Boy - The Boy Next Door Part 4

To: John Trent From: Jason Trent Subject: Max Friedlander Ah. It is all become clear now. I know how you are when it comes to redheads. And just what is THIS?

Jason PS No, we're going to the place in the Hamptons. You're welcome to join us.

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent Subject: SOS I don't even want to ask. What is it that you want me to do for you, Max? And please, I'm begging you, nothing illegal in New York, or any other, state.

John To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: SOS

Look, it'll be a piece of cake: All I want you to do is be me. Just for a week or two.

Well, okay, maybe a month. Simple, right? Here's the 411: My aunt--you know, the filthy stinking rich one who always kind of reminded me of your grandma, Mimi, or whatever the h.e.l.l her name is? The one who was so mean about our apartment? The neighborhood wasn't that bad.

Anyway, my aunt apparently suffered a senior moment and let a psychopath into her

place, who conked her on the head and fled, and now she's in the vegetable crisper at Beth Israel. There is a chance--albeit a small one--according to her doctors, that she might come out of it. So you understand that it simply won't do to have her waking up and finding out that her beloved Maxie didn't fly to her side as soon as he heard about her accident. Auntie Helen's will is arranged 80-20--80% of the twelve million my aunt is worth goes to me upon her demise, and 20% goes to various charitable organizations she sponsors. We wouldn't want there to be any sort of untimely shift in those percentiles, now would we, on account of Maxie turning out to have been playing house with a supermodel during this alarming tragedy? Of course we wouldn't. Which is where you, my friend, come in:

You're going to tell this neighbor of hers that you're me.

That's it. Just be me, so Ms. Melissa Fuller reports back to Auntie Helen--if she ever comes around, which is extremely doubtful--that yes, her beloved nephew Maxie did show up as soon as he heard about her little accident. Oh, yeah, and you might have to walk this dog a few times. Just to shut the neighbor up.

And of course, if the old biddy shows the slightest sign of rejoining the conscious, you call me. Got it? And I'll rush right back.

But since I figure the chance of an eighty-year-old woman springing back from this kind of thing is pretty much nil, I won't be expecting to hear from you.

You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if we weren't talking Vivica here. Okay?

VIVICA. The girl is supposedly very well versed in yoga. YOGA, Trent.

You do this for me, and your slate's clean, dude. Whadduya say?

Max

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent Subject: SOS

Let me see if I've got this straight: Your aunt was the victim of a brutal a.s.sault, and you don't even care enough to postpone your vacation? That is cold, Friedlander. Really cold.

Essentially, what you want me to do is commit fraud--a crime punishable by five to ten years in a state penitentiary--by impersonating you. Is that it?

I think I'd rather be married to the showgirl.

John

To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: SOS You crime reporters are all alike. Listen to me, Trent. I'm only going to say this once: It's not fraud if you have my permission to impersonate me. Why do you have to make it sound so underhanded? I told you, Helen's in a coma. She's never even going to know about it. If she croaks, you tell me, I come back to arrange the funeral. If she comes out of it, you tell me, I come back to help her convalesce. But as long as she's unconscious, she's never going to know the difference. So why postpone anything? Besides, we're talking Vivica here. You see how easy things can be if you don't overa.n.a.lyze them? You were always like this. I remember those multiple choice tests we'd get in Bio, you were always, It can't be A--that's too obvious. They must be trying to trick us, and so you'd choose D, when the answer was CLEARLY A. As long as Auntie Helen--and her lawyers--don't know any better, why not let me enjoy my well-earned little vacation? Placate this neighbor of hers. That's all I'm asking. Just take over the dog-walking duties a few nights a week. I think it's a very small price to pay, considering that I kept you from making the worst mistake of your entire life. You think old Mimsy would still be inviting you up to those soirees on the Vineyard if you had a Vegas showgirl for a wife? I think not. I think you owe your buddy Maxie, but good.

Max To: Jason Trent From: John Trent Subject: Max Friedlander He wants me to walk his comatose aunt's dog while he's off partying with a supermodel.

I guess it could be worse. A lot worse.

