by Meg Cabot
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—”
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 manner I order food in restaurants or tell cab drivers how much we owe them. You find my taste in women odious, the fact that I don’t own a television an unforgivable sin, and the fact that I would choose to write a book about Saudi Arabia completely unfathomable. And you’re also totally and completely in love with me. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have pushed me into the pool earlier today when you saw Grazi walk in.”
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? W
hat 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.
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Oh my God. He lied. It’s totally true, what Mark told Holly about Cal’s—
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Poor Frau Schumacher. She’s going to have a LOT of sheets to wash when we leave. I think we’ve done it in every bedroom at least once.
Oh well. I suppose she’s used to hard work, considering all the time she put in over at the Fuhrer’s place.
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Even Cal admits that Nutella on strawberries, washed down with champagne, makes a lovely midnight snack.
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Must write fast, as he’s downstairs, getting more strawberries.
He loves me! At least as much as I—I can’t believe I’m admitting this—love him. YES! It’s true! I love him! I could shout it from the rooftop: I LOVE HIM!
And I don’t think that’s the phenylethylanamine talking, either.
Endorphins? Definitely.
Oh, my God. I love Cal Langdon. CAL LANGDON.
And you know, really, the only reason he doesn’t like ER is that he’s never seen it. It turns out they don’t have ER in Libya or wherever it is he’s been all these years. I’m sure he’ll come around as soon as he’s caught up with everything that’s happening at County.
I showed him my Wondercat sketch book, too, and he laughed at my most recent cartoon. Cal Langdon LAUGHED. At one of my cartoons!!!! And called me a comic genius!
Which I already knew. But it was nice to hear it from him.
Oops, here he comes. I promised I’d stop writing about him in here.
For now.
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e-mails
To: Arthur Pendergast
Fr: Cal Langdon
Re: The Book
Hey, Arthur. I was thinking. How would you feel if my second book was on Le Marche? In case you don’t know, Le Marche is one of Italy’s lesser-known regions, filled with breathtaking vistas of ancient castles atop rolling picturesque hillsides, shady olive groves, curved white beaches, delicious seafood, and earthy but delicate wines like the Verdicchio, considered among the finest of thevini da meditazione.
This is a region in which family-run businesses thrive. It’s a nearly self-sufficient area that many countries—for instance, those formerly dependent on the exportation of oil—might do well to emulate.
I’m thinking about renting a place here for a few months with my girlfriend to do some research. You might have heard of her— Jane Harris? She’s the creator of Wondercat , that hilarious comic strip about the cat. I’m sure you’ve read it.
Anyway, let me know what you think.
Cal
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To: Cal Langdon
Fr: Arthur Pendergast
Re: The Book
Le Marche? What the hell are you talking about? No one’s ever heard of Le Marche. Who the hell is going to buy a book about some place they never heard of?
Let me tell you something: if Sweeping Sands wasn’t Number 2 on the Times Bestseller list right now, I’d tell you what you can do with Le Marche.
But as it is….
Go with God.
Arthur Pendergast
Senior Editor
Rawlings Press
1418 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10019
212-555-8764
PS Girlfriend? Since when do you have a girlfriend? I thought you were monogaphobic.
PPS What the hell is a Wondercat?
___________________________________________
To: Listserv
Fr: Peter Schumacher
Re: JANE HARRIS
Listen up, kids! You are not believing what is happening! JANE HARRIS, creator of our beloved Wundercat, is STAYING here in Le Marche! Yes! At least, this is what she tells me today when I come in the morning to bring the brotchen.
Actually, JANE HARRIS does not come to the door this morning when I bring the brotchen. JANE HARRIS does not come downstairs until very late this afternoon to get the brotchen. And then she is looking very tired. But very good, as usual!
And Cal Longdon, who comes to the door with JANE HARRIS, asks if I know any houses to rent in Le Marche, because he wants to write a book about us! US!!!
YES! Because Le Marche RULES!!!!
And JANE HARRIS says she thinks she had better stay in Le Marche, too, to help Cal Longdon write his very important book about US!!!!
And when I ask her what I know you are thinking—“WHAT ABOUT WUNDERCAT?” she says, “Oh, I can draw Wondercat anywhere.”
YES!!!! JANE HARRIS IS MOVING TO ITALY! AND YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST. Courtesy of me, #1 Wundercat Fan Of All Time!
Wundercat Lives—4eva!
Peter
Private to Annika: When you are done with Wundercat Volume 1, tell me, and I will bring you Volume 2 on my motorino.
___________________________________________
To: Jane Harris
Fr: Claire Harris
Re: Your phone call
Honey, I’m just writing because last night when you called, I could have sworn you said you were staying in Italy. With Cal Langdon. Permanently.
Daddy says I must have dreamed the whole thing. But I don’t think I would have dreamt the part where you said if your Wondercat development deal ends up going through, of course Cal will move back to New York with you, because the two of you are in a committed relationship and fully support one another in your careers.
That’s just not the kind of thing I usually dream about.
And another thing: this morning when I was at the Kroger Sav-On to buy some more Band-Aids for Dad (he put a nail through his thumb hanging up another watercolor from his sister—I wish she’d take up a new hobby), I ran into Marie Caputo, who asked me—with, I must admit, a smile I didn’t care for—how it felt to be gaining a son. Gaining a son? What is she talking about, sweetheart? She can’t have meant you and that Cal Langdon, can she? Are you two getting married? Does Holly know something I don’t know, and maybe told her mother?
How can you marry Cal Langdon, honey? Last time I talked to you, you said you hated him. And that he wouldn’t stop looking at your shoes.
None of this makes any sense to me. I don’t think you ought to be staying in Italy with—much less marrying—someone you’ve only known for a week.
I hope Marie misunderstood. In fact, I’m SURE she must have. You’ve always been such a sensible girl.
Besides, what about Malcolm, that nice investment banker you’ve been seeing?
Daddy’s right, and that phone call last night must have been just a dream. Because you would never move to Italy without The Dude.
Oh, wait, I asked you that last night, didn’t I? And you said you were going to pay your super’s son to bring The Dude to you there….
But
that can’t be right. You would never do anything so silly.
Well, ignore me. Hope you have a nice time on the rest of your trip.
And try to be nice to that Cal Langdon. I’m sure he can’t help being in love with you. And you always did have very pretty feet.
Love,
Mom
___________________________________________
To: Julio Chasez
Fr: Jane Harris
Re: The Dude
Hi, Julio! Listen, I was wondering. How would you feel about an all-expense paid trip to Italy?
Want more
Why We Didn’t Get Married in Las Vegas Like Normal Americans
Maybe it’s because I also write books for younger readers, and so most of the 200 or so emails I get a day are from kids. But the vast majority of the emails in my inbox contain this question: “Where do you get your inspiration?”
Inspiration seems to be a big thing for my readers, but I have to say it’s not something I ever think about. Whenever anybody asks, I always have to pause and think, “Where DID I get the inspiration for that story?” The truth is, I usually can’t remember. To me, the story is generally the important thing, not how I thought it up.
My book Every Boy’s Got One is different, though. I got the inspiration for the story—a tale of love and elopement in the Italian countryside—from my own marriage, which was… well, an elopement in the Italian countryside.
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a tale of love and elopement in the Italian countryside
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I didn’t think writing a story about a bride would be all that interesting, though, either to me or my readers. It seemed to me that the story of how a woman came to BE a bride in the first place would be the more interesting tale.
So when I decided to write a novel based on my own wedding, I chose for my main characters the best man and maid of honor of the couple who are eloping, basically telling the story of my elopement (with, I’ll admit, numerous fabrications) from the point of view of my maid of honor.
