by Meg Cabot
Ah! Domesticity! How I haven’t missed you!
But I suppose domesticity can have its benefits. Mark is happier than I’ve ever seen him. He seems almost to welcome the noose that awaits his neck at the end of this journey. Although I suppose when the noose looks like Holly…
And she does, I’ll admit, seem to think about topics outside of her nails and yoga and Must See TV, unlike most of the American women I’ve encountered lately. I even had an intelligent conversation with her last week about Gore Vidal.
But I had intelligent conversations with Valerie in the early days, as well.
And as for this friend of Holly’s… I don’t know. I suppose allowances must be made because she’s an artist.
But is cartooning really art? My mother would surely think so.
But Mom thinks the lint she picks from the dryer and hot-glues to clothespins is art. And sadly, she is supported in this belief by the art community of Tucson, where she’s lately set up a studio.
Still, though she may be an artist, Ms. Harris does have very shiny hair. It’s brown, like her eyes.
The tattoo of a cat head—Wondercat, I’m supposing—she wears just above her right ankle is somewhat off-putting, however. And her mouth never seems to stop moving. Now she’s telling the flight attendant how much she enjoyed the male lead’s last film, in which he played some kind of mutant.
This seat is so uncomfortable. I can just fit into it, if I don’t inhale.
Oh, well. I’ve slept in worse places. At least there aren’t any guerrillas hiding in nearby undergrowth, waiting for the opportunity to slit my throat. Or snakes.
God, I hate snakes.
So that’s something, anyway.
* * *
Benvenuti in
(Welcome to)
Alitalia Inflight Menu
Colazione
(Breakfast)
Spremuta fresca di arancia
Omelette alle erbe fini con funghi, pomodori e bacon ala griglia
Assortimento di tieviti e pano tostate caldi
Caffe, te, latte
Freshly squeezed orange juice
Herb omelette accompanied with mushrooms, grilled cherry tomatoes, and bacon
Assortment of pastries and croissants
Coffee, tea, milk
* * *
Travel Diary of
Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Cell Phone Guy was right. There is plenty of water onboard this flight. There’s also a lot of wine. Being drunk by the very loud group of people behind us. Who keep yelling to the flight attendant in Italian so I don’t know what they’re saying. But it doesn’t sound very nice.
I also don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate to drink wine with breakfast, which is what they just woke us all up to have. I would have preferred to sleep for the rest of the flight, since it seems like we just had dinner after all.
But they came around with the cart and asked us all if we wanted breakfast and that woke everybody up, and now we’re all cranky. But especially me because I fell asleep with my mascara still on and I guess it got kind of gunked up underneath the sleeping mask they gave us, and when the flight attendant woke me up to ask me if I wanted breakfast and I took off my sleeping mask, I still couldn’t see him because my eyelashes were all stuck together. And then he said, “Oh, no, I think not,” about me wanting breakfast in a kind of horrified voice.
So then I had to hurry to the bathroom to try to pick the chunks of mascara from my eyes before Cal could see it. Which he didn’t, thank God, because he was still asleep.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that Cal woke up while I was gone, and I guess went to the other bathroom, where I suppose he brushed his teeth with the little kit they gave us just like I did, because his breath was minty fresh when he replied to the question I asked him, which I only asked him to be polite and make conversation, something I’ll be sure not to do again where he’s concerned.
Anyway, I asked him if he was excited about the wedding, he said, “Not exactly.”
Which is not especially something you want to hear from the best man of your best friend’s husband-to-be, in my opinion.
I have to admit I was so shocked I just sat there and stared at the thing on the wall that counts down the kms until we get to Roma (425). I couldn’t think what he meant by it.
It seemed to me that the only thing he could mean by it was that maybe he doesn’t like Holly or something, which is ridiculous because of course who doesn’t like Holly? She’s very kind and pretty and is the art director for a huge urban newspaper, which is a thankless job that doesn’t pay nearly as well as it should, considering the fact that she has to work with crazy cartoonists like me, not to mention all the other psychos at the Journal, like that Dolly Vargas from the Style section who is always on Holly’s back for not making the reds in the Valentine’s Day issue red enough.
Plus she completely adores Mark. So why wouldn’t Cal like her?
So I asked him—maybe a little defensively, I’ll admit, but hello, I’ve known Holly for years, and if it weren’t for her, Wondercat would never have seen the light of day, but would still be just a silly sketch in my notepad, and I still wouldn’t be able to pay my American Express bill every month—what he had against her, and he said, totally politely, “Oh, I haven’t got anything against Holly. I think Holly’s great and Mark’s lucky to have her. It’s just marriage I have a problem with.”
So then I realized he’s one of those monogamy-phobes.
So I told him about how lobsters mate for life, and if they can do it, why can’t we, and he looked at me sort of funny and said, “Yes, but they’re crustaceans.”
