Meg Cabot - Boy Meets Girl

But now I know you’re just as depraved as those pimps and murderers you helped put back out on the street.

Stuart Hertzog, Senior Partner

Hertzog Webber and Doyle, Attorneys at Law

444 Madison Avenue, Suite 1505

New York, NY 10022

212-555-7900

To: Stuart Hertzog

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: Amy

That’s funny. I thought you were the depraved one. After all, aren’t you the one who made your fiancée fire a woman, merely because she wouldn’t give you a piece of pie?

Ms. Jenkins seems to be somewhat nervous concerning her case against Mrs. Lopez. I understand that while a verbal warning was issued, a written letter of warning, however, was not. I believe that, according to her collective bargaining agreement, the delivery—and acknowledgment—of such a letter is necessary before steps toward permanent dismissal can be taken.

But Mrs. Lopez says she never received such a letter. Strange, isn’t it, that she was fired anyway?

And not to spoil your illusions, sporto, but your “sweet young girl” can fight her own battles. She has a mouth on her like a longshoreman. She actually called me a fucker, if memory serves. . . . Oh, and wait, it does, since I taped our brief but oh-so-illuminating conversation in her office.

Hey, wouldn’t it be fun if I played this tape for Mom? Oh, yeah! I’m going to give Mom a call right now!

Love ya

Mitch

aka The Fucker

Hello, you’ve reached the Hertzog residence. Margaret and Arthur can’t come to the phone just now. Please leave a message, and one of us will be happy to get back to you.

(Tone)

Mom? Hi, it’s Stuart. Listen, I just want to say . . . Well, Mitch says he’s going to call you, and I just want to make sure you know, before he does, that the tape he says he’s going to play for you . . . Well, it’s fake. It’s a fake, and—

(Click)

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

“No. It’s Sean. Is that you, Stuart?”

“Yeah. Janice, let me talk to Mom.”

“Mom’s not here. And I’ve asked you before. Don’t call me Janice. It’s Sean.”

“Okay, Sean, whatever. Just tell Mom when she gets home—“

“Hey, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“About that Amy girl.”

“You mean that I’m marrying her? Yeah, it’s true. And I hope, Janice, that you’ll join us on our special day—“

“No. I mean about her calling Mitch a fuckhead.”

“Janice. Is the answering machine still recording?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Hang up the phone, Janice.”

“The name is Sean, I

told

you.”

(Click)

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: Paradise

Hey. It’s me. I’m e-mailing you, and on a WEEKEND. That’s because I’m e-mailing you from Dolly’s laptop at her place, and she has DSL. Oh my God, you guys would DIE if you saw this place. Dolly lives in a penthouse, overlooking the East River. You can see BOATS going by. BOATS.

And that’s not all. She’s got THREE bathrooms—THREE—and three bedrooms, each the size of your living room, and a living room the size of your whole apartment, and a terrace—a terrace —the size of your building’s roof. This place is SO NICE.

I mean, not that your place isn’t nice. Because it totally is. Your place is nice and comfy and lived in. I mean, seriously, that beanbag chair is way comfier than any of the chairs Dolly has.

But the cool thing about Dolly’s place is that, you know. I’m not in anybody’s way. Not even Dolly’s. Because she’s never even here.

Well, I mean, she’s here now. I can hear her shower running. But I don’t know what time she came rolling in. She went to some big party last night. She wanted me to come, too, but I have to admit, I was kind of more interested in her TV. Jen, she’s got a 50-inch plasma screen with HD and three hundred channels! And that’s just in the living room! In my room, there’s a 36-incher, and even though it isn’t HD, it’s still flat-screen. I found channels on it I’d never even HEARD of.

I know what you’re probably saying. That I should have gone to the party with Dolly. I mean, she even offered to let me borrow her clothes. She had a leather halter top all laid out for me. Just like the kind Alyssa Milano wears.

But I don’t know. I just didn’t feel like going to a party with a bunch of people I don’t know. I know style editors do it all the time, but human resources representatives? Not so much. So I ordered in chicken in garlic sauce and watched the Travel Channel. Yeah! A whole channel, devoted to travel! Did you know that in Thailand, you can hail a public bus like you do a cab here in New York? Well, you can. You just stick out your hand and they stop for you. Could you imagine if we tried that here, with the M1? They would just mow us down.

Ooops, Dolly’s coming out of her room. I mixed up a big batch of pancake batter, so I can fix her breakfast. I figure it’s the least I can do because she’s been so nice to—

Oh, wait a minute. That’s not Dolly—

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: Paradise

Oh my God, you can’t leave me hanging like this. WHO IS IT?

Also, although you clearly aren’t missing us, we’re missing you. Craig’s first words when he stumbled out of the bedroom this morning were, “What? No pancakes?”

See? You’re missed.

So. Spill. Did you just have breakfast with PETER HARGRAVE, founder and CEO of the esteemed publication for which we work?

Tell me the truth: boxers or briefs?

J

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: Paradise

Um, no, I did not just have pancakes with Peter Hargrave. Because Peter Hargrave was not who just came wandering out of Dolly’s bedroom. The person who just came wandering out of Dolly’s bedroom was someone I’ve never seen before. He was about our age, with shoulders out to here, and probably one of the more attractive men I’ve seen in a while. Like model attractive. Which, if you like that kind of thing, can be nice. I guess. Although I wouldn’t want to go out with someone who was prettier than me.

He just went, “Uh, hi,” when he saw me . . .

AND THEN HE LEFT!!!

Just LEFT!!!!!!!!!!

I do not want to cast aspersions on Dolly’s reputation, but I think . . . well, I think Peter Hargrave might have some competition.

Oops, here’s Dolly. Explanation hopefully forthcoming.

Katie

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: Paradise

WHO WAS HE?????

And I just want to apologize for the fact that Craig and I were unable to provide you with plasma screens, the Travel Channel, your own bathroom, and a river view. Not to mention strange, broad-shouldered men wandering through the apartment on Saturday mornings.

Now. WHO WAS HE?????

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: Paradise

Um, Dolly doesn’t appear to know his name. She just calls him Skiboy. Because he is a skiing instructor.

She met him last night. SHE MET HIM LAST NIGHT!!!!! AND SLEPT WITH HIM ALREADY!!!!!!

I don’t want to sound like some girl from Kentucky, but excuse me, what happened to getting to know someone before getting horizontal with them? She could have at least found out his NAME, for crying out loud.

But when I mentioned this to Dolly, she just went, “Who cares about his name , darling, when he’s got those shoulders? ”

And so Skiboy I’m afraid he is destined to remain.

I asked Dolly what about Peter Hargrave, and she told me she and Peter have had an open relationship ever since his third marriage.

Dolly really likes my pancakes. After this we are going jogging (!) around the reservoir in order to keep our girlish figures. Then we’re going to some new opening at the Met. Want to join us?