Meg Cabot - Boy Meets Girl

KM: No, what is it?

IL: Find the right man. Yours—the one I saw you with—he’s not right for you. I knew it the minute I saw him. He’ll never appreciate you. He’s too wrapped up in himself. I could tell, because of the way he kept talking about that band of his. He made it sound like his band meant more to him than you do!

KM: ( Choking sound ) Excuse me.

IL: Oh, here, better have some milk to wash that down. No, don’t go on about how fattening it is. It’s good for you. Helps build strong bones. There. So simple, you really could make them at home. Here, let me write the recipe down for you.

KM: Oh, Mrs. Lopez! Your secret recipe? You can’t—

IL: Of course I can. Now, in a large mixing bowl, beat two sticks of unsalted butter until smooth. Then add one cup of packed brown sugar, a quarter cup of granulated sugar, one large egg, and two and a half teaspoons of vanilla extract. Beat this until very well blended. Then gently beat in half—just half—of a mixture of one and three quarter cups, plus seven tablespoons—this is important—of all-purpose flour, three quarters of a teaspoon of baking powder, one third teaspoon of baking soda, a generous quarter teaspoon of salt—

KM: Mrs. Lopez, really, this isn’t—

IL: Then stir in the remaining flour mixture—but don’t overmix it. Then stir in the chocolate chips and pecans. Drop the cookies by teaspoonfuls—about two inches apart—on greased baking sheets, then bake for eight to ten minutes. Remember to let the pans stand for about a minute after you take them from the oven. You don’t want them to lose their shape. Then use a spatula—you have a spatula, don’t you, Kate?—and put the cookies on a wire rack to cool. See? Easy! Now. Hadn’t you better get on with it?

KM: What? Oh. Yes. Mrs. Lopez. The reason I’ve asked you here today has to do with the incident that occurred this afternoon in the senior staff dining room—

IL: Yes, of course. Señor Hertzog.

KM: Yes, exactly. Mrs. Lopez, you know you and I have met before over a similar—

IL: Yes, I remember. I wouldn’t give any of my peach cobbler to that man from the Mayor’s Office. Oh, your boss was very put out with me that time. That . . . What’s her name again? Oh, yes, Jenkins. Amy Jenkins. You know, talking about food issues? That one has some big ones. I’ve seen your boss down three of my chocolate cheesecake muffins, then head straight to the ladies’ room—

KM: Okay, Mrs. Lopez, that’s great, but that’s not why we’re here today. We’re here today to talk about Mr. Hertzog—

IL: Of course. I wouldn’t let him have any of my key lime pie.

KM: But see, Mrs. Lopez, that’s just it. You can’t, you know, just make arbitrary decisions about who does and who does not get pie in the senior-staff dining room. You have to give pie to anyone who asks for a slice.

IL: Well, I know I’m supposed to. But you’ve had my desserts, carina. You know they are specially prepared—lovingly prepared, even—for very special people. I don’t feel I should have to share them with just anyone.

KM: But see, actually, Mrs. Lopez, you do. Because if you don’t, we get complaints, and then you know I have to ask you to come down here and—

IL: Oh, I know, carina. I’m not blaming you.

KM: And you know, it would be one thing if you owned your own bakeshop or restaurant, and you refused to serve law—I mean, people like Stuart Hertzog. But you’re employed by the New York Journal, and the paper can’t have you refusing to serve—

IL: Their lead counsel. I understand, dear. I really do. And you warned me about it before. And so now I suppose that boss of yours wants you to fire me.

KM: Mrs. Lopez, you know I—

IL: It’s all right, Kate. No need to get upset. She likes Señor Hertzog. I know that.

KM: If there was anything I could—I mean, was Mr. Hertzog mean to you? Did he say something rude to you? Because if I could just give Amy—I mean, my superiors—a reason why you might have refused to serve Mr. Hertzog—

IL: Oh, he knows.

KM: Well, that’s just it. I mean, he says he doesn’t know.

IL: Oh no. He knows.

KM: Well, maybe if you could tell me—

IL: Oh, I couldn’t do that! Now, you must have Security escort me out.

KM: I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lopez. But, yes, I’m going to have to—

IL: It’s all right. One of them will be the Hopkins boy. He loves my cranberry scones. I’ll have to check to make sure I—Oh, yes, here’s one. It was so nice visiting with you, carina. Let’s see, you’re friends with that nice Señora Sadler. Here, be sure to give her this. My gingersnaps are her favorites, and I know that, with the baby shots and all, she’s very sad. But tell her she shouldn’t worry. She’ll have a nice baby girl by the end of next year.

KM: Mrs. Lopez—

IL: Oh, don’t cry, carina! I’m sure you’re not supposed to cry when you fire someone. Here, we’ll turn this off, so we don’t get you into—

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Amy Jenkins

Re: Ida Lopez

Please see me first thing tomorrow morning concerning the recording of your interview with Ida Lopez, which I’ve just finished listening to.

Amy Denise Jenkins

Director

Human Resources

The New York Journal

216 W. 57th Street

New York, NY 10019

212-555-6890

amy.jenkins@thenyjournal.com

This e-mail is intended only for the use of the individual to which it is addressed and may contain information that is privileged and confidential. If you are not the intended recipient, you are hereby notified that you have received this transmission in error; any review, dissemination, distribution, or copying of this transmission is prohibited. If you have received this communication in error, please notify us immediately by reply e-mail and delete this message and all of its attachments.

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Oh my God, I am so fired. I can’t believe how fired I am. Why did I have to start crying during the

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interview? Why didn’t I think to turn the tape off before I started bawling my head off?

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Why can’t I be like the T.O.D.? SHE would never cry while firing someone. But I don’t WANT to be

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like the T.O.D. I hate her. I should just quit. Now I have to find a new job on top of a new apt. and

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boyfriend. WHY IS EVERYTHING BAD HAPPENING TO ME ALL AT ONCE???? And why

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can I never find my journal when I need it? Which begs the question, where is it? What if

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Amy or one of the housekeeping staff finds it? And reads it? Then I will be fired for sure. And

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where the hell is Jen? She said to meet at Lupe’s after work, and so I’m here but she’s not, and now I

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am sitting here by myself pretending to be jotting important business notes on this menu so that creepy

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guy in the corner won’t come over here and start talking to me. Must try to appear like imp. business

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woman with no time for casual flirtation in Mexican restaurant. Oh my God, what if Jen doesn’t come