Party Princess

I could see right away that John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Third was a sore subject to John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth. So I dropped it. That’s the kind of thing you learn when you’re training to be a princess. How to drop subjects that suddenly seem to turn uncomfortable.

“Well, see you tomorrow,” I said to J.P..

“Are you going to Lilly’s party?” he wanted to know.

“Oh,” I said. “Yes.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there, then,” J.P. said.

Which is sweet. You know, that J.P. feels comfortable enough with us to want to come to Lilly’s party. Even if he doesn’t know it’s Michael’s party and not Lilly’s.

Anyway, I’ve got more important things to worry about right now than J.P. and Lilly and Grandmère and her diabolical schemes for faux island domination.

Because I’ve got a scheme of my own to put into action….

Sunday, March 7, 1 a.m., the loft

I’m so embarrassed. Seriously. I’m MORTIFIED. This is probably the most embarrassed I have ever been in my entire life.

And I know I’ve said that before, but this time, I really mean it.

I really thought, for a while there, that it might have been working. My plan to prove to Michael that I really am a party girl, I mean.

I don’t understand exactly what went wrong. I had it ALL planned out. I did EXACTLY what Lana said. As soon as I got to Lilly and Michael’s apartment, I changed out of my rehearsal clothes into my party clothes:

 

—Black tights

—My black velvet skirt (transformed into a mini—the edges were kind of raggedy because Fat Louie kept batting at the scissors as I was cutting, but whatever, it still looked okay)

—My black Docs

—A black leotard left over from that Halloween I dressed as a cat, and Ronnie from next door said I looked like a flat-chested Playboy bunny so I never wore it again

—A black beret my mom used to wear when she was performing acts of civil disobedience with her fellow Guerrilla Girls

—And the water bra. Which I didn’t even fill up all that much, because, you know, I was scared of leaks.

Plus I put on red lipstick and tousled my hair all sexily, like Lindsay Lohan’s when she’s coming out of New York clubs like Butter after just narrowly having missed running into her ex, Wilmer.

But instead of being all, “That’s hot,” about my new look, Michael—who was answering the door as the first of his guests began to arrive, just raised his eyebrows at me like he was kind of alarmed about something.

And Lars actually looked up from his Sidekick as I walked by and started to say something, but then apparently thought better of it, since he went back to leaning against the wall and looking up stuff on the Web.

And then Lilly, who was busy getting her camera ready to film the festivities for a piece she’s doing for Lilly Tells It Like It Is on male-female dynamics in a modern urban setting, was like, “What are you supposed to be? A mime?”

But instead of getting mad at her, I tossed my head, the way Lana does, and was like, “Aren’t you funny?”

Because I was trying to act mature in front of Michael’s friends, who were coming in just then.

And I guess I succeeded, because Trevor and Felix were like, “Mia?” as if they didn’t recognize me. Even Paul was all, “Nice sticks,” which I guess was a compliment about my legs, which look quite long when I wear a short skirt.

Even Doo Pak went, “Oh, Princess Mia, you are looking very nice without your overalls.”

And J.P.—who showed up a little while later, at the same time as Tina and Boris—said, “‘Your beauty would put even the loveliest Mediterranean sunset to shame, my lady,’” which is one of his lines from the play, but whatever, it was still nice.

And he accompanied it with the same courtly bow from the play, too. I mean, musical.

Michael was the only one who didn’t say anything. But I figured it was because he was too busy putting on the music and making everyone feel at home. Also, he wasn’t too thrilled Lilly had invited Boris and those guys without asking him first.

So I tried to help him out. You know, make things go smoother. I went up to some girls from his dorm who had come in—none of whom was wearing a beret or even a particularly sexy outfit. Unless you consider Tevas with socks sexy—and was like, “Hi, I’m Michael’s girlfriend, Mia. Would you like some dip?”

I didn’t mention that I’d made the dip myself, because I didn’t think a true party girl would really make her own dip. Like, I doubt Lana’s ever made dip. Making dip was a bad miscalculation on my part, but not one that was impossible to overcome, because I didn’t have to tell people I’d made the dip.

The college girls said they didn’t want any dip, even when I assured them I had made it with low-fat mayonnaise and sour cream. Because I know college girls are always watching their weight in order to avoid gaining that Freshman Fifteen. Although I didn’t SAY this to them, of course.

But I wasn’t going to let their refusal of dip get me down. I mean, that had really just been an opening to start a conversation with them.

Only they didn’t seem to really want to talk to me very much. And Boris and Tina were making out on the couch, and Lilly was showing J.P. how her camera worked. So I didn’t have anyone to talk to.

So I sort of drifted over to the kitchen and got a beer. I figured this is what a party girl would do. Because Lana had told me so. I took the cap off with the bottle opener that was lying there, and since I saw that everyone else was drinking their beer straight out of the bottle, I did the same.