by Meg Cabot
And I need the cash for necessities, tampons, and food and stuff, until we start showing a profit. Jesus, Cal. I would never do drugs. I need my brain cells for my ART.
Thanks—U R the BEST!!
Much love,
Your little sis
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To: Mark Levine
Fr: Ruth Levine
Re: Hello!
Sweetie, I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re having fun on your little European jaunt, but I need to know ASAP: What size sweater are you wearing lately? I know usually you like a Large, but you joined that gym, didn’t you? So maybe you’ve bulked up a little, and need an Extra Large?
I only ask because it turns out Susie Schramm—you remember, I told you about her in my last email— she knits! Yes! On top of being a high-powered legal eagle AND a size four, she knits in her spare time (I mean, the time she spares from her work and volunteering for B’Nai Brith, of course).
And I’ve commissioned a sweater for you from her. Apparently, she isn’t afraid to use bold colors, either. I know how much you love yellow, so that’s what you’re getting….
Ooops, it was supposed to be a Hannukah surprise! Oh, well!
Write soon and let me know.
Love,
Mom
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To: Holly Caputo
Fr: Darrin Caputo
Re: Hello, it is your mother
Holly, it is your mother again. Darrin says I’m not to use his email anymore to write to you, but you do not pick up your cell phone when I call. Either your cell phone doesn’t work in Europe, or you are using that Caller ID, and not picking up when you see it is me.
Which is fine. I understand that you do not want to speak to your mother. Even though I am the one who gave birth to you, and wept with joy when I heard the doctor say you were a girl, the little daughter I had almost given up hope of having after four boys in a row.
I am writing now because I saw Jane Harris’s mother at the Kroger Sav-On yesterday, and what she said to me there disturbs me very much. Your father says it is nothing, but I do not agree. I was telling Mrs. Harris how lucky she is to have a daughter like Jane, who sees only nice Christian boys, like that very pleasant British boy, Dave, and the investment banker, Malcolm.
And Mrs. Harris says to me, “But Mark Levine is very nice, too. Listen, Maria, you must stop thinking of it as losing a daughter, but instead, of gaining a son.”
What does Claire Harris mean by this? Why would she think I am gaining a son? I do not need any more sons, I already have four… five if you count Darrin’s Roberto. Holly, you are not thinking of doing something foolish when you are in Italy, are you?
I hope you know that if you marry this boy Mark, he will NOT be a son to me. Just as you will no longer be my daughter. Think on this, I beg you.
I will pray for you.
Your mother
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Somebody needs to take Cal Langdon aside and tell him that that shirt he is wearing, which I am sure he thinks is very cutting edge and SoHo, actually makes him look gay. How can a straight man not know this?
And I know Cal is straight. Not just because he was married before, or the skank I saw slinking from his hotel room, because you know, those don’t really prove anything anymore, in today’s day and age (just look at Curt). I know because of what happened just now at the restaurant we’re having dinner at since it was raining again (what is WRONG with this country?) and nobody felt like cooking outside, much less risking all the electricity going off again by turning the oven on inside.
Plus everybody seems to be in a really bad mood, although no one will tell me why.
It must be the rain.
Anyway, they only let us into this restaurant after we stood at the door for like ten minutes tapping at the glass, then begging the proprietors in broken Italian to please please serve us, as they, like every restaurant owner we have encountered in Porto Recanati (except of course the Crazy Bar and Sexy Tattoo Shop), are actually very reluctant to prepare food and sell it to people, though they haven’t bothered to put a closed sign in their window. Apparently in the off-season what Le Marche restauranteurs do is invite all of their aged friends to sit in their restaurant at night and watch Magnum PI —in Italian of course—and ignore any actual paying customer who might wander in.
Thank God Mark is incapable of taking no for an answer, or we would never get fed. He carries this Guide to Le Marche handbook around with him and insists we have to eat at all the places Holly’s uncle marked for us. He even showed the restaurant proprietors their ranking, and insisted they feed us.
Maybe it’s something to do with him being around sick patients all day, but Mark just exudes this “Be nice to me” vibe, which people totally seem to respond to.
I mean, except for Holly’s mom.
And it’s not really as sickening as it sounds. On him, it works, and doesn’t leave you feeling like you want to hit him over the head with a pool cue or anything.
Anyway, the way I know Cal is not gay, in spite of the shirt and the model ex-wife—and Holly’s assurances to the contrary, of course, but hey, the future wife of the best friend is not always the first to know—is that after Magnum , the movie Babe came on, the one about the little pig who can herd sheep, and all of the Marquesians or whatever they are sat there, enrapt, in their traditional Le Marche-wear of jeans and Bon Jovi T-shirts, but Cal never blinked an eye. He just went right on drinking his grappa like it was actually good and not something that should only be sold as a facial astringent.
No gay guy can resist the lure of Babe . Not that I think the restauranteur and all of his aged friends are gay. They’re just foreigners. They probably cried at the end of Magnum , only I missed it because I was in the men’s room, trying to smuggle out a roll of toilet paper, because of course there wasn’t one in the ladies’ room. Ditto a toilet seat.
