Part 6 (2/2)
HOMEWORK.
World History: Study for final English Lit: Ditto Trig: Ditto G&T: Ugh, I'm so SICK of Chopin French: Final Psychology II: Final Friday, April 28, Dr. Knutz's waiting room Great, I walked in here today for my next-to-last session and who should be sitting here but none other than the dowager princess of Genovia herself.
I was like, ”What the-” but fortunately managed to control myself at the last minute.
”Oh, Amelia, there you are,” she said, like we were meeting for tea at the Carlyle, or whatever. ”Why haven't you phoned back?”
I just stared at her in horror. ”Grandmere,” I said. ”This is my therapy session.”
”Well, I know that, Amelia.” She smiled at the receptionist, as if to apologize for my idiocy. ”I'm not slow, you know. But how else am I supposed to get you to communicate with me, when you won't return my calls and you refuse to write back to my e-mails, which is the method of communication I thought was all the rage with you young people today? Really, I had no choice but to hunt you down here.”
”Grandmere.” I was seriously about to bubble over with rage. ”If this is about my party, I am NOT disinviting my own mother and stepfather to make room for your society friends. Disinvite Nathan and Claire if you want, I don't care. And can I just add, it is totally inappropriate of you to show up at therapy to talk to me about this. I realize we've had joint therapy sessions in the past, but those were scheduled beforehand. You can't just show up at therapy and expect me to-”
”Oh, that.” Grandmere made a little waving motion in the air, the sapphire c.o.c.ktail ring the Shah of Iran had given her sparkling as she did so. ”Please. Vigo has straightened out the difficulties with the invitation list. And don't worry, your mother is safe. Though I wouldn't say the same for her parents. I hope they'll enjoy the view of the party from the steering deck. No, no, I'm here about That Boy.”
I couldn't figure out what she was talking about at first. ”J.P.?” She never calls J.P. That Boy. Grandmere loves J.P. I mean seriously loves him. When the two of them get together, they talk about old Broadway shows I've never even heard of until I practically have to drag J.P. away. Grandmere is more than a little convinced she could have had a great career on the stage if she hadn't chosen to marry my grandfather and been the princess of a small European country instead of a huge Broadway star a la that girl who stars in Legally Blonde, the musical. Only, of course, in Grandmere's mind, she's better than her.
”Not John Paul,” Grandmere said, looking shocked at the very idea. ”The other one. And this...thing he's invented.”
Michael? Grandmere had invited herself to my therapy session to talk to me about Michael?
Also, great. Thanks, Vigo. Had he set her BlackBerry to receive Google alerts about me, too?
”Are you serious?” I swear at this point I had no idea what she was up to. I really hadn't put two and two together. I still thought she was worried about the party. ”You want to invite Michael, now, too? Well, sorry, Grandmere, but no. Just because he's a famous millionaire inventor now doesn't mean I want him at my party. If you invite him, I swear I'll-”
”No. Amelia.” Grandmere reached out and grabbed my hand. It wasn't one of her usual grasping, needy grabs, where she tries to force me to give her sciatica a ma.s.sage. It was as if she was taking my hand to...well, to hold it.
I was so surprised, I actually sank down onto the leather couch and looked at her, like, What? What's going on?
”The arm,” Grandmere said. Like a normal person, and not like she was telling me not to lift my pinky up when I drank my tea, or anything. ”The robot arm he's made.”
I blinked at her. ”What?”
”We need one,” she said. ”For the hospital. You have to get us one.”
I blinked even harder. I've suspected Grandmere might be losing her mind for...well, the entire time I've known her, actually.
But now it was clear she'd gone completely around the bend.
”Grandmere.” I discreetly felt for her pulse. ”Have you been taking your heart medication?”
”Not a donation,” Grandmere hastened to explain, sounding more like her usual self. ”Tell him we'll pay. But, Amelia, you do know if we had something like that in our hospital in Genovia, we'd...well, it would improve the state of care we're able to give our own citizens to such an incredible degree. They wouldn't have to go to Paris or Switzerland for heart surgery. Surely you see what a-”
I ripped my hand out from hers. Suddenly I saw that she wasn't crazy at all. Or suffering from a stroke or heart attack. Her pulse had been strong and steady.
”Oh my G.o.d!” I cried. ”Grandmere!”
”What?” Grandmere looked bewildered by my outburst. ”What is the matter? I'm asking you to ask Michael for one of his machines. Not donate it. I said we'd pay-”
”But you want me to use my relations.h.i.+p with him,” I cried, ”so Dad can gain an edge over Rene in the election!”
Grandmere's drawn-on eyebrows furrowed.
”I never said a word about the election!” she declared, in her most imperious voice. ”But I did think, Amelia, if you were to go to this event at Columbia tomorrow-”
”Grandmere!” I sprang up from the couch. ”You're horrible! Do you really think the people of Genovia would be more likely to vote for Dad because he managed to buy them a CardioArm, as opposed to Rene, who's only managed to promise them an Applebee's?”
Grandmere looked at me blankly.
”Well,” she said. ”Yes. Which would you rather have? Easy access to heart surgery, or a bloomin' onion?”
”That's Outback,” I informed her acidly. ”And the point of a democracy is that no one's vote can be bought!”
”Oh, Amelia,” Grandmere said with a snort. ”Don't be naive. Everyone can be bought. And anyway, how would you feel if I told you at my recent visit to the royal physician, he told me my heart condition has gotten more serious, and that I might need bypa.s.s surgery?”
I hesitated. She looked totally sincere.
”D-do you?” I stammered.
”Well,” Grandmere said. ”Not yet. But he did tell me I have to cut back to three Sidecars a week!”
I should have known.
”Grandmere,” I said. ”Leave. Now.”
Grandmere frowned at me.
”You know, Amelia,” she said. ”If your father loses this election, it will kill him. I know he'll still be prince of Genovia and all of that, but he won't rule it, and that, young lady, will be no one's fault but your own.”
I groaned in frustration and said, ”GET OUT!”
Which she did, muttering very darkly to Lars and to the receptionist, both of whom had watched our entire exchange with a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt.
But honestly, I don't see what's so funny about it.
I guess to Grandmere, using an ex-boyfriend to jump to the head of the waiting list (as if Michael would even consider such a thing) to get a million-dollar piece of medical equipment is just a normal day's work.
But though we may share the same gene pool, I am nothing like my grandmother.
NOTHING.
Friday, April 28, the limo home from
Dr. Knutz's office
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