To which I replied that I knew that, but that lots of mammals mate for life as well, such as wolves and hawks (at least that’s what Rutger Hauer said in LadyHawke, so I assume it’s true), and how I think it’s romantic and the way things should be.
And then Cal said, “If it’s so romantic, how come over fifty percent of marriages end in divorce? How come the leading cause of death for pregnant women in the US isn’t complications from childbirth but murder by their spouses?”
What can you even say to something like that?
I swear, if this guy starts spewing those little factoids of his about divorce and murder rates while Holly’s within hearing distance, I’ll kill him. KILL HIM. She’s got enough on her mind right now without hearing THAT kind of stuff… I mean, what with her mother and all.
Ack! We’re landing! In a few minutes, I’ll be on foreign soil, for the first time in my life! I’m sure the Armrest Nazi, being a seasoned world traveler, would think it’s stupid, but… I’m so excited!
Travel Diary of
Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
I got it! My first stamp in my passport! It’s kind of smudgy and you can’t really read the date. But it’s THERE!
Though it TOOK long enough to get it. What is with the LINES in this place? I mean, seriously, do you think they could have opened more than one customs booth? There must have been three hundred people in line ahead of us. This NEVER would have happened in the US. I mean, Americans just would not have put up with it.
Still, it gave me a chance to look around and realize right away that my shoes are all wrong for this country. NO ONE here wears Steve Madden slides. NO ONE. The Italian women have slides, all right, but they have these wicked pointed toes and tiny little heels. Plus they are all wearing long pants, not jeans like Holly and I, and they have these cashmere scarves thrown casually over one shoulder even though according to the Weather Channel it’s going to be 24 degrees Celsius every day while we’re here, which is in the 80s. I think.
So what’s up with that?
Also, it was just SLIGHTLY disturbing when the Customs guy was all, “And where in Italy are you staying,” and I said, “Le Marche,” hoping I’d pronounced it right, and he made a face and went, “Why would you go THERE?”
Frankly, I do not believe that by offering me his opinion on my final destination that he was allowing me to pass without delay or hindrance into his country, as my passport says he has to.
Besides which, he’s wrong. Holly always said her uncle’s house was in the most beautiful section of Italy there is. And okay, according to my guidebook, Le Marche (also known as the Le Marche in English) isn’t that well known to foreigners. But her uncle seems to have liked it well enough to spend a million bucks on a sixteenth-century villa there.
Besides, what’s not to like? Le Marche “forms the eastern seaboard of central Italy—with the Apennine Mountains, noted for their bare peaks and dramatic gorges, forming a natural boundary between it and Umbria and Tuscany. The areas nearer the coast are celebrated for their fertile rounded hills topped by ancient fortified towns.”
Um, at least according to my guidebook.
And OK, maybe it’s not super popular with anyone but Italians (except for my customs agent). But my guidebook also goes on and on about its unspoiled beauty….
Whatever. Why is my bag always the last one to get through the fricking carousel? And why is Cal laughing so hard at it? My bag is not funny. OK, I painted a Wondercat head on it. But that’s only because it’s a black rolly bag, and there are only five billion other black rolly bags that look exactly like it. At least I can tell mine apart from all the others at a distance of a hundred yards.
Plus, my bag’s not as big as HOLLY’s. I mean, I didn’t cram a wedding gown into MINE. Just because HE has this dinky little backpack, Mr. Jet-Set-Travel-Guy—
Oh, here’s the taxi stand, at LAST. I can’t WAIT to get to the hotel and take a nap. Even if it IS only ten in the morning here. I’m so TIRED….
What is that incessant BEEPING coming out of my bag? Not just MY bag either… EVERYBODY is beeping!
* * *
To: Jane Harris
Fr: Claire Harris
Re: You
I hope this thing works! You said you’d be able to get emails in Italy, so I hope you get this. Everything here is fine, don’t worry. Well, Dad stuck his hand in the wood chipper again, but he was wearing his chain-mail gloves, so he just broke a blade, didn’t lose a finger. He is so forgetful sometimes!
Anyway, I know I’m not supposed to say anything to Holly’s mom about how she and Mark are eloping, and you don’t need to worry, I haven’t said a word, even though I saw her at book group last night and she was practically in tears when we were discussing the scene in which the couple in the book—another one by that nice man who wrote A Walk to Remember… he’s just so talented. But why do all his characters have to die at the end?—got married.
When we asked what was wrong, poor Marie said all she’s ever wanted is to see Holly settled. You know how Holly was always dying her hair purple and getting things pierced and dating the most inappropriate people all through those years you two were in school together. (Thank goodness you were never like that! You’ve always been so sensible. I thought your new friend Malcolm was so sweet when I met him last July. How is his investment banking job, anyway? I’m so happy you’ve finally found someone so responsible! And he looks so young! You’d hardly know he was your age. Must be good genes!)
I really wanted to say something to Marie like, “Well, you aren’t going to have to worry much longer about Holly staying single,” but of course I didn’t.
