She is so busted. She has an unexcused absence for the day. Principal Gupta will be so calling the Drs Moscovitz tonight.
Michael just shook his head disgustedly at the sight of his sister on a channel other than Fifty-Six. I mean, he is fully on the side of the busboys - they SHOULD be paid a living wage, of course. But Michael is disgusted with Lilly. He says it's because her interest in the welfare of the busboys has more to do with her interest in Jangbu than in the plight of immigrants to this country.
I kind of wish Michael hadn't said anything, though, because you know Boris was sitting right there next to the TV He looks so pathetic with his head all bandaged and everything. He kept lifting up his hand when he thought no one was looking, and softly tracing Lilly's features on the screen. It was truly touching, to tell you the truth. I actually got tears in my eyes for a minute.
Although they went away when I realized that the TV in the Teachers' Lounge is forty inches, whereas all the TVs in the
student media room are only twenty-seven.
Wednesday, May 7, The Plaza
This is unbelievable. I mean, truly. When I walked into the hotel lobby today, all ready for my princess lesson with
Grandmere, I was completely unprepared for the chaos that met me at the door. The place is a zoo.
The doorman with the gold epaulettes who usually holds the limo door open for me? Gone.
The bellboys who so efficiently pile up everybody's luggage on to those brass carts? Gone.
The polite concierge at the reception desk? Gone. And don't even ask about the line for high tea at the Palm Court. It was
out of control.
Because of course there was no hostess to seat anybody, or waiters to take anybody's orders.
It was amazing. Lars and I practically had to fight off this family of twelve from like Iowa or whatever who were trying to crowd on to our elevator with the lifesize gorilla they'd just bought at FAO Schwartz across the street. The dad kept yelling, 'There's room! There's room! Come on, kids, squeeze.' Finally Lars was forced to show the dad his sidearm and go, 'There's no room. Take the next elevator, please,' before the guy backed off, looking pale.
This never would have happened if the elevator attendant had been there. But this afternoon the porters' union declared a sympathy strike, and joined the restaurant and hotel workers in walking off the job.
You would think after everything we'd gone through just to get to my princess lesson on time, Grandmere would have had some sympathy for us when we walked through the door. But instead she was just standing in the middle of the suite, squawking into the phone.
'What do you mean, the kitchen is closed?' she was demanding. 'How can the kitchen be closed? I ordered lunch hours ago, and still haven't received it. I am not hanging up until I speak to the person in charge of Room Service. He knows who I am.'
My dad was sitting on the couch across from Grandmere's TV, watching - what else? - New York One with a tense expression on his face. I sat down beside him, and he looked at me, as if surprised to see me there.
'Oh, Mia,' he said. 'Hello. How is your mother?'
'Fine,' I said, because, even though I hadn't seen her since breakfast, I knew she had to be OK, since I hadn't got any calls
on my mobile phone. 'She's alternating between Gatorade and PediaLyte. She likes the grape kind. What's happening with
the strike?' My dad just shook his head in a defeated way. 'The union representatives are meeting with the Mayor's office. They're hoping to work out a negotiation soon.'
I sighed. 'You realize, of course, that none of this would have happened if I had never been born. Because then I wouldn't
have had a birthday dinner.'
My dad looked at me kind of sharply, and went, 'I hope you're not blaming yourself for this, Mia.'
I almost went, 'Are you kidding? I blame Grandmere.' But then I realized from the earnest expression on my dad's face that I had like this huge sympathy quotient going for me, and so instead I went, in this doleful voice, 'It's just too bad I'm going to be in Genovia for most of the summer. It might have been nice if I could have, you know, spent the summer volunteering with an organization seeking to help those unfortunate busboys . . .'
My dad so didn't fall for it, though. He just winked at me and said, 'Nice try.'
Geez! Between him wanting to whisk me off to Genovia for July and August, and my mother offering to take me to her gynaecologist, I am getting way mixed messages from my parental units. It's a wonder I haven't developed a multiple personality. Or Asperger's syndrome. If I don't already have it.
While I was sitting there sulking over my failure to keep from having to spend my precious summer months on the freaking
Cote d'Azur, Grandmere started signalling me from the phone. She kept snapping her fingers at me, then pointing at the door
to her bedroom. I just sat there blinking at her until finally she put her hand over the receiver and hissed, Amelia! In my bedroom! Something for you!'
A present? For me? I couldn't imagine what Grandmere could have got me - I mean, the orphan was enough of a gift for
one birthday. But I wasn't about to say no to a present ... at least, not so long as it didn't involve the hide of some
slaughtered mammal.
So I got up and went to the door to Grandmere's bedroom, just as someone must have taken Grandmere off hold, since as I turned the knob she was hollering, 'But I ordered that cob salad FOUR HOURS AGO. Do I need to come down there to make it myself? What do you mean, that would be a public health violation? What public? I want to make a salad for myself, not the public!'
I opened the door to Grandmere's room. It is, being the bedroom of the penthouse suite of the Plaza Hotel, a very fancy
room, with lots of gold leaf all over everything, and freshly cut flowers all over the place . . . although with the strike, I
doubted Grandmere'd be getting new floral arrangements anytime soon.
Anyway, as I stood there, looking around the room for my present, and totally saying this little prayer - Phase don't let it
be a mink stole. Please don't let it be a mink stole - my gaze fell upon this dress that was lying across the bed. It was the colour of Jennifer Lopez's engagement ring from Ben Affleck - the softest pink imaginable - and was covered all over in sparkling pink beading. It was off the shoulder with a sweetheart neckline and this huge, filmy skirt.
I knew right away what it was. And even though it wasn't black or slit up the side, it was still the most beautiful prom dress
I had ever seen. It was prettier than the one Rachael Leigh Cook wore in She's All That. It was prettier than the one Drew Barrymore wore in Never Been Kissed. And it was way, way prettier than the gunnysack Molly Ringwald wore in Pretty in Pink. It was even prettier than the prom dress Annie Potts gave Molly Ringwald to wear in Pretty in Pink, before Molly