Anyway, Grandpa and Grandma Thermopolis don’t make it out of Indiana much.
And the reason I’d never introduced Lilly to Grandmère Renaldo is because Grandmère Renaldo hates children. And I can’t introduce her now because then Lilly will find out I’m the princess of Genovia, and you can bet I’ll never hear the end ofthat. She’d probably want to interview me, or something, for her TV show. That’s all I need: My name and image plastered all over Manhattan Public Access.
So I was telling Lilly all of this—about how I had to go out with my grandmother, not about my being a princess, of course—and as I was talking I could hear her breathing over the phone in that way she does when she’s mad, and finally she just goes, "Oh, come over tonight then, and help me edit," and slammed the phone down.
Geez.
Well, at least Michael didn’t tell her about the lipstick and panty hose.That would have really made her mad. She never would have believed I was only going to my grandmother’s. No way.
This was all at like nine-thirty, while I was getting ready to go to Grandmère’s. Grandmère told me that for today I don’t have to wear lipstick or panty hose. She said I could wear anything I wanted. So I wore my overalls. I know she hates them, but hey, she said anything I wanted. Hee hee hee.
Oops, gotta go. Lars just pulled up in front of the Plaza. We’re here.
Saturday, October 11
I can never go to school again. I can never goanywhere again. I will never leave this loft, ever, ever again.
You won’t believe what she did to me.I can’t believe what she did to me. I can’t believe my dadlet her do this to me.
Well, he’s going to pay. He’s totally paying for this, and I mean BIG. As soon as I got home (right after my mom went, "Well, hey, Rosemary. Where’s your baby?" which I suppose was some kind of joke about my new haircut, but it was NOT funny), I marched right up to him and said, "You are paying for this. Big time."
Who says I have a fear of confrontation?
He totally tried to get out of it, going, "What do you mean? Mia, I think you look beautiful. Don’t listen to your mother, what does she know? I like your hair. It’s so . . . short."
Gee, I wonder why? Maybe because his mother met Lars and me in the lobby as soon as we’d turned the car over to the valet, and just pointed at the door. Just pointed at the door again, and said, "On y va,"which in English means "Let’s go."
"Let’s go where?" I asked, all innocently (this was this morning, remember, back when I was still innocent).
"Chez Paolo," Grandmère said.Chez Paolo means "Paul’s house." So I thought we were going to meet one of her friends, maybe for brunch or something, and I thought, huh, cool, field trip. Maybe these princess lessons won’t be so bad.
But then we got there, and I saw Chez Paolo wasn’t a house at all. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. It looked a little like a really fancy hospital—it was all frosted glass and these Japanese-looking trees. And then we got inside; all of these skinny young people were floating around, dressed all in black. They were all excited to see my grandmother, and took us to this little room where there were these couches and all these magazines. So then I figured Grandmère maybe had some plastic surgery scheduled, and while I am sort of against plastic surgery—unless you’re like Leola Mae and you need lips—I was like, Well, at least she’ll be off my back for a while.
Boy, was I ever wrong! Paolo isn’t a doctor. I doubt he’s ever even been to college! Paolo is astylist! Worse, he stylespeople! I’m serious. He takes unfashionable, frumpy people like me, and he makes them stylish—for aliving. And Grandmère sicced him onme!Me!! Like it’s bad enough I don’t have breasts. She has to tell some guy namedPaolo that?
What kind of name is Paolo, anyway? I mean, this is America, for Pete’s sake! YOUR NAME IS PAUL!!!
That’s what I wanted to scream at him. But, of course, I couldn’t. I mean, it wasn’t Paolo’s fault my grandmother dragged me there. And as he pointed out to me, he only made time for me in his incredibly busy schedule because Grandmère told him it was this big emergency.
God, how embarrassing.I’m a fashion emergency.
Anyway, I was plenty peeved at Grandmère, but I couldn’t start yelling at her right there in front of Paolo. She totally knew it, too. She just sat there on this velvet couch, petting Rommel, who was sitting on her lap with his legs crossed—she’s even taught herdog to sit ladylike, andhe’s a boy—sipping a Sidecar she got somebody to make for her and readingW.
Meanwhile, Paolo was picking up chunks of my hair and making this face and going, all sadly, "It must go. It mustall go."
And it went. All of it. Well, almost all of it. I still have some like bangs and a little fringe in back.