first trip to Europe, you know, and I don’t want to miss a minute.”

Cal: “If your head is constantly stuck in a book, you’re going to miss a lot.”

Me: “I’ll quit writing if you tell me what changed your mind.”

Cal: “Changed my mind about what?”

Me: “Holly and Mark.”

Cal: “Oh. Well. You, actually.”

ME???

Me: “ME??? But… when? Not last night.”

Cal: “Yes, actually. Last night.”

Me: “But I was so mean to you!”

Cal: “Maybe I deserved it.”

Oh my God, he DID start taking Wellbutrin! He MUST have! There’s no other explanation for this!

Me: “Okay, what gives? Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

Cal: “I’m always nice.”

Me: “No, you’re not. What was all that saving the day down at the mayor’s office? You blew your perfect opportunity to save your friend from a fate you USED to think was worse than death. So what happened?”

Cal: “I realized I was wrong.”

Me: “About Holly and Mark?”

Cal: “About everything.”

Me: “EVERYTHING? Even that whole phenylethylamine thing?”

Cal: “Well—that’s a scientific fact. But everything else.”

Me: “But… how? Why? Did you pick up a prescription for anti-depressants while you were in town this morning, in addition to hiring a caterer and all of that? Because you are NOT acting like yourself.”

Cal: “Yeah, well, maybe I had a chance to see how I appear through someone else’s eyes, and I didn’t exactly like what I saw. Now will you put down that book and dance with me? They’re playing our song, you know.”

“Fat-Bottomed Girls” just came on again.

Nice one. Maybe he hasn’t changed that much, after all.

Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. I mean, who wants a guy who can’t take—or make—a joke?

Cal: “Come on. Give me a chance to prove to you I’ve got one.”

Me: “Got what?”

Cal: “A heart.”

HOW DID HE KNOW????

And how can I say no?

___________________________________________

e-mails

To: Listserv <Wundercat@wundercatlives.com>

Fr: Peter Schumacher <webmaster@wundercatlives.com>

Re: JANE HARRIS


Halloooo! I am writing to you having come home from the party for the marriage of the friends of JANE HARRIS! This was a very good party. If you were not there, I feel sorry for you! There was much feasting and champagne. Some people were getting very drunken. This was very comical!!!

Everyone has very good time when the car from the hotel come to take away the happy couple for their honeymoon. Then we decide to follow the car on our motorinos, because this is very fun. We stand beneath the terrazza of the happy couple at the hotel, and shout many comical things. Then the bride, she comes out and throws her bouquet to us! The bouquet was catched by Annika! Annika will now be the next bride in Castelfidardo (in American tradition)!

But this is not the most comical thing that happened at the party of the marriage of the friends of JANE HARRIS. The most comical thing was when JANE HARRIS was dancing with the very nice Cal Longdon (who gives me 20 euros to spend on MORE WUNDERCAT COMIX) and a very beautiful Italian lady arrive at the villa. She is called Graziella, and she come to see Cal Longdon.

Cal Longdon looked very, very surprised to see this woman. JANE HARRIS looked very surprised to see this woman, also.

Then JANE HARRIS pushed Cal Longdon into the pool.

This was most comical of all! JANE HARRIS is very hilarious—just like Wundercat!

This is Peter, #1 Fan of Wundercat, saying GOOD NIGHT!

Wundercat Lives—4eva!

Peter

___________________________________________


To: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Sal Caputo <salcaputo@freemail.com salcaputo@freemail.com>

Re: Hello, this is your father speaking


Hello! You didn’t know your father had email, did you? Well, I’ll admit we don’t have much use for it down at the shop, but I do like to have one for bidding on antique Electroluxes on eBay. You never know when you might find one that just needs a little tweaking to get it running again.

Anyway, what is this I hear that you and Mark got married today at Zio Matteo’s place in Marche? Is this true?

Well, if it is true, you have made your mother very sad. She is at church right now, making a novena for you. At Mass this evening she plans to petition for a prayer of the faithful to be said for your immortal soul.

I, however, want to be the first to say congratulazioni. Or should I say mazel tov? I know in the past your mother and I have expressed our concern about Mark not sharing our beliefs. But you are a big girl now, and you need to make your own decisions. I have always liked Mark. At least he understands how a motor works, unlike some of your brothers.

And, as I said to your mother, it will be a good thing to have a doctor in the family. Especially since I have a mole I would like for him to look at when the two of you come to visit.

Don’t worry about your mother. I will ask Father Bob to have a word with her.

And, of course, now she’ll be able to concentrate on making Mark convert. You know how she loves a project.

Much love,

Dad

___________________________________________


To: Mark Levine <mark.levine@thenyjournal.com>

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

Re: Hello!


Mark. Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me that Marie Caputo, from whom I just received a nearly hysterical phone call, claiming one of her sons told her that you and her daughter have eloped, is suffering from a psychotic delusion.

Mark—what were you thinking? Do you know what you’ve done? What am I going to tell Gloria Schramm? I promised you’d call Susie just as soon as you got back to New York. Now you’re going to call her, not to ask her to meet you at the Cub Room for after-work drinks, but to tell her you’re married? The poor girl will have another one of her episodes. Last time they found her wandering around Fifth Avenue in nothing but Uggs and a pair of Spanx.

Tell me it isn’t true. Do you know how far in advance you have to reserve the reception room at the country club? A year! If you had just let me know you were planning something like this, I could have put my name on the list months ago, and we might have been able to have a nice party when you two get back. Now what am I supposed to do? Have people over to the house? You know we haven’t had the dining room wall replastered yet from when those stupid kitchen people accidentally drilled straight through while they were installing the new cabinets.

We might be able to get a room at the Marriott if they’ve had a cancellation. I’ll have to check.

And your father says now you’ll be paying taxes this year as if you were a married man for the entire twelve months, when you were only married for three of them. He says you should have waited until January.

What size coat does Holly wear? I’m going to look into having your uncle Isaac make her up a mink. And don’t go telling me she’s opposed to wearing fur, it gets very cold in New York, and if she’s going to be having my grandchildren, I want to make sure she doesn’t walk around with a head cold half the year. You could have told us, you know, Mark. Your father and I would have loved a trip to Italy. You know the last place he took me was the Bahamas and it rained the whole time.

Love to you both,

Mom

___________________________________________


To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Claire Harris <charris2004@freemail.com>

Re: Holly and Mark


Honey! I’m so excited for them! I just ran into Marie at the Kroger Sav-On. She was carrying on about how God never gives you more than you can handle and that this just means more time in purgatory for Holly, you know, but I could tell she was over the moon. She was positively glowing.

Although that might have been because it’s unseasonably hot here for September.

Still, she was buying Lender’s bagels. Bagels! I asked her about them, and she very nearly blushed as she replied, “They’re for freezing. For when Mark and Holly come to visit, Then I’ll defrost them. He likes to have them for breakfast, you know.”