Boy - The Boy Next Door Part 12

Max Friedlander: Actually, I already got the shot I need. I was just out here because...well, you know I love a disaster.

Our Miss Mel: Do I! Here, meet my friend Tim.

Friend Tim shakes hands with Perfect Specimen of Mankind. Will never wash right hand again.

Max Friedlander: Hi. Nice to meet you.

Friend Tim: Likewise, I'm sure.

Our Miss Mel: Listen, I'm glad I ran into you. She then proceeds to throw all known dating protocol to the wind by saying: All my friends want to check you out, so do you think you could show up tomorrow night at Fresche on 10th Street around nine o'clock?

Just a bunch of people from the paper, don't be alarmed.

I know! I was horrified as well! I mean, what could she have been thinking ? You simplydo not go around admitting things like that to prospective inamoratos. What happened tosubtlety? What happened to feminine wiles? To boldly blurt the truth like that...well, I'lltell you: I was appalled. It just goes to show, you can take the girl out of the Midwest,but you can't take the Midwest out of the girl. Mr. Friedlander, I could tell, was every bit as shocked as I was. He went almost as white as he'd been red a minute before.

Max Friedlander: Um. Okay.

Our Miss Mel: Great. See you then.

Max Friedlander: Sure thing.

Exit our Miss Mel. Exit Friend Tim. When I glanced over my shoulder, Max Friedlanderhad disappeared--a remarkable feat, considering that there was nowhere on that side of thehole for him to go except into the Chronicle building. But he can't have gone in there. His soul would have been ripped instantly from his body while demons sucked out his life force.Anyway, that's all. I fully expect to see you at Fresche tonight at nine. And don't be late.What's the appropriate c.o.c.ktail to order for something like this? I know! Let's consultDolly. She always knows just the right drink to go with the occasion. Ta for now.

Tim

To: Dolly Vargas ; George Sanchez ; Stella Markowitz ; Jimmy Chu ; Alvin Webb ; Angie So

From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Mel All right, you guys. You've heard the hype. Now let's see if he lives up to it. The place is Fresche. The time is nine o'clock. Be there, or tomorrow at the water cooler you won't know what the rest of us are talking about.

Nadine To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent Subject: The NY Journal All right, tell me, and tell me quick: Who do you know from the NY Journal ? I want names, Friedlander. I want a list of names, and I want it NOW.

To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: The NY Journal

So, you're stooping to speak to me again, I see. Not so high and mighty now, are you? I thought I'd mortally offended you with my thoughtfully crafted precepts on womenkind.

I knew you'd come crawling back. So what is this you want to know? Do I know anyone at the NY Journal ? What are you, nuts? You're the only journalist I hang out with. I can't stand those pseudo-intellectual phonies. Think they're so great just because they string a few words together to form a sentence. Why do you want to know anyway?

Hey, Trent, you arent actually going out in public pretending to be me, are you? I mean, you're just doing the whole impersonation within my aunt's building, right? With that chick who was so mad about having to walk the dog.

Right? RIGHT????

To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: The NY Journal

Wait, I forgot. I do know this one babe. Dolly something. I think she's with the Journal .

You're not meeting her, are you?

To: John Trent From: Genevieve Randolph Trent Subject: Miss Fuller

Dearest John, Well, well, well. A gossip columnist, no less. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I was thinking at worst she'd turn out to be a grad student. You know, one of those horrid long-haired girls you see sometimes in Central Park, reading Proust on a park bench with the sandals and the gla.s.ses and the backpacks. But a gossip columnist . Now really John. What can you be thinking? Did you think I wouldn't find out? More fool you! It was easy. A simple phone call to the Fullers of Lansing, Illinois. I pretended I was one of those family-tree tracers. You know, a Fuller from way back when the Mayflower landed. Oh, they were just so eager to tell me all about the farm and their precious little Melissa, who's moved to the big city, dontcha know. And not just any big city, either, but the biggest one in the whole world, Noo York City. Honestly, John. Well, you'd better bring her around so we can all get a look at her. Next week would be fine. After the benefit, though, John. I am really quite solidly booked until then.

All my love, Mim To: [email protected] From: Jason Trent Subject: Mim Just a head's up to let you know Mim's on the warpath about you missing thededication. Plus, although I dont know this for certain, she seems to have found out aboutthe redhead. Don't look at me. I didn't tell her. I still think youre out of your mind to have agreed to this thing in the first place. Stacy, on the other hand, wants to know whether or not you took her advice.

Jason PS Saw on the news about the sinkhole in front of your office building. My sympathies on the whole toilet situation.

PPS I'm sorry I called you a psychotic freak. Even though you are one.

PPSS Forgot to tell you: Because of all this, Stacy has gotten her own email account. She got tired of sharing mine. Her new address is

To: Jason Trent From: John Trent Subject: You can call me...

anything you want. I don't mind. And don't worry about Mim. I don't mind about that either. And I kind of like that sinkhole. I have a genuine affection for it. In fact, I'll be sad when they finally fill it in. Oops, there's just been a triple stabbing in Inwood. Gotta go.

John To: Stacy Trent From: Jason Trent Subject: John Stace--

Something is wrong with John. I called him a psychotic freak last week, and he doesn't even care. Plus I warned him about Mim, and he said he doesn't care about that either!

He doesn't even care about the sinkhole and the fact that there are no working toilets in his office building. This happened to my cousin Bill that time he swallowed the worm at the bottom of a bottle of tequila down in Mexico. He had to spend a month in a rehab!

