Every Boy's Got One

Travel Diary of Jane Harris

Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine

Jane Harris

OK, I’m scared now. Something’s happened to Cal Langdon.

Seriously. It’s as if he snapped or something in the night. Maybe his Wellbutrin ran out. Or maybe he started actually TAKING Wellbutrin.

What gives???? First that thing this morning in the mayor’s office. Then this party he’s throwing for two people whom, at the beginning of the week, he didn’t even think should get married in the first place. He had to have spent a small fortune on all of this champagne alone.

And Holly just came up to me—three sheets to the wind, but whatever, it’s her wedding day, she deserves to enjoy it— and slurred, “Oh my Go’, Janie, d’you know what Cal did? D’you know what Cal DID?”

And when I asked what Cal did, she said, “He booked us a shuite—Mark and me—a deluxe shuite at a five shtar hotel right—on the beach—for tonight. For our wedding night. For a little honeymoon. All inclushive, dinner AND breakfasht…and there’s even a Jacuzzi tub in the room. AN INROOM JACUZZI. Have you ever heard of anything sho shweet in your LIFE?”

I had to admit that I hadn’t.

And that toast? WHAT ABOUT THAT TOAST???? THAT was not the toast of a man who doesn’t believe in love. Not at ALL. That was, in fact, an in-depth scientific DEFENSE of love. LONG-TERM love.

What was he THINKING?

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s on drugs. That HAS to be it. He got up this morning with some diabolical plan to stop Holly and Mark’s wedding, and somewhere between trying to bribe the mayor into calling in sick and phoning a bomb threat into the Commune di Municipale building, someone slipped him a roofie. Or some E.

Except that if this were true, why is he currently dancing with Frau Schumacher in a completely sober (and yet completely engaging and charming) manner? He’s navigating her across the terrazza—ahem, and toward me—with perfect ease. In fact, Peter’s great-grandmother looks as if she just died and went to heaven, she’s so thrilled by the manly embrace she’s floating in. She doesn’t even seem to be aware of the fact that she’s dancing to “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Which is coming to its head-bobbing end shortly. Surely he’s not getting any ideas. You know, about asking ME to dance. Not after the dressing down I gave him last night. LIKE THE HUGE IDIOT I AM.

Oh my God. I’m actually considering APOLOGIZING to him for not kissing him last night. That’s how much he’s psyched me out with this sudden about face of his. I mean, endorphins? ENDORPHINS? He never said a word to me about endorphins. He was all phenylethylamine yesterday. Now suddenly he’s Mr. Endorphin?

“Oooooh, such a lowely party!” That’s what Frau Schumacher just said, as Cal twirled her into a seat near me, “Bohemian Rhapsody” having come to its rousing (and second in the past hour) finish.

Me: “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Frau Schumacher. I had no idea you were such a good dancer.”

F.S.: “Me? I am nozing. Zees man, here” (clutching Cal’s hand. He, by the way, looks ready to flee to the other side of the room again)—“he is the party animal!”

Cal: (looking—I have to say it—sweetly embarrassed) “Now, Frau Schumacher. Don’t be modest. We know you must have been quite a party girl yourself once.”

F.S.: (dismissing this with a wave of her hand) “Vell, yes, of course. But zat vas long ago. Oh, the parties zey used to zrow at the headquarters of the Fuhrer! Zis reminds me of zem, a little. Zere the champagne flowed and flowed, just like here.”

Cal and I exchange wide-eyed glances.

Me: “Excuse me, Frau Schumacher. Did you say… headquarters of the Fuhrer?”

F.S.: (wide-eyed with innocence) “Yes. But of course. Zat is vhere I go as young girl to dance. Ven I vorked for theS.S..”

Cal: (stunned) “Frau Schumacher… you worked for the S.S.?”

F.S.: (waving her hand again) “Of course, of course. Ve all did! Vell, zat is vhat you did back then! Zere is more champagne?”

Cal hastened to refill Frau Schumacher’s glass. “Under Pressure” came on over Peter’s CD player, and his great-grandmother leaped back to her feet, declaring, “Zis is my faworite!”

Then she threw herself back onto the dance floor/pool deck.

Cal and I are staring at each other.

“We can never,” I warn him, “ever tell Mark and Holly that someone who used to work for the S.S. made their wedding breakfast.”

Cal shrugs. “Vhat’s the big deal, Jane? Ve all did it,” he says, in a perfect, deadpan imitation of Peter’s great-grandmother.

“Swear,” I say to him.

“Sworn,” he says. Then: “So. Still writing in that book, I see.”

Me: (unable to drag my gaze from his hands, which are looking even sexier holding a champagne glass than they did last night, holding playing cards) “Yes.”

Cal: “You’re not going to give it to them, then?”

Me: (Is it my imagination, or do his eyes actually match the blue of the sky above our heads?) “Give what to whom?”

Cal: “Mark and Holly. As a wedding present. The travel diary you’ve been keeping for them.”

Me: (He’s wearing a jacket and tie in honor of the occasion. Can I just say that he looks almost as good in them as he does without a shirt on?) “Oh, no. Not anymore. I changed my mind. Kind of the way you did.”

I know! Bold move on my part!

He looks confused. May I just say that confused, on him, is completely adorable?

Cal: “I beg your pardon?”

Me: “Well, this party, of course. When did you decide marriage is a good thing that ought to be celebrated instead of dreaded?”

Cal: “Oh, that. Well. Listen, would you quit writing in that book for a minute? It’s kind of distracting.”

Me: “But it’s my first trip to Europe, you know, and I don’t want to miss a minute.”

Cal: “If your head is constantly stuck in a book, you’re going to miss a lot.”

Me: “I’ll quit writing if you tell me what changed your mind.”

Cal: “Changed my mind about what?”

Me: “Holly and Mark.”

Cal: “Oh. Well. You, actually.”

ME???

Me: “ME??? But… when? Not last night.”

Cal: “Yes, actually. Last night.”

Me: “But I was so mean to you!”

Cal: “Maybe I deserved it.”

Oh my God, he DID start taking Wellbutrin! He MUST have! There’s no other explanation for this!

Me: “Okay, what gives? Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

Cal: “I’m always nice.”

Me: “No, you’re not. What was all that saving the day down at the mayor’s office? You blew your perfect opportunity to save your friend from a fate you USED to think was worse than death. So what happened?”

Cal: “I realized I was wrong.”

Me: “About Holly and Mark?”

Cal: “About everything.”

Me: “EVERYTHING? Even that whole phenylethylamine thing?”

Cal: “Well—that’s a scientific fact. But everything else.”

Me: “But… how? Why? Did you pick up a prescription for anti-depressants while you were in town this morning, in addition to hiring a caterer and all of that? Because you are NOT acting like yourself.”

Cal: “Yeah, well, maybe I had a chance to see how I appear through someone else’s eyes, and I didn’t exactly like what I saw. Now will you put down that book and dance with me? They’re playing our song, you know.”

“Fat-Bottomed Girls” just came on again.

Nice one. Maybe he hasn’t changed that much, after all.

Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. I mean, who wants a guy who can’t take—or make—a joke?

Cal: “Come on. Give me a chance to prove to you I’ve got one.”

Me: “Got what?”

Cal: “A heart.”

HOW DID HE KNOW????

And how can I say no?

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