Maybe it’s something to do with him being around sick patients all day, but Mark just exudes this “Be nice to me” vibe, which people totally seem to respond to.
I mean, except for Holly’s mom.
And it’s not really as sickening as it sounds. On him, it works, and doesn’t leave you feeling like you want to hit him over the head with a pool cue or anything.
Anyway, the way I know Cal is not gay, in spite of the shirt and the model ex-wife—and Holly’s assurances to the contrary, of course, but hey, the future wife of the best friend is not always the first to know—is that after Magnum , the movie Babe came on, the one about the little pig who can herd sheep, and all of the Marquesians or whatever they are sat there, enrapt, in their traditional Le Marche-wear of jeans and Bon Jovi T-shirts, but Cal never blinked an eye. He just went right on drinking his grappa like it was actually good and not something that should only be sold as a facial astringent.
No gay guy can resist the lure of Babe . Not that I think the restauranteur and all of his aged friends are gay. They’re just foreigners. They probably cried at the end of Magnum , only I missed it because I was in the men’s room, trying to smuggle out a roll of toilet paper, because of course there wasn’t one in the ladies’ room. Ditto a toilet seat.
Which, by the way, I have to say What’s up with that? about. Clearly, Italian women never go to the bathroom outside of their own homes. That is the only thing I can think of to explain the state of some of the ladies’ washrooms in Le Marche. What do all the Italian ladies do, anyway, when they have to go? Just squat? I can barely make it into a squat during Pilates, and that’s in drawstring pants. What are the chances of me squatting in control-top panties and a pair of tight capris around my knees? Seriously? Think about it. The restaurant owners obviously haven’t.
And yes, I know, it’s a summer community and we’re here on the off-season, but I highly doubt the owner of this place has all the toilet seats stored somewhere in the back until the beach starts getting crowded again. I mean, clearly this is a culture where toilet seats just aren’t that important.
To which I say, Um, again, this is why America is a superpower and you, Italy, are not. Because we care about our comfort in the john.
Anyway, now everyone is arguing about tomorrow. You know, who’s going back to Rome to visit the US consulate. At first I just figured Holly and Mark would go by themselves, and I could lounge by the pool drinking bianco frizzante and reading the latest Nora Roberts. Um, hello, this is my vacation, right?
But no. Cal had to be all, “I’ll come with you,” to Holly and Mark.
Hello? Gowith them? Why? Don’t you have a book you’re supposed to be writing, or something? They don’t need you, Cal Langdon. A translator, maybe. But not a modelizer. I know what he’s up to. He might think I don’t, because I am just a lowly cartoonist and he is the big Saudi Arabian oil crisis guru journalist. But I am ONTO his devious plan. He thinks he’s going to go with Holly and Mark and make subtle anti-marriage remarks that will feed into Holly’s insecurities and make her so freaked out about marrying against her parents’ wishes that she’s going to call the whole thing off!
Well, I am not going to let it happen. I just declared that if Cal’s going, I’m going, too!
Now he’s staring at me all squinty-eyed-Robert-Redfordy across the table, like I’m going to be so intimidated, I’m going to back down.
But it won’t work. I am staring squinty-eyed right back at him, while Holly and Mark argue over whether they should let either of us come with them. Mark says it will give us a chance to try one of the Roman restaurants Holly’s uncle recommended in the Guide to Roma book Mark found back at the villa.
But Holly says it’s our vacation too, and we shouldn’t have to spend it shuttling back and forth between Rome and Le Marche in a Toyota. Even though this time there won’t be a suitcase in the backseat, since it’s just a day trip.
I could see Cal wasn’t going to back down, so I said, “I happen to be extremely fond of Toyotas,” causing Holly to look at me and go, “Oh, God, what’s WRONG with you? And what are you writing in that book?”
I’ve been outed. More later.
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of
Jane Harris
The horror continues.
As soon as Cal got up to go use the facilities himself just now, I told Mark if he was any kind of friend he’d tell Cal to stay home at the villa with me (even though I don’t want him there, as it will mean spending the day alone with him while Holly and Mark are off US consulating tomorrow, but whatever). Also, that he should tell Cal his shirt looks gay. Mark pointed out that he had already encouraged Cal to stay home to no avail, and that the shirt is from Bangladesh and it’s the only clean thing left in Cal’s backpack. Apparently, he’s sweet-talked Frau Schumacher into doing his laundry while we eat.
I can’t believe he’d take advantage of that sweet old lady’s crush on him in such an obvious manner, even if he DID give her ten euros for her trouble, according to Mark.
Still.
At least the food is good. REALLY good. Even when it’s prepared by someone who won’t take their eyes off Babe. Although Cal and I both eschewed the raw oysters, Cal because he doesn’t like them, and me because I may be a travel neophyte, but I am not eating raw fish in a foreign country. Holly and Mark were both like, “Oh, well, more for us,” and slurped down like twenty each.
Whatever. It’s their funeral.
After this, since it’s stopped raining, we’re going to get gelati from the Gelateria and take a moonlit walk along the beach. Romantic! Well, for Holly and Mark.
Uh-oh, back to the Who’s Going To Rome Tomorrow argument….
Who buys their shirts in BANGLADESH??? What is wrong with the Gap, for God’s sake?
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e-mails
To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Fr: Claire Harris <charris2004@freemail.com>
Re: Holly
Hi, honey! Don’t worry, everything’s fine. Well, I mean, your dad burst a blood vessel in his eye just now trying to move the stereo, but he says it doesn’t even hurt.
Anyway, I hope I didn’t mess anything up, but I saw Marie Caputo in the grocery store just now, and she was down in the mouth as usual about Holly (and telling me how lucky I was that you only date boys like Dave—whatever happened to him, anyway? He was so sweet) and I might have mentioned something about how she shouldn’t think of Holly’s marrying Mark as losing a daughter, but as gaining a son.
Then I remembered she’s not supposed to know anything about Holly marrying Mark this week.
I hope I didn’t let the cat out of the bag, or anything!
And as for that Cal, well, I agree, Saudi Arabia is a very boring subject for a book.
But still, he looked quite nice in that turtleneck he was wearing on Charlie Rose . I think it might have been cashmere. I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to give the boy a chance.
And what do you mean, I shouldn’t worry about him falling in love with you? I don’t want to hear that kind of negative talk from you, young lady. You know you’re irresistible. At least when you don’t have PMS and you wear your hair out of your eyes.
Love,
Mom
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To: Claire Harris <charris2004@freemail.com>
Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Re: Holly
MOM! THIS IS REALLY REALLY BAD!!!! I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY ANYTHING!!!