Third Time Lucky

She said I was going to freeze without a coat though, and offered me her mink. I politely declined as I cannot wear the skins

of dead animals.

So she loaned me her electric blanket, which she has plugged into the outlet beneath her air conditioner. I must say, this is an improvement.

Ronnie is getting ready to go out. It is nice to watch her put on her make-up. As she does it, she is keeping up a running conversation with me through the open window. She asked me if I was having trouble at school and if that was why I'm on the fire escape, and I said I was. She asked what kind and I told her. I told her I am being persecuted: that I am in love with my best friend's brother, but that to him it is apparently all this really big joke. Oh, and also that everyone apparently thinks I am having an affair with a mouth-breathing violinist who happens to be my best friend's boyfriend.

Ronnie shook her head and said it was good to know things haven't changed since she was in high school. She says she

knows what it is like to be persecuted, because Ronnie used to be a man.

I told Ronnie that it really doesn't matter, because I'm moving to Genovia. Ronnie said she was sorry to hear that. She'll miss me, as I have really improved conditions in the apartment building's incinerator room since I insisted on installing separate recycling bins for newspapers and cans and bottles.

Then Ronnie said she has to go because she's meeting her boyfriend for cocktails at the Carlyle. She said I could keep the electric blanket, though, so long as I remember to put it away when I'm done using it.

God. Even my next-door neighbour, who used to be a man, has a boyfriend. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????

Uh-oh. I hear footsteps in my room. Who's coming now?

Friday, December 18, 7:30 p.m.

Well. You could knock me over with a feather.

Guess who just came out onto the fire escape and sat with me for half an hour?

Grandmere.

I am not even kidding.

I was sitting here, feeling all depressed, when all of a sudden this big furry sleeve appeared out my window, and then a foot in

a high-heeled shoe, and then a big blonde head, and next thing I knew, Grandmere was sitting there, blinking at me from the depths of her full-length chinchilla.

'Amelia,' she said, in her most no-nonsense tone. 'What are you doing out here? It's snowing. Come back inside.'

I was shocked. Shocked that Grandmere would even consider coming out on to the fire escape (it is an indelicate thing for a princess to mention, but there is actually a lot of bird poop out here), but also that she would dare to speak to me, after what she did.

But she addressed that issue right away.

'I understand that you are upset with me,' she said. 'And you have a right to be. But I want you to know that what I did, I did for you.'

'Oh, right!' Even though I swore I was never going to speak to her again, I couldn't help myself. 'Grandmere, how can you possibly say that? You completely humiliated me!'

'I didn't mean to,' Grandmere said. 'I meant to show you that you are just as pretty as those girls in the magazines you are always wishing you looked like. It's important that you know that you are not this hideous creature that you apparently think you are.'

'Grandmere,' I said. 'That's nice of you and all - I guess - but you shouldn't have done it that way.'

'What other way could I do it?' Grandmere demanded. 'You will not pose for any of the magazines that have offered to send photographers. Not for Vogue, or Harper's Bazaar. Don't you understand that what Sebastiano said about your bone structure is true? You really are quite beautiful, Amelia. If only you'd just have a little more confidence in yourself — show

off once in a while. Think how quickly that boy you like would leave the house fly girl for you!'

'Fruit fly,' I said automatically. 'And, Grandmere, I told you, Michael likes her because she's really smart. They have a lot of stuff in common - like computers. It has nothing to do with how she looks.'

'Oh, Mia,' Grandmere said. 'Don't be naive.'

Poor Grandmere. It really wasn't fair to blame her, because she comes from such a different world. In Grandmere's world, women are valued for being great beauties - or, if they aren't great beauties, they are revered for dressing impeccably. What they do, like for a living, isn't important, because most of them don't do anything. Oh, maybe they do some charity work, or whatever, but that's it.

Grandmere doesn't understand, of course, that today being a great beauty doesn't count for much. Oh, it matters in Hollywood, of course, and on the runways in Milan. But nowadays, people understand that perfect looks are the result of DNA - something the person has nothing to do with. It's not like it's any great accomplishment, being beautiful. It's just genetics.