Princess in Waiting (7 page)

her Ansel Adams

stage. He pulled the boards off the windows and got rid of all the noxious chemicals that have been sitting

around since

forever because my mom and I were too afraid to touch them. Now the darkroom is going to be the

baby's room! It is so sunny and nice in there. Or at least it was until my mom started painting the walls

with scenes of important historical

significance, such as the trial of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg and the assassination of Martin Luther King,

so that, she says,

the baby will have an understanding of all the problems facing our nation (Mr. G assured me privately that

he is going to

paint over the whole thing as soon as my mom gets admitted to the maternity ward. She will never know

the difference

once the endorphins kick in. All I can say is thank God Mom picked a man with so much common sense

with whom to reproduce this time around).

But the best thing of all was what was waiting for me on the answering machine. My mom played it for

me proudly

almost the minute I walked through the door.

IT WAS A MESSAGE FROM MICHAEL!!!! MY FIRST MESSAGE FROM

MICHAEL SINCE

I BECAME HIS GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!

Which of course means it worked. The my-not-calling-him thing, I mean.

The message goes like this:

'Uh, hi, Mia? Yeah, it's Michael. I was just wondering if you could, uh, call me when you get this

message. '

Cause I haven't heard from you in a while. And I just want to know if you're, uh, OK. And make

sure you got home all right. And that there's nothing wrong. OK. That's all. Well. Bye. This is

Michael, by the way. Or

maybe I said that. I can't remember. Hi, Mrs Thermopolis. Hi, Mr. G. OK. Well. Call me, Mia.

Bye.'

I took the tape out of the message machine and am keeping it in the drawer of my nightstand along with:

a. some grains of rice from the bag Michael and I sat on at the Cultural Diversity Dance, in memory of

the first time

we ever slow-danced together

b. a dried-out piece of toast from the
Rocky Horror Show,
which is where Michael and I went on our

first date,

though it wasn't really a date because Kenny came too

c. a cut-out snowflake from the Non-Denominational Winter Dance, in memory of the first time Michael

and I kissed

It was the best Christmas present I could ever have had, that message. Even better than DSL.

So then I came into my room and unpacked and played the message over about fifty times on my tape

player, and my mom kept coming in to give me more hugs and asking me if I wanted to listen to her new

Liz Phair CD and wanting to show me

her stretch marks. Then, about the thirtieth time she came in, I was playing Michael's message again, and

she was all, 'Haven't you called him back yet, honey?' and I went, 'No,' and she went, 'Well, why not?'

and I went, 'Because I am trying to be like Jane Eyre.'

And then my mom got all squinty-eyed like she does whenever they are debating funding for the arts in

Congress.

'Jane Eyre?' she echoed. 'You mean the book?'

'Exactly,' I said, tugging the little Napoleonic diamond napkin holders that the Prime Minister of France

had given me for Christmas out from beneath Fat Louie. He had lain down inside my suitcase, I guess in

the mistaken belief that I was packing, not unpacking, and he wanted to try to stop me from going away

again. 'See, Jane didn't chase boys, she let them chase her. And so Tina and I, we've both taken solemn

vows that we are going to be just like Jane.'

My mom, unlike Grandmere had been, didn't look happy to hear this.

'But Jane Eyre was so mean to poor Mr Rochester,' she cried.

I didn't mention that this was what I had thought, too . . . at first.

'Mom,' I said, very firmly. 'I think you're forgetting the whole first-wife-in-the-attic thing.'

'Because she was a lunatic,' my mom pointed out. 'It wasn't like they had psychotropic drugs back then.

Keeping Bertha locked in the attic was kinder, really, than sending her to a mental hospital, considering

what they were like during that era,

with people chained to the walls and the whole no TV thing. Really, Mia. I swear I don't know where

you get half your

ideas. Jane Eyre? Who told you about Jane Eyre?'

'Um,' I said, stalling because I knew my mom wasn't going to like the answer. 'Grandmere.'