So why do I have such a bad feeling about it?

John

To: John Trent From: Jason Trent Subject: Max Friedlander You're right. It could be worse. Are you going to do it?

Jason PS Stacy says to tell you she's got the perfect girl for you: Haley's dressage instructor. Twenty-nine, size four, blonde, blue-eyed, the works. What do you say?

To: Jason Trent From: John Trent Subject: Max Friedlander Why not? I mean, walking an old lady's dog....How bad can that be?

John PS You know I can't stand dressage. There's something unnatural about making a horse dance.

To: John Trent From: Jason Trent Subject: Max Friedlander The horses don't dance in dressage, you moron. They step. And have you ever considered that you and Heidi might have been perfectly suited for one another? I mean, with the kind of luck you've been having with women lately, Heidi could very well have been your last chance at real happiness. Just think, if you'd followed your heart, instead of Max Friedlander's head, you could be the one providing Mim with a grandkid next December, instead of me.

Jason To: Jason Trent From: John Trent Subject: Max Friedlander Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent Subject: SOS Okay, I'll do it.

To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: Operation Paco

All right. I'll let the neighbor know to expect you (I mean, me) tonight for the big key exchange. She's got my aunt's spare. It has not apparently occurred to her to wonder why Aunt Helen never gave me a key to her place (that fire in her last apartment was not my fault. There was something wrong with the wiring).

Remember, you're supposed to be me, so try to act like you care about the old lady's hemotoma, or whatever it is. And listen, as long as you're being me, could you try to dress with a little...what's the word I'm looking for here? Oh, I know. STYLE. I know for guys like you who are born into money, the instinct is to downplay the trillions you're worth.

And that's cool with me. I mean, I can understand this whole thing you're doing, getting a real job instead of the cushy family one your big brother offered.

And I'm totally fine with it. If you want to pretend like you're only making forty five grand a year, that's just great. But while you're being me, could you PLEASE not dress like a grad student?

I am begging you: No Grateful Dead T-shirts. And stone-washed jeans? Yeah, those are OUT, John.

And those deck shoes you always wear? Would something in a ta.s.sel kill you?

And for the love of G.o.d, invest in a leather jacket. Please. I know it will mean touching some of those precious millions in that trust fund your grandfather left you, but really, something NOT from the Gap would be good.

That's all. That's all I ask. Just try to look good when you're imitating me. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.

Max

PS The neighbor left a number, but I lost it. Her email's

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent Subject: SOS Christ, Friedlander, she works for the NY JOURNAL????

You didn't say that. You didn't say anything about your aunt's neighbor working for the NY Journal. Don't you get it, Max? She might KNOW me. I'm a journalist. So is she. Yeah, we work for rival papers, but for G.o.d's sake, the field's pretty small. What if she opens the door and it turns out we've been to the same conferences--or crime scenes?

Your cover will be blown. Or do you not care?

J.

PS And how am I supposed to email her? She's going to know I'm not you when she reads my address.

To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: Operation Paco

Of course I care. And don't worry, I already checked her out. She does the gossip page. I doubt you've been running into any gossip columnists at the crime scenes you've been covering lately.

Max PS Apply for a second email account. My G.o.d, it's not like you don't have the money. PPS Quit bugging me. Vivica and I are trying to watch the sunset.

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent Subject: I'm not happy Gossip? She's a gossip columnist, Max? She's going to know I'm not you for SURE. Max? MAX???

To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k From: Mel Fuller Subject: Max Friedlander Oh my G.o.d, Nadine! I heard from him! He's on a.s.signment in Ethiopia, photographing little starving kids for the Save the Children Fund! And I've just asked him to leave to come home and take care of his aunt's dog! What kind of a horrible b.i.t.c.h must I seem to him? Oh G.o.d, I knew I shouldn't have tried to contact him. Now he's going to hate me.

Mel To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Max Friedlander

What's more important to him, a bunch of starving kids he doesn't know, or his aunt'sdog? I don't mean to sound cold, but starving children or not, the man has to take someresponsibility. Besides, his aunt is in a coma, Mel. I mean, if your only living relative is in a coma, you come home, for G.o.d's sake, starving kids or not.When's he getting here, anyway? Are you going to be able to make the pool party?Because Tony's threatening to break off the engagement if I don't go.

