“Like Nellie Bly?” I asked, my spirits soaring. “Oh my god, could thisbeany more perfect?”
“Read Mercy’s information,” she said, nudging my hand.
“No. Is no good to read. She stays here, where she is safe,” Daddy said, getting to his feet again.
“I’m twenty-nine years old, Dad,” I said, snapping at him. “I’m an adult, and you donothave a say in this.”
“I have say,” he said, reeling back in a dramatic manner. He’s such a drama queen. “I am Papa!”
“You are a domineering man who thinks he gets his own way on everything, but I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m going.”
“You are not!” he bellowed, loud enough that the door opened and Boris stuck his head into the room.
“Go upstairs and take her message so you can read the information,” Angela said, urging me toward the door.
I obediently went toward the hall but cast a worried glance back at my father, who was now shouting to Boris and Igor that he would not allow Angela to throw his only child into the hands of his enemies. “Are you going to be OK with him in that mood?”
“Oh, heavens yes,” she said with a chuckle. “He just wants a little soothing. Once you’ve read the information, if you still want to do it, let me know and I’ll have Mercy connect you with the production company.”
“Tell her to connect away, because I’m doing it no matter what it takes!” I announced, then turned on my heels and ran up the stairs, my imagination already flying.
Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
JULY 16
1:45 p.m.
My bedroom
So much to do! So many things to get ready! I’m all aflutter, and probably would be running around like a chicken without its head if not for Julia and her magical planner o’ organization. At least, that was the idea.
“So,” Julia said after I demanded she come to my house two days after the Great Emancipation, as I shall henceforth think of it. “I get the part about the global race, which is really a cool idea so long as you don’t have to eat any bugs or camels’ scrotums.”
“I know, right?” I made a face and pulled up the Web site that Mercy had sent me to for more information. “But this show doesn’t sound like that sort of thing at all. Here, see? They are going to duplicate the route of the original 1908 race, and use cars of the same time period, although Mercy says the producers are going to put modern engines in the cars so that it doesn’t take months to finish the race.”
“That doesn’t sound bad,” Julia said, looking at the Web site. “You get to go through a lot of countries.”
“Thank god I managed to get a passport a couple of years ago without Dad knowing.”
“All right, so you’re following the same race path, but why don’t you need to take a lot of clothes with you? You’re going to be gone for over a month.”
“That’s the best part. The production company wants to make this like thatGreat Racemovie that had themed cars. Because this is reality TV, the producers are creating teams of people so they have lots of interaction to film, like people fighting and storming off, and making googly eyes at each other, and having jealous scenes, and all that sort of thing.”
“Typical reality TV fodder,” Julia said, nodding. “I still don’t understand about the clothing.”
“Well, Mercy has arranged for me to be in a car with two other women. We’re supposed to be suffragettes, you see, so we get to wear 1908 suffragette clothing.”
“Oooh,” she said, her eyes alighting with costuming fervor. “Big hats.”
“Feather boas,” I said, nodding.
“Long skirts, though,” she warned.
“Flattering to the figure,” I pointed out, looking down at where my abundant curves were lolling about.
“There is that.”
“According to the e-mail I got from the producer, I can wear my own clothes in off periods, but during the race hours I have to be in costume.”
