Boy - The Boy Next Door Part 1

The Boy Next Door.

by Meg Cabot.

To: Mel Fuller From: Human Resources Subject: Tardiness.

Dear Melissa Fuller, This is an automated message from the Human Resources Division of the New York Journal, New York City's leading photo-newspaper. Please be aware that according to your supervisor, managing editor George Sanchez, your workday here at the Journal begins promptly at 9AM, making you 68 minutes tardy today. This is your 37th tardy exceeding twenty minutes so far this year, Melissa Fuller.

We in the Human Resources Division are not out to get tardy employees, as was mentioned in last week's unfairly worded employee newsletter. Tardiness is a serious and expensive issue facing employers all over America. Employees often make light of tardiness, but routine lateness can often be a symptom of a more serious issue, such as alcoholism drug addiction gambling addiction abusive domestic partner sleep disorders clinical depression and any number of other conditions. If you are suffering from any of the above, please do not hesitate to contact your Human Resources Representative, Amy Jenkins. Your Human Resources Representative will be only too happy to enroll you in the New York Journal's Staff a.s.sistance Program, where you will be paired with a mental health professional who will work to help you achieve your full potential.

Melissa Fuller, we here at the New York Journal are a team. We win as a team, and lose as one, as well. Melissa Fuller, don't you want to be on a winning team? So please do your part to see that you arrive at work on time from now on!

Sincerely, The Human Resources Division The New York Journal Please note that any future tardies may result in suspension or dismissal.

To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: You are in trouble

Mel, where were you? I saw that Amy Jenkins from Human Resources skulking aroundyour cubicle. I think youre in for another one of those tardy notices. What is this, your50th? You better have a good excuse this time, because George was saying a little while ago that gossip columnists are a dime a dozen, and that he could get Liz Smith over here in asecond to replace you if he wanted to. I think he was joking. It was hard to tell becausethe c.o.ke machine is broken, and he hadn't had his morning Mountain Dew yet.By the way, did something happen last night between you and Aaron? He's been playingWagner in his cubicle again. You know how this bugs George. Did you two have anotherfight? Are we doing lunch later or what?

Nad :-).

To: Mel Fuller From: Aaron Spender

Where are you, Mel? Are you going to be completely childish about this and not come in to the office until you're sure I've left for the day? Is that it?

Can't we sit down and discuss this like adults?

Aaron Spender.

Senior Correspondent.

New York Journal.

To: Mel Fuller From: Dolly Vargas Subject: Aaron Spender.

Melissa-.

Don't get the wrong idea, darling, I WASN'T spying on you, but a girl would have to be BLIND not to have noticed how you brained Aaron Spender with your bag last night at Pastis. You probably didn't even notice me, I was at the bar, and I looked around because I thought I heard your name, of all things--weren't you supposed to be covering the Prada show?--and then BOOM! Altoids and Maybelline all over the place.

Darling, it was precious. You really have excellent aim, you know. But I highly doubt Kate Spade meant that adorable little clutch to be used as a projectile. I'm sure she'd have made the clasp stronger if she'd only known women were going to be backhanding the thing around like a volleyball.

Seriously, darling, I just need to know: Is it all over between you and Aaron? Because I never thought you were right for each other. I mean, the man was in the running for a Pulitzer, for G.o.d's sake! Although if you ask me, anyone could have written that story about that little Ethiopian boy. I found it perfectly maudlin. That part about his sister selling her body to provide him with rice...please. Too d.i.c.kensian. So you aren't going to be difficult about this, are you? Because I've got an invite to Steven's place in the Hamptons, and I was thinking of inviting Aaron to mix Cosmos for me. But I won't if you're going to go Joan Collins on me.

P.S. You really should have called if you weren't going to come in today, darling. I think you're in trouble. I saw that little troll-like person (Amy something?) from Human Resources sniffing around your desk earlier.

Dolly x.x.xOOO.

To: Mel Fuller From: George Sanchez Subject: Where the h.e.l.l were you?

Where the h.e.l.l are you? You appear to be under the mistaken impression that comp days don't have to be pre-arranged with your employer. This is not exactly convincing me that you are columnist material. More like copy-edit material, Fuller.

