Mia Goes Fourth

At least I could still give him his birthday present somewhere outside of the cinderblock walls of Albert Einstein High. At least

I wouldn't have to cancel altogether. At least the state of diplomatic affairs between Genovia and Monaco would remain at DEFCON 5.

But how, I wondered, was I ever going to get Grandmere to go along with it? I mean, she hadn't said anything about the contessa letting me bring a date.

Still, what about all those debutantes? Weren't they bringing dates? Wasn't that what West Point Military Academy was for? Providing dates for debutante balls? And if those girls could bring dates, and they weren't even princesses, why couldn't I?

How I was going to get Grandmere to let me bring Michael to the black-and-white ball, after all of our long discussions about how you mustn't let the object of your affection even know that you like him, was going to be a major obstacle. I decided I would have to exercise some of the diplomatic tact Grandmere had taken so much trouble to teach me.

'And please, whatever else you do, Amelia,' Grandmere was saying, as she sat there running a metal comb through Rommel's sparse - and getting sparser - fur, as the royal Genovian vet had instructed, 'do not stare too long at the contessa's facelift. I know it will be difficult - it looks as if the surgeon botched it horribly. But actually, it's exactly the way Elena wanted it to look. Apparently she has always fancied resembling an anteater—'

'Listen, about this dance, Grandmere,' I started in, all subtly. 'Do you think the contessa would mind if I, you know, brought someone?'

Grandmere looked at me confusedly over Rommel's pink, trembling body. 'What do you mean? Amelia, I highly doubt your mother would have a very nice time at the contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball. For one thing, there won't be any other hippy radicals there . . .'

'Not my mom,' I said, realizing that perhaps I had been a little too subtle. 'I was thinking more, you know, of an escort.'

'But you already have an escort.' Grandmere adjusted Rommel's diamond-chip-encrusted collar.

'I do?' I did not recall asking anyone to scrounge up a West Pointer for me.

'Of course you do,' Grandmere said, still not, I noticed, meeting my gaze. 'Prince Rene has very generously offered to serve as your escort to the ball. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. About the contessa's taste in clothes. I think you've learned enough by now to know that you aren't to comment - at least to her face - on what your hostess happens to be wearing. But I think it necessary to warn you that the contessa has a tendency to wear clothes that are somewhat young on her, and that reveal—'

'Rene is going to be my escort?' I stood up, nearly knocking Grandmere's maid, who'd come to refresh her mistress's

Sidecar, off her feet as I did so. 'Rene is taking me to the black-and-white ball?'

'Well, yes,' Grandmere said, looking blandly innocent — a little too blandly innocent, if you asked me. 'He is, after all, a stranger to the city — to this country, as a matter of fact. I would think that you, Amelia, would be only too happy to make

him feel welcome and wanted . . .'

I narrowed my eyes at her. 'What is going on here?' I demanded. 'Grandmere, are you trying to fix up Prince Rene and me?'

'Certainly not,' Grandmere said, looking genuinely appalled by the suggestion. But then, I'd been fooled by Grandmere's expressions before. Especially the one she puts on when she wants you to think that she is just a helpless old lady. 'Your imagination most definitely conies from your mother's side of the family. Your father was never as fanciful as you are, Amelia, for which I can only thank God. He'd have driven me to an early grave, I'm convinced of it, if he'd been half as capricious as you tend to be, young lady.'

'Well, what else am I supposed to think?' I asked, feeling a little sheepish over my outburst. After all, the idea that Grandmere might, even though I am only fourteen, be trying to fix me up with some prince that she wants me to marry is a little outlandish.

I mean, even for Grandmere. Still, if it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck ... 'I mean, first that thing with making us dance together

'For a magazine pictorial,' Grandmere sniffed.

'. . . and then your not liking Michael. . .'

'I never said I didn't like him. I think he is a perfectly charming boy. I just want you to be realistic about the fact that you, Amelia, are not like other girls. You are a princess, and have the good of your country to think of.'

'... and then Rene showing up like this, and your announcing that he's taking me to the black-and-white ball...'

'Is it wrong of me to want to see the poor boy have a nice time while he is here? He has suffered so many hardships, losing

his ancestral home, not to mention his own principality.'

'Grandmere,' I said. 'Rene's principality got absorbed into Italy, like, three hundred years ago. He wasn't even alive when it happened.'