Intro to Creative Writing: Some idiotic thing I can’t remember
English: 1,000 words on Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters
French: More décrire un soir amusant avec les amis
G & T: n/a
PE: n/a
Chemistry: Who knows?
Precalculus: Who cares?
Only six more hours until Michael and I Do It!!!!!!!!
Thursday, September 9, the Four Seasons
It’s getting harder and harder to find Grandmère for my princess lessons these days. We finally tracked her down in the penthouse of the Four Seasons, but when I walked in, it was bedlam, as usual.
“These curtains are unacceptable,” Grandmère was saying to a man in a business suit whose gold nametag read Jonathan Greer.
“I’ll have them replaced immediately, madam,” Jonathan Greer said.
Grandmère looked kind of surprised that he wasn’t arguing. She said, “A floral print. NOT stripes.”
“Absolutely, madam,” Jonathan Greer said. “They’ll be replaced with floral patterned curtains at once.”
Grandmère gave him a startled look. She was clearly used to more resistance from the hotel concierges she’s been dealing with lately.
“And I cannot abide leather furniture,” she said, pointing to a very nice club chair in the corner. “It’s far too slippery, and Rommel dislikes it. The smell makes him nervous. He was kicked in the head by a cow once.”
“I’ll have the chair re-covered at once, madam,” the concierge said. He caught my eye, and nodded politely in my direction. But then he turned back to Grandmère. “Perhaps in the same material as the curtains?”
Grandmère looked even more taken aback. “Why, yes…yes, that would be acceptable.”
“And would Your Highness care for tea,” Jonathan Greer wanted to know, “as I see your granddaughter has arrived? Service for two can be brought immediately. Finger sandwiches or scones or both?”
Grandmère looked like she might pass out, she was so astonished. “Both, of course,” she said. “And Earl Grey tea.”
“Absolutely,” Jonathan Greer said, as if there were no other kind. “And perhaps a cocktail for you, Your Highness? I believe a Sidecar—served in a stemmed cocktail glass, no sugar on the rim—is your preference?”
Grandmère had to sit down. She did it gracefully—well, except for the part where she almost sat on Rommel. But he got out of the way in the nick of time. It’s not like he hasn’t had plenty of practice.
“That would be lovely,” she said faintly.
“Anything that we can do to make your stay in the Royal Suite more pleasurable, Your Highness,” Jonathan Greer said, with a bow. “You need only call.”
And with that, he stepped smartly out of the room and into the hallway—where I saw my dad, out of Grandmère’s sight, slip the guy a folded-up bill and murmur his thanks.
Wow. My dad can be slick sometimes.
“So,” he said to Grandmère, as he strolled back into the room. “What do you think? Does this place meet with your approval?”
“It’s called the Royal Suite,” Grandmère said, still a bit faintly.
“Indeed it is,” my dad said. “Three bedrooms of luxury for you, Rommel, and your maid. I hope you approve. Look…there’s even an ashtray.”
Grandmère blinked at the crystal bowl he held up. “There are roses,” she said. “Pink and white. In vases everywhere.”