My mom's lips got so thin, they completely disappeared.

'I should have known,' she said. 'Well, Mia, I think it is commendable that you and your friends have

decided not to chase boys. However, if a boy leaves a nice message on the answering machine like

Michael did, it could hardly be construed as chasing for you to do the polite thing and return his call.'

I thought about this. My mom was probably right. I mean, it isn't as if Michael has a crazy wife in the

attic. The Fifth

Avenue apartment where the Moscovitzes live doesn't even have an attic, so far as I know.

'OK,' I said, setting down the clothes I'd been putting away. 'I guess I could return his call.' My heart

was swelling at the

very idea. In a minute - less than a minute, if I could get my mom out of my room fast enough - I'd be

talking to Michael!

And there wouldn't be that weird swooshing sound there always is when you call from across die ocean.

Because there

was no ocean separating us! Just Washington Square Park. 'Returning calls probably doesn't count as

chasing. That would probably be OK.'

My mom, who was sitting on the end of my bed, just shook her head.

'Really, Mia,' she said. 'You know I don't like to contradict your grandmother ...' This was the biggest lie

I'd heard since the Prince of Liechtenstein told me I waltzed divinely, but I let it slide, on account of

Mom's condition. '. . . but I really don't

think you should be playing mind games with boys. Particularly a boy you care about. Particularly a boy

like Michael.'

'Mom, if I want to spend the rest of my life with him, I have to play games with Michael,' I explained to

her, patiently.

'I certainly can't tell him the truth. If he were ever to learn the depths of my passion for him, he'd run like

a startled fawn.'

My mom looked stunned. A what?'

'A startled fawn,' I explained. 'See, Tina told herboyfriend Dave Farouq El-Abar how she really

feels about him, and he

pulled a total David Caruso on her.'

My mom blinked. A who?'

'David Caruso,' I said. I felt sorry for my mom. Clearly she had only managed to snag Mr. Gianini by the

skin of her teeth.

I couldn't believe she didn't know this stuff. 'You know, he disappeared for a really long time. Dave only

resurfaced when

Tina managed to scrounge Wresdemania tickets for the Garden. And ever since, Tina says things have

been really awkward.' Done unpacking, I shooed Fat Louie out of the suitcase, closed it, and put it on

the floor. Then I sat next to my mom on the bed. 'Mom,' I said. 'I do
not
want that to happen to me and

Michael. I love Michael more than anything in the entire world, except for you and Dad and Fat Louie.'

I just said the you and Dad part to be polite. I think I love Michael more than I love my mom and dad. It

sounds terrible

to say, but I can't help it, it is just how I feel.

But I will never love anyone or anything as much as I love Fat Louie.

'So don't you see?' I said to her. 'What Michael and I have, I don't want to mess it up. He's my Romeo

in black jeans.' Even though of course I have never seen Michael in black jeans. But I am sure he has

some. It is just that we have a dress code

at our school, so usually when I see him he is in grey flannel pants, as that is part of our uniform.

It seemed to take my mom a minute to digest all this. When she had, all she said was, 'I respect that you

want to take things with Michael slowly, Mia. But I do think that if you haven't seen a boy in a month,

and he leaves a message for you, the

decent thing to do is to call him back. If you don't, I think you can pretty much guarantee he is going to

run. And not like a startled fawn, either.'

I blinked at my mom. She had a point. I saw then that Grandmere's scheme — you know, of always

keeping the man you

love guessing as to whether or not you love him back — had some pitfalls. Such as, he could just decide

you don't like him, and take off, and maybe fall in love with some other girl of whose affection he could

be assured, like Judith Gershner,

president of the Computer Club and all-round prodigy, even though supposedly she is dating a boy from

Trinity, but you

never know, that could be a ruse to lull me into a false sense of security about Michael and put my guard

down, thinking he

is safe from Judith's fruit-fly-cloning clutches . . .

