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Well, here goes nothing.
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
I should have known, of course. That it was all too good to be true.
About him having changed, I mean.
He hasn’t changed. They never change.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, just because he got Holly and Mark married, then threw them a nice party, and made a sweet toast, the way any normal man SHOULD have, I thought he’d come around.
Ha. HA!
It’s so transparently obvious now that the whole thing was some kind of setup to get me into bed.
I have to admit at first I was flattered. I mean, that he went to all that trouble, just to see me naked. No man’s ever gone to such elaborate lengths on my behalf. Well, Curt Shipley took me to the prom.
But knowing now that he didn’t really care WHO he screwed afterwards, me or Mike Morris, has somewhat spoiled my appreciation of the fact in retrospect.
Same with Cal Langdon. I mean, it was all just a big game to him. I knew it the minute I laid eyes on that art gallery woman. Just a kiss. Ha! Exactly as I suspected, it WASN’T just a kiss. He was just lonely, and wanted to get laid. He didn’t care by WHO. Or WHOM. Or whatever. Why else would he have invited her?
And I’ll admit, he did look kind of surprised to see her there. He must have forgotten he’d asked her to stop by.
Well, I’m sure that baptism I gave him reminded him plenty fast.
Whatever. It’s not like I even care. I mean, it’s not like I was FALLING FOR HIM, or anything. Please. Falling for WHAT? Believe me, I can do better than an egocentric jerk like him.
And okay, he DOES have those nice sinewy, ta
So what? He has a lot of faults, too. He thinks he knows everything, when, very clearly, he does not, particularly when it comes to human relations.
And he writes books I wouldn’t pick up to read if I even were dying of boredom.
And, though I can’t be sure of it, I think I caught him looked at me a little fu
Who needs that? Not me. No, sir. I’m sticking to nice guys. Like Malcolm. Well, not Malcolm, exactly, since he’s clearly moved on, which… good for him.
But I mean simple guys, like Malcolm. Guys who don’t play head games. Guys with a wry appreciation of life’s vagaries. Cal doesn’t appreciate anything wryly. Well, except for maybe my grammatical errors.
Oh. Wait. War.
Okay. Peter won.
Whatever.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah.
The first thing I’m going to do when I get back home is register for some kind of class at the Learning A
Because even though this country has its faults—the three-hour lunches, where everything, even SHOE stores, is closed… not to mention the lack of toilets, like at Amici Amore, or just the seats, like that restaurant in Porto Recanati—it can also be super nice. When I made Peter drop me off in town today after the party, when he and A
I haven’t been able to do much relaxing since I got to Italy—well, except for like five minutes by the pool that one day—what with the sightseeing and the worrying about Holly and Mark’s wedding not working out and the whole Cal thing.
But today I relaxed, and I looked around, and I… well, I liked what I saw. Italy, I mean. Well, Le Marche, anyway. They’re all so friendly, and say hi to one another as they pass on the street.
And all of the windows have flower boxes instead of fire escapes on them, because none of the buildings is more than two stories high.
And because the buildings are so low, the sky looks HUGE overhead, like in Wyoming, or something. Only it’s a blue like it never gets in New York, on account of all the pollution from the traffic. Here, most everyone rides scooters, or at most, they have tiny little Smart Cars.
Even the ice cream tastes better than back in America. That was the best pistachio I ever had.
And the pace of life is kind of catching. I mean, I definitely don’t approve of three-hour lunches. But if you NEED to take that long for lunch, it’s nice that it’s not frowned on. Like it would be in Manhattan. I mean, can you imagine if you worked on Wall Street or whatever and you tried to tell your boss you wouldn’t be back for three hours?
There’s something kind of nice about the way no one hurries, and how there always seems to be time for a cup of coffee and a friendly Buon giorno.
It’s a shame we have to leave Friday, really. I mean, not that I’ll be sad to say good-bye forever to SOME people I’ve met here. But I think I’ll miss this place. And Peter. And even his great-grandmother and snotty A
Well, just everything.
Except HIM.
After I take that class at the Learning A
HIM.
Oh, my God. He’s back.
He has some nerve.
Oh, and look. His face still has that same hangdog expression that he had on when I left. What happened, Cal? Did your Italian skank refuse to put out when she saw how stupid you look sitting at the bottom of the pool?
Huh. He’s trying to make conversation. Yeah, nice try, buddy. But you’re not going to get anywhere in front of the kid. Why do you think I invited him over here? Yeah, not because I have such a burning love for card games. No, it was because I had a feeling you’d come crawling back. And I know you aren’t going to be talking about us if there’s a third party—
OH MY GOD! THAT’S BRIBERY!
Wait, two can play at that game—
AARRRGHHH!!! WHY DIDN’T I GET CASH WHEN I WAS IN TOWN?
Fine. Whatever. So Peter’s gone. A twenty, and he’s off. Traitor.
I don’t care. I still don’t have to listen to what this guy has to say. I can just go inside and see what Holly’s doing—
Um, no, I can’t. Because Holly and Mark are at the hotel. The hotel room he bought them. We’re all alone. We’re all alone in this giant villa because he—
PLANNED IT THAT WAY!!!!
OH MY GOD. I AM SUCH AN IDIOT.
But whatever. Still not listening. No. Not listening to you, Mr. My Only Goal In Life Is to Break the Heart of the Stupid American Girl. NOT LISTENING.
Cal: “Jane. Seriously. Quit writing in that book and look at me. Just for a minute.”
Me: “No.”
Cal: “Fine. But I’m not going to go away. Not until we have this out.”
Me: “There is nothing to have out.”
Cal: “Yes, there is. Look, I know I’ve acted like a jerk almost from the first moment I met you—”