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Me: “Almost?”
Cal: “Okay, from the first moment I met you. But I want you to know that I feel terrible about it now. You were right. I am an ass. And a creep. The things I said—the stuff I did—all of it. You were right. You were completely right about Mark and Holly, and I was completely wrong. I see that now.”
Hmmm. This is an interesting turn of events. He’s apologizing. And conceding wrongdoing. I’ve never had a guy do THAT before. What can this mean?
Oh, wait. I know. Silly me.
Me: “If this is all just an act to get me to go to the hotel too, so you can have the villa to yourself for the night for you and your skank, it’s not going to work. I happen to like it here, and have no intention of leaving, even for a Jacuzzi tub.”
Cal: “Jane. If I wanted to spend the night with Grazi, don’t you think I’d be at the hotel with her now, and not here, trying to reason with you?”
DAMN HIM AND HIS GENIUS LOGIC!
Me: “Well, whatever you’re trying to do, cut it out. It’s making me nervous. I liked it better when you hated me.”
Cal: “I never hated you—”
Me: “HA! HA! HA! CARABINIERI!”
Cal: “What? I can’t even joke with you?”
Me: “That wasn’t joking with me. That was a joke ABOUT me.”
Cal: “And you haven’t made plenty of those about me this past week?”
Me: “Not to your face.”
Oooooh. He just swung one of the wrought-iron chairs around, set it directly in front of me, sat down in it, and leaned forward, so that I can see the blond five-o’clock shadow dusting his jaw. Also those blue eyes.
LOOK AWAY. LOOK AWAY FROM THE HYPNOTIC BLUE EYES.
Cal: “Jane. Quit writing in that book and listen to me.” Ha. So not going to happen.
Cal: “Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to be, then I’m just going to say this. I will admit that when I met you, I might have been laboring under some misconceptions about male-female relations. I’m not going to tell you I’ve never been in love, because you and I both know that’s not true. I was in love once, and it didn’t work out, and because of that, I have worked very, very hard to convince myself that love doesn’t actually exist. Because I didn’t want to admit that I’d screwed it up. And if I couldn’t have it, I didn’t want anyone else to, either.”
Hmmm. Nice little explanation there. Neat. Tidy. Almost believable.
Cal: “But meeting you changed all that. You made me see that two people—like Mark and Holly—can fall deeply, madly in love, without any ulterior motives, and that that love isn’t just in their heads, a result of a chemical imbalance, but the result of attraction, mutual trust, and sheer, genuine affection. The love those two have for each other—the kind of love that would make them throw caution to the wind and get married in spite of almost everyone else in the world that they cared about being totally against the idea—that’s the kind of love I’ve always wanted, but never thought actually existed. Until yesterday.”
Hmmm. That’s pretty good, too.
Wait. What the hell is he talking about?
Me: “What happened yesterday?”
Cal: “Yesterday, I was stuck in a car with you for eight hours.” Bastard. I didn’t even sing along with the radio. Much.
Me: “Yeah. And?”
Cal: “Something happened.”
Me: “If you’re referring to my driving skills, may I just say I didn’t TOUCH that truck. What you felt was just the wind. We were going pretty fast. And there wasn’t even a scratch. I checked.”
Cal: “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that I fell in love with you. And I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me, too.”
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cal: “Can you stop writing in that book now?”
How can I stop? I mean, I can barely hold onto my pen, my fingers are shaking so badly….
This can’t be true. This has to be some kind of elaborate boy scheme to… I don’t know what.
Me: “Okay, I understand that guys like you will stop at NOTHING to make a sexual conquest. I mean, telling a girl what you think she wants to hear… that’s par for the course. But it’s never a good move to presume you know what she feels for you. Because I can assure you, I am NOT in love with you.”
Cal: “I’m not presuming. I know exactly what you think about me. You think I’m an anal-retentive Armrest Nazi… an arrogant Modelizer. You can’t stand the way I talk, any of the subjects I choose to talk about, the imperious ma
Me: Speechless.
Cal: “Now will you put that book down and kiss me?”
Me: “No, I will NOT. What are you—how did you—did HOLLY tell you all that?”
Cal: “No. I read that book you’re writing in.”
WHAT?
Cal: “Could you write a little bigger? I’m not sure China saw that. Yes, I read your diary. It does say, on the first page, that you intend to give it to Holly and Mark as a wedding present. I didn’t think it would be any big deal for me to read something you obviously meant for them to read. It wasn’t until I was much too deeply engrossed in it to put it down that I realized you’d changed your plans.”
Me: “Ngh.”
Cal: “Well put. Yes, I know all your darkest secrets, Jane Harris. How much you pine for Dr. Kovac, who is, I’d like to point out, a fictional character. Your mistaken impression of the size of a certain part of my anatomy. What, exactly, you think about my book—not that your facial expression whenever I bring it up doesn’t say it all. I know you’ve got a soft spot for humpbacked dwarves, stray cats, and your friend Holly, and I know you want to go to Veselka’s with me and eat blintzes. I don’t know what Veselka’s is, but I’m a big fan of blintzes. I’ve never enjoyed myself more than I have the past forty-eight hours, during which I’ve been trapped in a car with one of the worst drivers I have ever seen, run up the Spanish Steps and then down again so I could be on time to wait in line to perjure myself at the American consulate. And I’d like to continue doing those sorts of things with you on a regular basis for the foreseeable future. Although I would also like to include sex with you, if possible. And if none of that convinces you, perhaps this will: I have every intention of sticking around long enough to form an intense, unbreakable, long-term bond with The Dude. And to prove it, this afternoon, I went and got this.”
Oh, my God. He’s rolling up his sleeve. Why is he rolling up his sleeve? What could he possibly—
NO!
IMPOSSIBLE!
It’s a tattoo!!! He’s got a tattoo. Of Wondercat! Just like the one on my ankle.
Me: “But—How? Where?”
Cal: “Crazy Bar and Sexy Tattoo Shop in town. They say Wondercat’s one of their best sellers.”
Me: “But–but–but that’s PERMANENT!!!!”
Cal: “So is how I feel about you. Now. Could you put the pen down and kiss me, please?”
And suddenly, I find that I can.
Because my heart has become filled with something. Something I can’t really describe.
Except that it feels like bianco frizzante.