Wednesday, October 8
Oh no.
She’shere.
Well, nothere, exactly. But she’s in this country. She’s in the city. She’s only like fifty-seven blocks away, as a matter of fact. She’s staying at the Plaza, with Dad. Thank God. Now I’ll only have to see her after school and on the weekends. It would suck so bad if she were staying here.
It’s pretty awful, seeing her first thing in the morning. She wears these really fancy negligees to bed, with big lace sections that everything shows through. You know. Stuff you wouldn’t want to see. Plus, even though she takes her makeup off to sleep, she still has on eyeliner, because she had it tattooed onto her eyelids back in the eighties when she went through a brief manic phase shortly after Princess Grace died (according to my mom). It looks pretty weird, seeing this little old lady in a lace nightie with big black lines around her eyes first thing in the morning.
Actually, it’s scary. Scarier than Freddy Kruger and Jason put together.
No wonder Grandpère died of a heart attack in bed. He probably rolled over one morning and got a real good look at his wife.
Somebody ought to warn the president she’s here. I mean it; he really ought to know. Because if anybody could start World War III, it’s my grandmother.
Last time I saw Grandmère, she was having this dinner party, and she served everybody foie gras except this one woman. She just had Marie, her cook, leave that lady’s plate bare for the foie gras course. And when I tried to give the lady my foie gras, because I thought maybe they had run out—and anyway, I don’t eat anything that once was alive—my grandmother was all, "Amelia!" She said it so loud, she scared me. She made me drop my slice of foie gras on the floor. Her horrible miniature poodle pried it up off the parquet before I could even move.
And then later, after everybody left, when I asked her why she wouldn’t give that lady any foie gras, Grandmère said it was because the lady had had a child out of wedlock.
Hello?Grandmère, may I point out that your own son had a child out of wedlock, namely me, Mia,your granddaughter?
But when I said that, Grandmère just yelled for her maid to bring her another drink. Oh, so I guess it’s okay to have a child out of wedlock if you’re a PRINCE. But if you’re just a regular person, no foie gras for you.
Oh, no! What if Grandmère comes to the loft? She’s never seen the loft before. I don’t think she’s ever been below Fifty-seventh Street. She’s going to hate it here in the Village, I’m telling you right now. People of the same sex kiss and hold hands in our neighborhood all the time. Grandmère has a fit when she sees people of theopposite sex holding hands. What’s she going to do during the Gay Pride Parade, when everybody is kissing and holding hands and shouting "We’re Here, We’re Queer, Get Over It?" Grandmère won’t get over it. She might have a heart attack. She doesn’t even like pierced ears, let alone pierced anything else.
Plus it’s against the law to smoke in restaurants here, and Grandmère smokes all the time, even in bed, which is why Grandpère had these weird disposable oxygen masks installed in every single room at Miragnac and had an underground tunnel dug that we could run through in case Grandmère fell asleep with a cigarette in her mouth and the chateau burst into flames.
Also, Grandmère hates cats. She thinks they jump on children while they’re sleeping on purpose to suck out their breath. What’s she going to say when she sees Fat Louie? He sleeps in bed with me every night. If he ever jumped on my face, he’d kill me instantly. He weighs twenty-five pounds and seven ounces, and that’s before he’s had his can of Fancy Feast in the morning.
And can you imagine what she’ll do when she sees my mom’s collection of wooden fertility goddesses?
Why did she have to come NOW? She’s going to ruin EVERYTHING. There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep this a secret from everyone with HER around.
Why? Why?? WHY???
Thursday, October 9
I found out why.
She’s giving me princess lessons.
In too much shock to write. More later.
Friday, October 10
Princess lessons.
I am not kidding. I have to go straight from my Algebra review session every day to princess lessons at the Plaza with my grandmother.
Okay, so if there’s a God, how could this have happened?
I mean it. Like, people always talk about how God doesn’t ever give you more than you can handle, but I’m telling you right now, I cannot handle this. This is justtoo much! Ican-not go to princess lessons every day after school. Not with Grandmère. I am seriously considering running away from home.
My dad says I have no choice. Last night, after I left Grandmère’s room at the Plaza, I went straight down to his. I banged on the door, and when he answered it I stalked straight in and told him I wasn’t doing it. No way. Nobody had told me anything about princess lessons.
And do you know what he said? He says I signed the compromise, so I am obligated to attend princess lessons as part of my duties as his heir.
I said then we are just going to have to revise the compromise, because there was nothing in there about me having to meet with Grandmère every day after school for any princess lessons.
But my dad wouldn’t even talk to me about it. He said he was late and could we please talk about it later. And then while I was standing there, going on about how unfair this all was, in walks this reporter from ABC. I guess she was there to interview him, but it was kind of funny, because I’ve seen her interview people before, and normally she doesn’t wear black sleeveless cocktail dresses when she’s interviewing the president or somebody like that.