G.

To: Mel Fuller From: Aaron Spender

This is really beneath you, Melissa. I mean, for G.o.d's sake, Barbara and I were in a war zone together. Anti-aircraft fire was exploding all around us. We thought we'd be captured by rebel forces at any moment. Can't you understand that? It meant nothing to me, Melissa, I swear it. My G.o.d, I should never have told you. I thought you could be mature about this. But to pull a disappearing act like this....

Well, I'd never have expected it from a woman like you, that's all I have to say.

Aaron Spender.

Senior Correspondent.

New York Journal.

To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: This isn't funny.

Girl, where are you? I'm really starting to get worried. Why haven't you called me, at the very least? I hope you didn't get hit by a bus, or something. But I suppose if you did, they'd call us. a.s.suming you had your press pa.s.s with you, that is. All right, I'm not really worried that you're dead. I'm really worried you're going to get fired, and I'm going to have to eat lunch with Dolly again. I was forced to go to Burger Heaven with her since you're MIA, and it nearly killed me. The woman had a salad with no dressing. Do you get where I'm coming from here? NO DRESSING. And then she felt compelled to comment on every single thing I put in my mouth. Do you know how many grams of fat are in that fry? A good subst.i.tute for mayonnaise, you know, Nadine, is low-fat yogurt. I'd like to tell her what she can do with her low-fat yogurt. By the way, I think you should know that Spender's going around saying you're doing this because of whatever went down between the two of you the other night. If that doesn't get you in here, and p.r.o.nto, I don't know what will.

Nad :-).

To: George Sanchez From: Mel Fuller Subject: Where the h.e.l.l I was Since it is apparently so important to you and Amy Jenkins that your employees account fully for every moment they spend away from the office, I will provide you with a detailed summary of my whereabouts while I was unavoidably detained.

Ready? Got your Mountain Dew? I hear the machine down in the art department is fully operational.

Mel's Morning: 7:15--Alarm rings. Hit snooze b.u.t.ton.

7:20--Alarm rings. Hit snooze b.u.t.ton.

7:25--Alarm rings. Hit snooze b.u.t.ton.

7:26--Wake to sound of neighbor's dog barking. Turn off alarm.

7:27--Stagger to bathroom. Perform morning ablutions.

7:55--Stagger to kitchen. Ingest nourishment in form of Nutrigrain bar and Tuesday night's take-out kung pao.

7:56--Neighbor's dog still barking.

7:57--Blow dry hair.

8:10--Check New York One for weather.

8:11--Neighbor's dog still barking.

8:12--Attempt to find something to wear from a.s.sorted clothes crammed into studio apartment's single, refrigerator-sized closet.

8:30--Give up. Pull on black rayon skirt, black rayon shirt, black sling-back flats.

8:35--Shoulder black bag. Look for keys.

8:40--Find keys in bag. Leave apartment.

8:41--Notice that Mrs. Friedlander's copy of the New York Chronicle (yes, George, my next door neighbor subscribes to our biggest rival: don't you agree with me now that we really ought to do something to draw more senior readers?) is still lying on the floor in front of her apartment door. She is normally up at six to walk her dog, and takes her paper in then.

8:42--Notice that Mrs. Friedlander's dog is still barking. Knock on door to make sure everything is all right (some of us New Yorkers actually care about our neighbors, George. You wouldn't know that, of course, since stories about people who actually care for others in their community don't make for very good copy.

Stories in the Journal, I've noticed, tend to gravitate towards neighbors who shoot at, not borrow cups of sugar from, one another).

8:45--After repeated knocks, Mrs. Friedlander still does not come to door. Paco, her Great Dane, however, barks with renewed vigor.

8:46-- Try handle to Mrs. Friedlander's apartment door. It is, oddly enough, unlocked.

Let myself inside.

8:47--Am greeted by Great Dane and two Siamese cats. No sign of Mrs. Friedlander.

8:48--Find Mrs. Friedlander facedown on living room carpet.

Okay, George? Get it, George? The woman was FACEDOWN on her living room carpet!