Although I sort of wish I had said something now, since Marie went on to say, “I don’t care who she marries, as long as he’s a nice Catholic boy! I have nothing against this Mark of hers, but he’s, you know. Not one of us.”
Oh, dear. I don’t think Marie is going to be very happy when she gets Holly and Mark’s telegram telling her they’ve gotten married.
And Mark is such a nice boy, too. It’s such a shame.
Well, I hope you arrived safely. Be careful of pickpockets in Rome. I hear they like to careen past tourists on Vespas through those little narrow streets and snatch handbags and cameras right off by the shoulder strap! So be sure not to wear your shoulder strap slung across your body or you could be dragged to your death.
Love,
Mom
PS Love to The Dude!
PPS What is Mark’s friend like? Is he nice? I’m sure he must be, if he’s a friend of Mark’s!
* * *
To: Mark Levine
Fr: Ruth Levine
Re: Hello!
Hi, sweetie! I know you’re off to Europe today with your little friends, but I just wanted you to know that last night we had dinner with the Schramms—you remember, you learned to swim in Susie Schramm’s backyard pool when you were four—and Lottie Schramm told me that Susie is a corporate lawyer in—get this—NEW YORK CITY! Yes! She works at a firm called Hertzog, Webber, and Doyle on Madison Avenue (so fancy!), and lives on the Upper East Side, not three blocks from your own place! Isn’t that incredible? I’m surprised the two of you have never run into one another at H & H Bagels!
In any case, Lottie gave me Susie’s email to pass along to you. It’s [email protected]. You really ought to drop her a line, Mark. Dottie showed me a picture. Susie’s grown into a real beauty, and lost every bit of her baby fat (Dottie says because she does Pilates three times a week and hasn’t touched a carb in three years).
Hope you’re having fun! Don’t forget to wear a sweater in the evenings. I understand it can get chilly there at night.
Love,
Mom
* * *
To: Ruth Levine
Fr: Mark Levine
Re: Hello!
Ma. Stop trying to fix me up with other women. I am in love with Holly. Got it? HOLLY.
Mark
* * *
To: Holly Caputo
Fr: Inge Schumacher
Re: Greetings!
I am understand you will have arrived today! This is perfect. I am making your uncle’s house, Villa Beccacia, a home for you. All is ready except the towels which dry on line. I am understand three rooms beds to be made. You arrive by car tomorrow afternoon? You will call me at Villa Beccacia and I will greet you on the autobahn to show you way to villa.
I am hoping you do not mind, my great-grandson Peter visits me on school holiday during your stay. He is good boy, and drives each morning on his motorino to fetch the brotchen for you. Tschuss!
Inge Schumacher
Villa Beccacia
Castelfidardo, Marche
* * *
To: Cal Langdon
Fr: Tara Samuels
Re: Travel Services
Success! I’ve booked you a seat to Rome on the 6 P.M. flight today. I’m SO sorry about the confusion, and to make up for it, we managed to upgrade you to first class. Enjoy your flight!
Tara
* * *
To: Claire Harris
Fr: Jane Harris
Re: You
Hi, Mom! I’m writing this to you from an Italian taxi cab! We’re on the way from the airport to the hotel where we’re staying for the night before going on to Holly’s uncle’s villa in the morning. Holly made the paper give us Blackberries for emergency use. I can see why they gave one to Holly, because she’s the art director, so her job is actually important. But ME??? I’m a freelancer, I don’t even really work there anymore. But Holly talked them into it. Isn’t that cool? Of course we have to give them back when we get home. But whatever.
It is so… different here. I mean, I’m only in the cab, but already, it looks way different from home. All of the billboards are in Italian! Well, I mean, I know you’d expect that, but I mean, REALLY in Italian. Like there are no recognizably English words AT ALL.
And all of the buildings h
ave these roll-down metal shutters, painted in all these bright colors, to keep out the sun, because I guess it can get really hot, and no one has air-conditioning.
And there are window boxes EVERYWHERE, with CASCADES of red and pink and blue flowers frothing down them. It’s so pretty!
And everywhere you look are these funny little half-cars, like Volkswagen bugs that got cut in half, called Smart Cars. In fact the biggest car I’ve seen here is the minivan we’re in. I guess Italians aren’t really having big families anymore. Either that, or they don’t go anywhere with the kids.
I really don’t think you have to worry about my bag getting snatched, Mom. The only people I see on Vespas here are fashionably dressed, skinny women, with long flowing hair, driving around in long, pointy shoes with tiny little heels!
I’m so tired, I can’t type anymore. I can’t WAIT to get to the hotel so I can crash. I need a shower in the WORST way.
Love to Dad. Tell him to keep wearing those gloves.
Janie
PS The Dude was fine when I left him. Julio, the super’s son, is going to look in on him every day after school. I bought him some special tuna Pounce for a treat. For The Dude. Not Julio.