Although Tina is completely right, it turns out: J.P. reallyis a pent-up volcano of passion. The single tear proves it. All he needs is the right woman to unlock his heart—which up until now he has kept in a cold, hard shell for his own emotional protection—and he will explode like the simmering caldera that makes up part of Yellowstone National Park.
And obviously this woman wasn’t Lilly (who, by the way, also hasn’t called or e-mailed me, even to yell at me some more for being a boyfriend-stealer, which isn’t a bit like her).
On the other hand, maybe J.P. isn’t clueless. Maybe he’s just a guy.
They can’t all be like the Beast, I guess.
Friday, September 10, 11:45 p.m., the loft
Inbox: 0
No phone messages, either.
But Michael’s plane is still in the air for another eleven and a half hours. He’ll call me when he lands.
I mean, hehas to. Right?
Okay, not thinking about that now. Because every time I do, I get these weird heart palpitations and my palms get sweaty.
Meanwhile, a hand-delivered envelopedid arrive for me while I was gone. Mom told me about it (not very happily) when I woke her up to ask if Michael had called. (Honestly, I didn’t realize she was asleep. Usually she’s up watching David Letterman until the musical guest comes on at twelve thirty. How was I supposed to know the musical guest was Fergie, so Mom went to bed early?)
The hand-delivered envelope obviously wasn’t from Michael. It was on fancy ivory stationery with a big red wax seal with the letters D and R stamped in the middle. There was something about it that just screamed Grandmère.
So I wasn’t very surprised when Mom said, all crabbily, “Your grandmother says to open it right away.”
Iwas surprised, however, when she added, “And she said to call her when you do. No matter what time it is.”
“I’m supposed to call Grandmère aftereleven o’clock at night ?” This didn’t make any sense. Grandmère goes to bed right before the eleven o’clock news every night without fail, unless she’s out partying with Henry Kissinger or somebody like that. She says if she doesn’t get her full eight hours of beauty sleep, she can’t do a thing with the bags under her eyes the next day, no matter how much hemorrhoid cream she puts on them.
“That’s the message,” Mom grumped, and pulled the covers back over her head. (How she can sleep with Mr. Gianini snoring away like that next to her is a mystery to me. It can only be true love.)
I wasn’t liking the look of that envelope, and Idefinitely wasn’t liking the idea of having to call Grandmère at eleven thirty at night.
But I went to my room and ripped open the seal and pulled out the letter and started reading….
And nearly had a heart attack.
I was on the phone with Grandmère in about two seconds flat.
“Oh, Amelia,” she said, sounding completely awake. “Good. Finally. Did you receive your letter?”
“From Lana Weinberger’s MOM?” I practically screamed. I only remembered to keep my voice down because I live in a loft and my little brother was sleeping in the next room and I didn’t want to risk the wrath of Mom if I woke him up. “Asking me to give the keynote speech at her women’s society’s big charity event to raise money for African orphans? Yes. But…how did you know? Did you get one, too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I have my ways of finding out these things. Now, Amelia, I must know. This is very important. Did she mention issuing you an invitation to join Domina Rei when you come of age?” You could practically hear her salivating, she was so excited.“Did shesay anything about asking you to pledge when you turn eighteen?”
“Yes,” I said. “But, Grandmère, I’ve never even heard of this Domina Rei before. And I don’t have time for this right now. I am going through a very stressful time at the moment, and I really have to concentrate on just staying centered—”
This was totally the wrong thing to say, however. Grandmère was practically breathing fire when she replied in her princessiest tone, “For your information, Domina Rei is one of the most influential women’s societies in the world. How can you not be aware of this, Amelia? They are like the Opus Dei of women’s organizations. Only not religiously affiliated.”
I had to admit, this got me kind of interested, in spite of myself. “Really? That secret society inThe Da Vinci Code ? The one where the members whip themselves? Lana’s mom keeps a weird metal spike wrapped around her leg?”
“Of course not,” Grandmère said with a sniff. “I meant figuratively.”
This was disappointing to hear. I have never met Lana’s mom (and she clearly knows nothing about me, because in her letter, she mentioned how much Lana has appreciated my friendship over the years, and how regrettable it is that my busy royal agenda has kept me from attending more of the parties she knows Lana has invited me to at their place. Um. Yeah.), but the idea of any member of the Weinberger family with possible spikes digging into her fills me with great joy.
“And,” Grandmère went on, “I know I’ve told you about Domina Rei before, Amelia. The Contessa Trevanni is a member.”
“Bella’s grandmother?” Grandmère hasn’t mentioned her archenemy, the Contessa, much since the Contessa’s granddaughter, Bella, delighted the entire Trevanni family by running off last Christmas with my pseudo-cousin Prince René and getting, well, knocked up by him. (Grandmère says it’s more polite to sayenceinte , which is the French term, but hey, he really did knock her up. I mean, hello, hasno one in my family heard of condoms?)
After a stern talking-to by my dad (and, I suspect, an exchange of cash: René was just days from signing a television deal for a new reality show,Prince Charming , in which a number of young single girls were to compete for the chance to date a real-life prince…namely, René), René finally married Bella. Sadly for her grandmother, the wedding took place in a quiet private ceremony, since René took so long to finally pop the question that Bella was obviously showing, and they’re still sensitive about that kind of thing inMajesty Magazine .
Now Bella and René are living on the Upper East Side in a penthouse the Contessa bought them as a wedding present, attending Lamaze classes together, and looking as if neither of them could be happier.
Grandmère is so jealous that Bella got René instead of me—even though I’m still inhigh school , hello—she could plotz. Basically, we never speak of it.
“Audrey Hepburn was a Domina Rei, as well,” Grandmère went on. “As well as Princess Grace of Monaco. Hillary Rodham Clinton. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Even Oprah Winfrey.”
A hush fell over our conversation then, as it always does in polite society whenever Ms. Winfrey’s name is mentioned.
Then I said, “Well, that’s all very nice, Grandmère. However, like I said, this really isn’t the best time for me. I—”
But Grandmère, as usual, wasn’t even listening.
“I, of course, was asked to join years ago. However, due to a complete misunderstanding involving a certain gentleman, who shall remain nameless, I was ruthlessly black-balled.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s too bad. I—”
“Fine. If you must know, it was Prince Rainier of Monaco. But the rumors were completely false! I never even looked at him twice! Was it my fault he was so fascinated by me that he used to follow me around like a puppy? I can’t imagine how anyone could have thought it was anything other than what it was…a simple infatuation a much older man bore for a young woman who couldn’t help sparkling with wit andjoie de vivre .”
It took me a minute to figure out who she was talking about. “You mean…you?”
“Of course me, Amelia! What is wrong with you? Why do you think he married Grace Kelly? Why do you think his family allowed him to marry a movie actress? Only because they were so relieved he agreed to marryanyone after the heartbreak he experienced when I rejected him….”