Which, by the way, I have to say What’s up with that? about. Clearly, Italian women never go to the bathroom outside of their own homes. That is the only thing I can think of to explain the state of some of the ladies’ washrooms in Le Marche. What do all the Italian ladies do, anyway, when they have to go? Just squat? I can barely make it into a squat during Pilates, and that’s in drawstring pants. What are the chances of me squatting in control-top panties and a pair of tight capris around my knees? Seriously? Think about it. The restaurant owners obviously haven’t.
And yes, I know, it’s a summer community and we’re here on the off-season, but I highly doubt the owner of this place has all the toilet seats stored somewhere in the back until the beach starts getting crowded again. I mean, clearly this is a culture where toilet seats just aren’t that important.
To which I say, Um, again, this is why America is a superpower and you, Italy, are not. Because we care about our comfort in the john.
Anyway, now everyone is arguing about tomorrow. You know, who’s going back to Rome to visit the US consulate. At first I just figured Holly and Mark would go by themselves, and I could lounge by the pool drinking bianco frizzante and reading the latest Nora Roberts. Um, hello, this is my vacation, right?
But no. Cal had to be all, “I’ll come with you,” to Holly and Mark.
Hello? Gowith them? Why? Don’t you have a book you’re supposed to be writing, or something? They don’t need you, Cal Langdon. A translator, maybe. But not a modelizer. I know what he’s up to. He might think I don’t, because I am just a lowly cartoonist and he is the big Saudi Arabian oil crisis guru journalist. But I am ONTO his devious plan. He thinks he’s going to go with Holly and Mark and make subtle anti-marriage remarks that will feed into Holly’s insecurities and make her so freaked out about marrying
against her parents’ wishes that she’s going to call the whole thing off!
Well, I am not going to let it happen. I just declared that if Cal’s going, I’m going, too!
Now he’s staring at me all squinty-eyed-Robert-Redfordy across the table, like I’m going to be so intimidated, I’m going to back down.
But it won’t work. I am staring squinty-eyed right back at him, while Holly and Mark argue over whether they should let either of us come with them. Mark says it will give us a chance to try one of the Roman restaurants Holly’s uncle recommended in the Guide to Roma book Mark found back at the villa.
But Holly says it’s our vacation too, and we shouldn’t have to spend it shuttling back and forth between Rome and Le Marche in a Toyota. Even though this time there won’t be a suitcase in the backseat, since it’s just a day trip.
I could see Cal wasn’t going to back down, so I said, “I happen to be extremely fond of Toyotas,” causing Holly to look at me and go, “Oh, God, what’s WRONG with you? And what are you writing in that book?”
I’ve been outed. More later.
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
The horror continues.
As soon as Cal got up to go use the facilities himself just now, I told Mark if he was any kind of friend he’d tell Cal to stay home at the villa with me (even though I don’t want him there, as it will mean spending the day alone with him while Holly and Mark are off US consulating tomorrow, but whatever). Also, that he should tell Cal his shirt looks gay. Mark pointed out that he had already encouraged Cal to stay home to no avail, and that the shirt is from Bangladesh and it’s the only clean thing left in Cal’s backpack. Apparently, he’s sweet-talked Frau Schumacher into doing his laundry while we eat.
I can’t believe he’d take advantage of that sweet old lady’s crush on him in such an obvious manner, even if he DID give her ten euros for her trouble, according to Mark.
Still.
At least the food is good. REALLY good. Even when it’s prepared by someone who won’t take their eyes off Babe. Although Cal and I both eschewed the raw oysters, Cal because he doesn’t like them, and me because I may be a travel neophyte, but I am not eating raw fish in a foreign country. Holly and Mark were both like, “Oh, well, more for us,” and slurped down like twenty each.
Whatever. It’s their funeral.
After this, since it’s stopped raining, we’re going to get gelati from the Gelateria and take a moonlit walk along the beach. Romantic! Well, for Holly and Mark.
Uh-oh, back to the Who’s Going To Rome Tomorrow argument….
Who buys their shirts in BANGLADESH??? What is wrong with the Gap, for God’s sake?
___________________________________________
e-mails
To: Jane Harris
Fr: Claire Harris
Re: Holly
Hi, honey! Don’t worry, everything’s fine. Well, I mean, your dad burst a blood vessel in his eye just now trying to move the stereo, but he says it doesn’t even hurt.
Anyway, I hope I didn’t mess anything up, but I saw Marie Caputo in the grocery store just now, and she was down in the mouth as usual about Holly (and telling me how lucky I was that you only date boys like Dave—whatever happened to him, anyway? He was so sweet) and I might have mentioned something about how she shouldn’t think of Holly’s marrying Mark as losing a daughter, but as gaining a son.
Then I remembered she’s not supposed to know anything about Holly marrying Mark this week.
I hope I didn’t let the cat out of the bag, or anything!
And as for that Cal, well, I agree, Saudi Arabia is a very boring subject for a book.
