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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: “I don’t know. You’re the one who wrote a book about it. Why do you keep looking at my feet, anyway?”
Cal: “Why do you keep looking at my crotch?”
I SWEAR TO GOD!!! THAT IS WHAT HE ASKED ME!!!!
Then THANK GOD Peter showed up from out of nowhere and went, “Jane Harris, I am hearing your woice and knew you vere avake. Now will you be drawing me the sketches of Vundercat you promised for my Veb site?” and handed me a sketch pad and some markers.
So I said, “Of course, Peter,” in my most gracious voice— even though I was FREAKING OUT about the crotch thing— and drew him about fifty Wondercat sketches, while Cal sat there scowling in the candlelight and going, “Peter, shouldn’t you be in bed by now? Don’t you have school in the morning?”
But of course Peter explained that he goes to Internet school and doesn’t have to log on by any particular time.
And all I could think was, what if Peter hadn’t shown up right then? I mean, Cal and I had basically been in each other’s face over that whole petroleum thing. Close enough that, you know, it occurred to me— just kind of randomly—that if we didn’t hate each other so much, we might have started, I don’t know.
Kissing or something.
I KNOW! I don’t even LIKE him. He’s a totally pompous know-it-all—a modelizer!
But still, he does kind of…exude something. I don’t know what it is. I mean, I was having a pretty good time hating his guts right up until I saw him with those cats. CATS!!!! HE LIKES CATS!!!!
And he so clearly didn’t WANT to be caught feeding them. He looked so GUILTY when he saw me.
And then, when we got close there, during our little argument…
BAM. There it was. I couldn’t stop noticing how handsome he looked in the candlelight, with those too blue eyes and his messy Brad Pitt-y hair and his shirt open a little at the neck so I saw a tiny bit of that chest he’d had out on display earlier by the pool and—
WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME??? I ALREADY HAVE A BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!!!
Well, okay, not really.
But I have one if I want one. All I have to do is go to British Columbia, and WHAM, there he is, the boyfriend. A boyfriend who BELIEVES in love. A boyfriend who would NEVER say love is a mere chemical reaction in the brain caused by surges of phenylethylamine (um, especially since Malcolm doesn’t know any words that big).
SO WHY AM I EVEN THINKING ABOUT CAL LANGDON IN THAT WAY????
It can’t just be the cat thing. It must be all this fresh air. It DOES things to a girl. As soon as I get back to the city and breathe in good old New York exhaust fumes, I’ll be all right again.
I hope.
In the meantime, I’ve just got to STAY AWAY from him and his pheromones or whatever it is that makes me keep thinking about what it would be like to sleep with Cal Langdon.
Tomorrow I’ll make sure to wear my Adidas, too. No guy looks at your feet when you’re in your Adidas.
God, how am I supposed to get to sleep NOW?
PDA of Cal Langdon
PDA of Cal Langdon
I have GOT to stay away from prosecco. It makes me do the most damnable things, things I’d never do were I in my right mind… feed perfectly fine tuna to a lot of stray cats, for example. Or admire the way the moonlight brings out the highlights in a certain cartoonist’s hair…
Who drank all the scotch?
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e-mails
To: Jane Harris >
Fr: Darrin Caputo
Re: Your mother
ARE YOU SERIOUS???? HOLLY AND MARK ARE ELOPING???? In Castelfidardo?
Well, that’s kind of a weird place to do it (have you seen the whang on that naked accordionist statue in the town square? That dude is HUNG), but I couldn’t be happier for them. OF COURSE we’ll do something to throw Mom off the scent. I don’t know what, exactly…. Bobby’s going to think something up,he’s better at this kind of thing than I am.
Oh my God, that is just the BEST NEWS. NO ONE deserves a romantic wedding in Italy more than my sister Holly. Give her a big kiss from me, and don’t worry, I won’t tell a SOUL!!!!
Love,
D
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To: Jane Harris >
Fr: Claire Harris
Re: Holly’s mother
Really, Jane, you don’t have to SHOUT at me. That’s what they call it when you write an email in capital letters, you know. SHOUTING. And it’s very rude.
I didn’t mean to say anything to Marie. Obviously. It just slipped out. You should be a little more understanding, you know. I’m under a lot of stress these days over at the Salvation Army, where I’ve been volunteering. The past three Saturdays in the row I’ve signed up to work in the thrift shop, and each and every time they’ve put me in the back, ironing the donated baby clothes! I know I’m very good with an iron, but can’t they at least once let me work the cash register? Or help the poor people find the right clothes for their body type?
But no. “Oh, look, here comes Claire. Get out the ironing board.”
I am seriously considering quitting and going over to Good Will. Marcy Clark told me they don’t make anybody iron ANYTHING over there.
Plus your dad touched a mango yesterday, and you know how allergic he is. I WARNED him there was a mango in the fruit bowl. I was going to use it in the fruit salad I’m bringing to the gourmet potluck at Helen Fogarty’s this weekend.
But Dad had to go and cut it up, thinking it was a papaya, and now he’s got hives all over his hands and arms. I’ve been putting calamine lotion on them, but I think we’re going to have to take another trip over to the Promptcare for some prednisone….
So don’t be so snappy with me, young lady. I have a lot going on.
I don’t know what Marie’s problem is, anyway. At least her daughter’s got a man who wants to marry her. All MY daughter has is a development deal with the Cartoon Network. And while Daddy and I are very proud of you, sweetie, you can’t exactly honeymoon with a development deal, now, can you? Or gaze into a development deal’s sweet angelic eyes while you’re changing its diaper.
So cut your mother some slack.
Love,
Mom
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Okay. Okay. Everything is going to be all right. I can figure this out. I can totally figure this out—
No, I can’t. This is a disaster. A total and complete disaster.
What am I going to do????
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