Nad :-/

To: Mel Fuller From: Dolly Vargas Subject: Max Friedlander Darling, I could hear you shrieking all the way in the art department. I thought at the very least the cast of Friends was breaking up. But now I find out it's only because Max Friedlander emailed you. But what's this I hear about him doing it from in Ethiopia? Max Friedlander would NEVER go to Ethiopia. My G.o.d, it's so...dusty there. You must be confusing him with someone else. Now, listen, about Aaron: I am bound and determined to make him into something I wouldn't be ashamed to introduce to Stephen. So do you think he'll resist strongly to my steering him over towards Barney's? He's simply got to have some linen pants, don't you think? He'll look so devastatingly F Scott Fitzgerald in linen. Can you say something, darling, next time you pa.s.s him on your way to the copier? Something completely cutting like, Nice khakis, ought to put him exactly where I want him.

Dolly x.x.xOOO To: Don and Beverly Fuller From: Mel Fuller Subject: Debbie Phillips Hi, Mom. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Things here have been pretty busy, like I mentioned to you over the phone. I'm still walking Mrs. Friedlander's dog, but tonight her nephew is supposed to come by, and hopefully we'll work something out. Which is good because I've been getting into trouble at work for being late every day. I don't know why people in Human Resources have such axes to grind against us every day working stiffs. It's like they think they're special, or something, because they control what goes into our performance files. Anyway, other than the stuff with Mrs. Friedlander (don't worry, Mom, I always lock my door, and I never open my door to strangers--besides, Ralph, the doorman, would never let a stranger up without buzzing me first), things have been going okay. I'm still stuck on Page Ten--I can't convince Mr. Sanchez, my boss, that I really could do hard reporting, if he'd let me. Let's see, what else? Oh, I broke up with that guy I told you about. It wasn't going anywhere. Well, at least, I didn't see it going where he saw it going. Besides, it turns out he was cheating on me with Barbara Bellerieve. Well, I guess he wasn't really cheating since he and I never really did anything anyway--don't let Daddy read this, all right? Oh, there's the buzzer. Mrs. Friedlander's nephew is here. I have to go.

Love, Mel To: Mel Fuller From: Don and Beverly Fuller Subject: Strange men Melissa! You call me as soon as that man is gone! How could you let a man you've never met before into your apartment? He could be that serial killer I saw on the Inside Edition! The one who puts on his victims clothes and strolls around in them after he's done hacking their bodies into pieces! If you don't call Daddy and me within one hour, I'm telephoning the police. I mean it, Melissa.

Mommy To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Max Friedlander

So???? What was he like????

To: Mel Fuller From: Tony Salerno Subject: Well????

DON'T TELL NADINE I WROTE THIS. But listen, Mel, you have GOT to get this guy to take over the dog-walking thing for you. Because if you don't, and you can't come to this engagement party at my uncle Giovanni's, Nadine's going to have a nervous breakdown. I swear to G.o.d. Don't ask me why, but she's got this thing with her weight, and she needs like your moral support or something every time she has to get into a bathing suit. So as her maid of honor, it is your duty to appear with her at this party on Sat.u.r.day. So get this dude to walk the dog that day, okay? If he gives you a hard time, let me know. I'll take care of him. People think guys who cook can't be tough, but that's not true. I'll do to the guy's face what I did to tonight's special, which happened to be veal picatta--pounded flat and swimming in the lightest white wine sauce you ever tried. I'll give you the recipe if you want later. NOW DON'T FORGET!!!!!!!!!!

Tony To: John Trent From: Max Friedlander

Subject: Operation Paco

You wore ta.s.sels, right? On your shoes? When you went to see her tonight? Just tell me you wore ta.s.sels.

Max To: Jason Trent From: John Trent Subject: How'd It Go?

Just wondering how your little performance this evening went.

And Stacy wants to know if you're still coming for dinner on Thursday like we planned.

Jason