She smiled smugly. “He is that. But this is about you, not me. Don’t be so stubborn about hooking up with someone who turns your starter crank.”
“Ha! Starter crank. I see what you did,” I said, stuffing the reject clothing back into the dresser.
“After all, you must get...needy.”
“That, my dear, is what battery-operated devices are for.” I shook out a forest green floor-length dress and posed with it. “What do you think? It looks pretty nice on me, and it’s made of material that doesn’t hold its wrinkles.”
“Fine, fine,” Julia said, giving it a swift glance before returning to the screen. “Oooh, there’s some guy from a TV show going to be racing, too.”
“You’re a poop,” I told her, laying the dress next to the duffel bag. “You’re the one with all the planning expertise, and here you are spending all your time drooling over a bunch of men you’ve never met.”
“I’m just trying to help you become as deliriously happy as I am with Sanjay,” she said, and laughed when I threw a button-down oxford shirt at her head. “All right, all right, I’ll leave your potential husbands alone and start the list making. Where’s the paper? Thanks. OK, let’s start with the necessities. Toothpaste and toothbrush.”
“Check.”
“Tampons and ibuprofen.”
“Check.”
“Cleansing products: facial, body, and hoohaw.”
I paused in the act of stuffing pairs of socks into a side pocket. “Why do I need vaginal cleanser?”
She tipped her head toward the laptop. “You’ll want to feel springtime fresh if you’re going to snag yourself a hunky Englishman.”
“For the love of Pete, Julia!”
She giggled. “Now, about your underwear. I’ve seen it, and I think you should dump it and go with thongs. Men like thongs.”
“That’s it,” I said, taking the tablet of paper away fromher. “I’ll go unorganized. You’re clearly too overcome with smutty thoughts to be of any practical use.”
“Fine, but don’t blame me if your granny pants scare off any potential suitor!”
“I’ll take that risk,” I told her, and spent the rest of the afternoon happily arguing with her over every garment.
Life was looking good, and nothing could dim my happiness.
Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
JULY 18
11:18 a.m.
Row 7, Seat B on the plane to New York City
Crap! Crap, crap, crappity crap! Big fat hairy balls of crap! Boris is on the plane with me! He’s hiding behind a magazine, but I just know it’s him.
July 18
To: Daddy
Why is Boris on the plane? Dad! I am almost 30! I don’t need a bodyguard!!!
July 18
To: Angela
Is Boris there?