'Mia,' my mom said, looking at me all concerned. 'Are you all right?'

I tried to smile, but I couldn't. How, I wondered, could Tina and I have overlooked this very serious flaw

in our plan? Even now, Michael could be on the phone to Judith, or some other equally intellectual girl,

talking about quasars or photons or whatever it is smart people talk about.

'Mom,' I said, standing up. 'You have to go. I have to call him.'

I was glad the panic that was clutching my throat wasn't audible in my voice.

'Oh, Mia,' my mom said, looking pleased. 'I really think you should. Charlotte Bronte is, of course, a

brilliant author, but

you've got to remember, she wrote
Jane Eyre
back in the 1840s, and things were a little different then.'

'Mom,' I said. Lilly and Michael's parents, the Drs. Moscovitz, have this totally hard and fast rule about

calling after eleven

on schoolnights. It is
verboten.
And guess what, it was practically eleven. And my mom was still standing

there, keeping

me from having the privacy I would need if I were going to make this all-important call.

'Oh,' she said, smiling. Even though she is pregnant, my mom is still somewhat of a babe, with all this long

black hair that

curls just right. Clearly I had inherited my dad's hair, which I've actually never seen, since he's always

been bald since

I've known him.

DNA is so unfair.

Anyway, FINALLY she left - pregnant women move SO slowly, I swear you would think evolution

would have made

them quicker so they could get away from predators or whatever, but I guess not - and I lunged for the

phone, my heart pounding because at last, AT LAST, I was going to get to talk to Michael, and my mom

had even said that it was all right,

that my calling him wouldn't count as chasing since he'd called me first. . .

. . . and just as I was about to pick up the receiver, the phone rang. My heart actually did this flippy thing

inside my chest,

like it does every time I see Michael. It was Michael calling, I just knew it. I picked up after the second

ring -even though

I didn't want him dumping me for some more attentive girl, I didn't want him to think I was sitting by the

phone waiting for

him to call, either - and said, in my most sophisticated tone, 'Hello?'

Grandmere's cigarette-ravaged voice filled my ear. Amelia?' she rasped. 'Why do you sound like that?

Are you coming

down with something?'

'Grandmere.' I couldn't believe it. It was ten fifty-nine! I had exactly one minute left to call Michael

without running the risk

of the wrath of his parents. 'I can't talk now. I have to make another call.'

'Pfiiit!'
Grandmere made her traditional noise of disapproval. And who would you be calling at this hour,

as if I didn't know?'

'Grandmere.' Ten fifty-nine and a half. 'It's OK. He called me first. I am returning his call. It is the polite

thing to do.'

'It's too late for you to be calling
that boy,'
Grandmere said.

Eleven o'clock. I had missed my opportunity. Thanks to Grandmere.

'You'll see him at school tomorrow, anyway,' she went on. 'Now, let me speak to your mother.'

'My mother?' I was shocked by this. Grandmere never talks to my mom, if she can help it. They haven't

gotten along since

my mom refused to marry my dad after she got pregnant with me, on account of her not wanting her child

to be subjected

to the vicissitudes of a progenitive aristocracy, ,

'Yes, your mother,' Grandmere said. 'Surely you've heard of her.'

So I went out and passed the phone to my mom, who was sitting in the living room with Mr. Gianini,

watching
Absolutely Fabulous.
I didn't tell her who was on the phone, because if I had, my mom would

have told me to tell Grandmere that she was in the shower, and then I would have had to talk to her

some more.

'Hello?' my mom said, all brightly, thinking it was one of her friends calling to comment on the high jinks

of Eddie and Patsy.

I slunk out as fast I could. There were several heavy objects lying around the couch that my mom could

have hurled in my direction if I'd stayed within missile range.

Back in my room, I tried to figure out what to do about Michael. What was I going to say to

him tomorrow, when Lars and

I pulled up in the limo to pick up him and Lilly before school? That I'd gotten in too late to