I asked Lilly what man, thinking she meant the director or something, and she just went, “The man! The man!” like I was mentally challenged, or something.
Then Michael got back on the phone and explained that “the man” is a figurative allusion to authority, and that in the way that Freudian analysts blame everything on “the mother,” blues musicians have historically blamed their woes on “the man.” Traditionally, Michael informed me, “the man” is usually white, financially successful, middle-aged, and in a position of considerable power over others.
We discussed calling Michael’s band The Man, but then dismissed it as having possibly misogynistic undertones.
Seven days until I can once again be in Michael’s arms. Oh, that the hours would fly as fleetly as winged doves!
I just realized—Michael’s description of “The Man” sounds a lot like my dad! Although I doubt all those blues musicians were talking about the Prince of Genovia. As far as I know, my dad has never even been to Memphis.
Monday, January 12
Royal Daily Schedule
8 p.m.–12 a.m.
Royal Genovian Symphony
Just when it seems like maybe, just maybe, things might be starting to go my way, something always has to come along to ruin it.
And as usual, it was Grandmère.
I guess she could tell because I was so sleepy again today that I’d been up all night talking to Michael. So this morning between my ride with the Equestrian Society and my meeting with the Genovian Beachfront Development Society, Grandmère sat me down and gave me a lecture. This time it wasn’t about the socially acceptable gifts to give a boy on his birthday. Instead, it was about Appropriate Choices.
“It is all very well and good, Amelia,” Grandmère said, “for you to like that boy .”
“I should think so!” I cried, with righteous indignation. “Considering you have never even met him! I mean, what do you even know about Michael, anyway? Nothing!”
&n
bsp; Grandmère just gave me the evil eye. “Nevertheless,” she went on. “I do not think it wise of you to allow your affection for this Michael fellow to blind you to other, more suitable consorts, such as—”
I interrupted to tell Grandmère that if she said the words Prince William I was going to jump off the Pont des Vierges.
Grandmère told me not to be more ridiculous than I already am, that I could never marry Prince William anyway, on account of his being Church of England. However, there are apparently other, infinitely more suitable romantic partners for a princess of the royal house of Renaldo than Michael. And Grandmère said she would hate for me to miss the opportunity to get to know these other young men just because I fancy myself in love with Michael. She assured me that, were the circumstances reversed, and Michael were the heir to a throne and a considerable fortune, she highly doubted he would be as scrupulously faithful as I was being.
I objected to this assessment of Michael’s character very much. I informed Grandmère that, if she had ever bothered to get to know Michael, she’d have realized that in every aspect of his life, from his being editor in chief of the now defunct Crackhead to his role as treasurer in the Computer Club, he has shown nothing but the utmost loyalty and integrity. I also explained, as patiently as I could, that it hurt me to hear her saying anything negative about a man to whom I have pledged my heart.
“That is just it, Amelia,” Grandmère said, rolling her scary eyes. “You are entirely too young to pledge your heart to anyone. I think it very unwise of you, at the age of fourteen, to decide who you are going to spend the rest of your life with. Unless, of course, it happened to be someone very, very special. Someone your father and I know. Very, very well. Someone who, while possibly seeming a bit immature, probably just needs the right woman to make him settle down. Girls mature much more quickly than young men, Amelia—”
I interrupted Grandmère to inform her that I will be fifteen in four months, and also that Juliet was fourteen when she married Romeo. To which Grandmère replied, “And that relationship turned out very nicely, didn’t it!”
Grandmère clearly has never been in love. Furthermore, she has no appreciation whatsoever for romantic tragedy.
“And in any case,” Grandmère added, “if you hope to keep that boy , you are going about it all wrong.”
I thought it was very unsupportive of Grandmère to be suggesting that I, after only having had a real boyfriend for twenty-five days, during which time I had spoken to him exactly three times on the phone, was already in danger of losing him to someone with multicolored eyes, and said so.
“Well, I’m sorry, Amelia,” Grandmère said. “But I can’t say you know what you’re about if it’s true you actually want to keep this young man.”
I swear I do not know what came over me at that moment. But it was like all the pressure that had been building up—the parking-meter thing; missing Michael and my mom and Fat Louie; what I was going to say to Prince William; my zit—all became too much, and I heard myself spewing, “Of course I want to keep him! But how am I going to be able to do that, when I am an entirely un–self-actualized, talentless, breastless, un–Kate-Bosworth-like princess FREAK????”
Grandmère looked kind of surprised at my outburst. She didn’t seem to know which issue to address first, my talentlessness or breastlessness. Finally she settled for saying, “Well, you could start by not staying on the phone with him until all hours of the night. You do not give him any reason to doubt your affections.”
“Of course not,” I said, horrified. “Why would I do that? I love him!”
“But you mustn’t let him know that!” Grandmère looked ready to throw her mid-morning Sidecar at me. “Are you completely dense? Never let a man be sure of your affections for him! You did a very good job at first, with this business of forgetting his birthday. But now you are ruining everything with this calling all the time. If that boy realizes how you really feel, he will stop trying to please you.”
“But Grandmère.” I was way confused. “You married Grandpa. Surely he figured out you loved him if you went ahead and married him.”