Every Boy's Got One

Travel Diary of Jane Harris

Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine

Jane Harris

Oh, my God, that restaurant was so fancy that they even had tiny little chairs for ladies’ purses! Seriously! Like the waiter held my chair for me, then he pulled out this matching stool for my bag! The bag I bought off an outdoor table on Canal Street in Chinatown, then bedazzled with Wondercat’s face! In a seat of honor!

It was almost too much. There was silverware on the table I had never seen before.

Plus, in the ladies’ room, there were actual folded hand towels for every visitor. Not paper towels. But a huge stack of tiny hand towels, so when you dried your hands, you reached for one, then threw it into a laundry basket underneath the sink.

I have no idea what I ate for dinner. It was delicious, though. The waiter said a bunch of stuff, and Holly, who speaks a little Italian, and Modelizer Cal, who I guess speaks a little more than that, just nodded and went, “Si, si.” And then plates began to appear, of squash blossoms stuffed with goat cheese, and perfect little circles of foie gras, and curls of endive dripping in butter and cheese….

That meal had to have been three thousand calories, at least.

But I didn’t care. Because it was all so delicious. THIS IS SO FUN!!!!!!!

Well, except for Cal. It’s no WONDER he’s never heard of Wondercat. I doubt he’s ever read anything for fun in his entire life. Holly made the mistake—BIG one—of asking him what the book he wrote is about.

Of course a modelizer like him can’t be writing something cool like a spy thriller or dick lit, like Nick Hornsby or anything. Oh, no. HE has to have written a book about—get this—how Saudi Arabia’s oil fields are on the decline, and soon won’t be able to meet the world’s demands. This, of course, is going to crush Saudi Arabia’s economy, and have serious repercussions throughout the rest of the globe, as well.

Yeah. Who cares? Guess what, Cal? In Saudi Arabia, women aren’t allowed to vote or drive cars. Why should I care if that nation’s economy goes down the tubes? Maybe if they’d let women have some say in their country’s governance, they wouldn’t be in this sorry position in the first place.

Sadly, he SAW me yawning. Cal, I mean.

And instead of just politely accepting my apology— “Sorry, jet lag”—he was all, “This could have a profound impact on you, too, Jane. What do you think those water bottles you’re so fond of are made from? Petroleum.”

Geez! I love Mark to death, but why is he even friends with this guy? Oh, sure, maybe the ex left him a bitter shell of a man. But does he have to take it out on me?

Also, he may think he’s slick, but when I was leaving my room to meet Holly and Mark for cocktails down in the lobby, I got a major eyeful of what he spent the afternoon doing, as she slunk out of his room and down the stairs. I don’t care what Holly says about me being his type, it’s a total lie. Cal Langdon’s “type” is STILL clearly five-foot-eleven blonde models, NOT five-foot-four brunette cartoonists into whose jeans TWO of said models could easily fit.

As if that’s not bad enough, when we were waiting for a taxi to take us home, I looked over and saw Mark take off his jacket and wrap it around Holly, who was shivering a little in her sleeveless pink dress. Then he put his arm around her, and the two of them nuzzled each other.

NUZZLED. They were NUZZLING.

And I looked over to see if Cal had noticed, and he totally had, he was looking right at them.

And I will admit that it was impossible to tell what was going on behind those steely baby blues of his.

But I imagined—my second BIG MISTAKE—that he was feeling the way I was… that Mark and Holly are the cutest couple EVER and totally belong together and it’s a CRIME what their families are doing to them, being so unreasonable about the differing faiths thing.

So I went, in a soft voice so Mark and Holly wouldn’t overhear, “Do you STILL think those two shouldn’t get married?”

And the Modelizer went, “I give it a year. Two, tops.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I couldn’t believe it! I mean, where could he POSSIBLY be getting that?

So I went, “Are you crazy? They’re totally in love. Look at them.”

Cal: “You know love is just a chemical reaction in the brain caused by surges of phenylethylamine, don’t you?”

Me: (confused) “You’re saying Holly and Mark don’t really love each other? That it’s all in their heads?”

Cal: “I’m saying no one loves anyone. People are attracted to one another and pair up to breed due to our natural mating instinct. But that attraction doesn’t last. As with all drugs, the body develops a tolerance for the phenylethylamine, and eventually, the attraction you once felt for your partner fades. It’s all perfectly natural. You can get the same amount of phenylethylamine, a stimulant the mind craves, by ingesting vast amounts of chocolate as you can by, quote, falling in love, end quote.”

Me: “So… you don’t believe in romantic love?”

Cal: “I believe I just said that.”

Me: “Because of the vast amount of time you’ve spent studying the subject?”

Cal: “From my own personal experience, yes. And from the relationships I’ve observed around me.”

Me: “So Holly and Mark are going to break up because there’s no such thing as love?”

Cal: “Oh, no. Well, yes, eventually. But well before that happens, they’re going to break up because their backgrounds are too different.”

I really don’t think I can be blamed for saying, “At least they’re both human, unlike the skank I saw leaving your hotel room earlier.”

I had the satisfaction of seeing him, for the first time since we’ve met, completely speechless.

Sadly the effect was ruined when one of my stiletto heels got caught between the cobblestones outside the restaurant. It gouged away all the silver lame. I don’t think it can be fixed, either.

I’ll admit the cobblestones are charming, but have these people never heard of asphalt? It was totally humiliating too, the Modelizer had to help me pry it loose. My heel, I mean.

His hand fit all the way around my ankle. You know, his fingers met his thumb on the other side.

Thank God I remembered to shave my legs in the shower before dinner.

God, I’m so jazzed from all that good food, I don’t think I’ll ever fall asleep. Plus, I keep thinking about The Dude. He has to be all right, doesn’t he? I mean, Julio would have called if there was anything wrong. I left my cell number by the phone, so Julio could call from my phone, and not wrack up a bill on his parents’ line.

And I just checked it, and he hasn’t called. So The Dude is good. No news is good news, right? The Dude HAS to be good.

It’s just that we’ve spent maybe only five nights, total, away from each other since he was a kitten. Who is going to get up during The Dude’s 4-AM windowsill yowl at the moon and comfort him if I’m not there? That yowl used to drive me insane. But now I sort of miss it. I’d give anything to hear that yowl right now. In fact, I don’t think I’ll be able to go to sleep without it—

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