What should we do?

J.

To: Jason Trent From: Stacy Trent > Subject: John

Jason- Before you have your poor brother hauled off to Bellevue, let me see if I can get anything out of him. He might be more willing to open up to me, seeing as how I don't go around calling him names.

Kisses, Stacy To: John Trent From: Stacy Trent > Subject: You took my advice, didn't you?

Don't deny it. You called her. So spill.

And don't leave anything out. I am thirty-four years old, which puts me, as a woman, at my s.e.xual peak. I am also so pregnant I haven't seen my own feet in weeks. The only way I can have s.e.x is vicariously. So start tapping on that keyboard, monkey boy.

Stacy

To: Stacy Trent From: John Trent Subject: Monkey boy responds

You sure do talk racy for a full-time housewife and mother of two and a half. Do the other mommies on the PTA have their minds in the gutter, too? That must make for some interesting bake sales. For your information, what you are a.s.suming has happened has not.

And if things continue in the manner they have been, it never will, either.

I don't know what it is about this girl. I know I am not the most debonair of men. I don'tthink anyone who has ever met me would cla.s.sify me as a playboy. But nor have I everbeen accused of being a complete imbecile. And yet when I'm around Mel, that's exactly how I end up looking--probably out of divine punishment for the fact that since I met her, I've done pretty much nothing but lie to her. Whatever it is, I cannot seem to pull off something as simple as dinner between the two of us. As you know, my first attempt ended with us eating pizza standing up (and her paying for her own slice).

My second attempt was even worse: we spent most of the evening in an animal hospital.

And then I very suavely added insult to injury by s.e.xually hara.s.sing her on Max Friedlander's aunt's couch. She fled, in romance-novel vernacular, like a startled fawn. As well she should have: I'm sure I must have seemed like a teenager in post-prom heat.

Is this satisfying your wish to live vicariously through my romantic adventures, Stacy?

Are those toes you haven't seen in so long curling with excitement?

I almost broke down and told her after the couch incident. I wish to G.o.d now that I had.

Things have only gone from bad to worse. Because every day that I don't tell her is just another day she's going to hate me for when she finally figures it out.

And she will figure it out. I mean, one of these days, my luck is going to run out, and someone who knows Max Friedlander is going to tell her I'm not him, and she's not going

to understand when I try to explain, because it's all so utterly Animal House , and she's going to hate me, and my life is going to be over. Because for some unfathomable reason, instead of reviling me, like any woman in her right mind would, Mel seems actually to like me.

I cannot for the life of me figure out why. I mean, you would think that, considering what she knows of me--or Max Friedlander, I should say--she'd hate my guts. But no. On the contrary: Mel laughs at my inane jokes. Mel listens to my asinine stories. And she apparently talks about me to her friends and colleagues, because a group of them demanded to meet me.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Why on earth did he go?

And I can't tell you why I went. When she asked me about it, it was in front of my office building, where she seemed to appear as if from nowhere. I was so shocked to see her--so scared someone was going to call me by my name--that I think I froze, even though it was about a hundred degrees outside. The sun was shining, and there was noise and confusion everywhere, and suddenly, she was just there, with her hair shining all around her head like a halo, and her big blue eyes blinking up at me. I think I would have said yes if she'd asked me to eat gla.s.s out of the palm of her hand. And then there was nothing I could do about it. I mean, I had already said yes. I couldn't cancel on her. So I ran around in a panic, trying to figure out if Max knew anybody at the Journal. And I was actually relieved when he said he didn't. Relieved! As if I was ever going to be able to pull this off in the first place.

So I went and I met them and they were suspicious but for Mel they pretended not to be, since she is clearly someone they adore. By the end of the evening, we were all the best of friends. But only because the one woman who actually knows Max didn't show up.

I didn't find that out, of course, until I got there, and Mel said, Oh, Dolly Vargas--you know Dolly--she couldn't make it, on account of how she's got ballet tickets tonight. But she says hi. See? See how close I came? It's only a matter of time. So what do I do? If I tell her, she'll hate me, and I'll never see her again. If I don't tell her, eventually she'll find out, and then she'll hate me, and I'll never see her again. After her friends had left, Mel proposed we walk a bit before catching a cab back to our building. We walked along Tenth Street, which, if you'll remember from before you and Jason fled for the suburbs, is a shady residential street, filled with old brownstones, the front windows of which are always lit up at night, so you can see the people inside, reading or watching TV or doing whatever it is people do in their homes after dark. And as we walked, she took my hand, and we just strolled along like that, and as we strolled, I was struck by this horrible realization: that never in my life had I walked along the street holding a girl's hand and felt like I did then...which was happy.

And that's because every other time a girl has grabbed my hand, it's been to drag me towards a store window so she could point to something she wanted me to buy her.

Every other time. I know it sounds horrible, like I'm feeling sorry for myself, or whatever, but I'm not. I'm just telling you the truth. That's actually the horrible part, Stace.

That it's true. And now I'm supposed to tell her? Tell her who I am?

I don't think I can. Could you?

John

To: Jason Trent From: Stacy Trent >

Subject: John There's nothing wrong with your brother, silly. He's in love, that's all.

Stacy PS We're out of Cheerios. Can you pick up a box on the way home tonight?

To: Stacy Trent From: Jason Trent Subject: My brother John? In love? With whom? The redhead? BUT SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HIS REAL NAME!!!!.