But still, he looked quite nice in that turtleneck he was wearing on Charlie Rose . I think it might have been cashmere. I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to give the boy a chance.
And what do you mean, I shouldn’t worry about him falling in love with you? I don’t want to hear that kind of negative talk from you, young lady. You know you’re irresistible. At least when you don’t have PMS and you wear your hair out of your eyes.
Love,
Mom
___________________________________________
To: Claire Harris
Fr: Jane Harris
Re: Holly
MOM! THIS IS REALLY REALLY BAD!!!! I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY ANYTHING!!!
DO NOT SAY ANYTHING ELSE TO ANYONE UNTIL I TELL YOU IT’S OK!
AND DON’T GO TO THE KROGER SAV-ON OR ANYWHERE ELSE WHERE YOU MIGHT MEET HOLLY’S MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
J
___________________________________________
To: Darrin Caputo
Fr: Jane Harris
Re: Your mother
Oh my God, Darrin, does your mother know? About Holly and Mark, I mean? Because I think my mother might have spilled something. YOU know, right? I mean about them—
Oh my God, what if you’re not supposed to know either? Holly will KILL me if she finds out I told. She really wanted to surprise you, on account of all those times you kidded her that she would settle on one guy.
But whatever, this is an emergency. Holly’s been acting all weird since this afternoon, kind of down, and I think it might be because she heard from your mother. Darrin, Holly and Mark are eloping this week! But everything is going wrong! The marriage license people here in Le Marche aren’t cooperating and your uncle’s oven doesn’t work and there’s this friend of Mark’s who keeps saying the meanest things and—
Well, never mind all that. Anyway, you have GOT to keep your mom from figuring out what’s going on, because I don’t think Holly can take much more. Can you do something to throw her off the scent? Pretend you and Bobby are adopting or something?
Oh, I know! Tell her you’re going to have a sex change operation!!! YES!!! Transgenderism will TOTALLY distract her!
Thanks, Darrin, you’re the best! I’ll write when I know more….
AND DON’T TELL HOLLY I TOLD!!!! WHEN YOU HEAR SHE’S MARRIED, ACT SURPRISED!!!!!!!!!!!
J
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
AAAARRRGH. MOTHERS. I mean, I love her and everything— how great is it to have someone in your life who, every time you complain about a guy, is all, “He must be secretly in love with you, that’s why he’s acting that way”?—but she has the BIGGEST MOUTH.
I mean, this is a CRISIS, her spilling the beans—well, sort of, anyway—to Mrs. Caputo.
And really, it’s my own fault, because I never should have said anything to her in the first place… to Mom, I mean. She hasn’t been able to hold a secret since… well, ever.
I just don’t know how to fix it. This new crisis, I mean. This is something Frau Schumacher’s not going to be able to shout at anybody about until it’s, you know, done.
As soon as I got that email I went to Holly and Mark’s room—Holly went to bed as soon as we got home from the restaurant, saying she had a headache… and no wonder, if she’d heard from her mother the way I suspected she had— and tapped on the door, since I knew Mark was down on the terrazza having a nightcap with Cal.
Anyway, Holly called “Come in” all weakly—she looked awful! Just AWFUL! I asked her if she’d heard from her mom and she said she had, and I said I was sorry and that it was all my fault.
Holly was just sweet as could be, and told me not to worry, that she didn’t blame me a bit….
But it’s all my fault. I just know it.
“I’m starting to think this wedding’s just not to be, anyway,” Holly said.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I told her that she HAS to marry Mark. That if she doesn’t, it will shake my faith in romantic love to its very core. That the two of them were m
ade for each other. I mean, look at the way he has those really big feet, and hers are so little and dainty! And look how she hates tomatoes and he loves them, and he hates sauerkraut and she loves it…. They routinely finish each other’s plates.
And they BOTH love Seventh Heaven , not just Holly. Mark won’t admit it, but HE doesn’t answer the phone when I call on Monday nights, either. And Holly says HE always cries at the end, too.
I told all this to Holly and she just nodded weakly and said she guessed she was just tired. So I told her to go to sleep and that she’d feel better in the morning.
But of course this was not the most reassuring of conversations. So I went downstairs to find Mark— and ran smack into him coming up the stairs, since he said he wasn’t feeling so hot either, and had decided to go to bed early as well.
So I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into one of the empty bedrooms—I guess Cal didn’t end up taking the pink one after all—and told him what happened with my mom and Holly’s mom.
All he said was, “Aw, Jane. I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“But Holly’s devastated!” I cried. I can’t believe he couldn’t see that! I mean, it’s true I’ve known Holly since the first grade when her family moved onto my street and I went over and rang the bell and asked if they had any little girls for me to play with.
But Mark’s been living with her for the past two years! You would think he’d know her at least as well as I do! I mean, they sleep in the same bed!
“Holly’s just tired,” Mark said. “She’s beat, same as me. It’s been kind of a long day.”
“Then…” I have to admit, I had tears in my own eyes, as if I had just watched the end of Babe or an episode of Seventh Heaven , “you’re not thinking of calling it off?”
