You’re on. But YOU ask. I did it last time.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Deal. Winner buys the bacon cheeseburgers.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Oh, all right.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

logged off

Sleaterkinneyfan:

logged off

Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Kathleen Mackenzie. I’m sorry I’m not able to take your call. I’m either on the other line, or away from my desk at the moment. At the tone, please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you!

(Tone)

Katie, it’s me. Dale. Listen. I got your message. Katie, I know we can work things out, if you’ll just give me another chance. I mean, I’m not saying I can change or anything, but I promise—I mean, it isn’t like there’s another girl, or anything. I mean, well, you know, there’s lots of girls, we’re a pretty popular band. There are girls around all the time. But there’s no special girl. I mean, more special than you. Aw, come on, Katie. You know I’m doing the best I can. But I’m just not the standing-up-in-church-in-a-tux-in-front-of-everyone-and-declaring-my-eternal-love-for-a-woman kind of guy. And you know it! I mean, is that the kind of guy you fell in love with back in Kentucky? Was it? No, it wasn’t. So cut me a little slack, will ya? And come home. I really miss you. Also, I can’t find my Clash T-shirt. Did you take it to the laundry-by-the-pound place? Because it’s like—

(Click)

Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Kathleen Mackenzie. I’m sorry I’m not able to take your call. I’m either on the other line, or away from my desk at the moment. At the tone, please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you!

(Tone)

Kate, hi, it’s Dolly. Listen, sweetie, there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. Well, not a misunderstanding, exactly. It’s just that the new fax boy . . . Well, he and I ended up in what I believe is called a

contretemps

. . . at least in

Bazaar

it is . . . and I’m afraid he might have gotten the wrong idea. And the truth is, darling, I honestly thought he was interested, but apparently, he plays for the other team—I can’t imagine what happened, I used to be so good at telling them apart. Anyway, I think he’s going to file some sort of a . . . What’s it called again, Nadine? Oh, yes, sexual harassment suit against me. But honestly, darling, my hand just slipped. . . . Oh well, anyway. Call me. Maybe we can do lunch tomorrow, and talk. Ciao!

(Click)

Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Kathleen Mackenzie. I’m sorry I’m not able to take your call. I’m either on the other line, or away from my desk at the moment. At the tone, please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you!

(Tone)

Okay, I found the shirt. It turns out Scroggs was using it to keep his cymbals from getting scratched. Anyway. The thing is, Kate . . . Okay. Here’s the thing. I really do love you. You know? And this is a really bad time for you to have, you know, moved out. Because like, we’ve got to make all these decisions . . . me and the band . . . and like, I’m not used to making decisions without you around to like, talk them through. Like I told you, they want to change our name to Sandwich? Well, also, they want Scroggs to shave his head. But I’m like—you know, a bald drummer, that is just derivative. But then these suits, you know, they were all, derivative of what, but like, I didn’t know. I could’ve really used your help there, you know? Yeah, whatever, I KNOW, I HEAR YOU GUYS, I’LL BE THERE IN A SECOND. . . . So. Whatever, Kate. If you could just, you know, call me. But not tonight, because we’ve got a gig. But like tomorrow. No, tomorrow’s no good either. Well, I’ll call you. I’ll—I SAID IN A MINUTE! I really love you, Kate. Stop being such a—

(Click)

Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Kathleen Mackenzie. I’m sorry I’m not able to take your call. I’m either on the other line, or away from my desk at the moment. At the tone, please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you!

(Tone)

Katie, honey? Hi, it’s Mom. Charlie and I have been trying to reach you, but it seems like you and Dale are never home anymore—everything is all right between you two, isn’t it?—Well, of course it is, I’m just being silly, I suppose. Anyway, I just thought I’d try you at work. I wanted to let you know we’re in Taos. That’s right, New Mexico! Oh, it’s just stunning here, sweetie. The view from the lot they assigned us is spectacular—this really

is

the way to see our country, just like the dealer said. Well, love you, and you have my cell phone number if you need to reach me. Love you!

(Click)

Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Kathleen Mackenzie. I’m sorry I’m not able to take your call. I’m either on the other line, or away from my desk at the moment. At the tone, please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you!

(Tone)

Hello, Ms. Mackenzie? This is Anne Kelly, Mitchell Hertzog’s assistant. Mr. Hertzog asked me to call you to try to set up a conference for pretrial discovery concerning you and an employee I believe your company terminated yesterday—Ida Lopez? Anyway, if you could call me back at your convenience so we could set up that appointment, I’d appreciate it. The number is 212-555-7900. Thank you so much.

(Click)


To: Mitchell Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>

Fr: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@Freemail.com>

Re: You’ll never believe this one:

> Stuie’s getting married.

You lie.

What even makes you think I’m going to fall for this? I’m no naive housewife, you know. I mean, I am a housewife, but I’m not naive. I happen to be a good five years your senior, on top of which, we actually do get sarcasm out here now in Greenwich. I know it’s hard to believe, but it turns out sarcasm—and irony, even—have been imported to Connecticut from the city for years.

So quit lying like a rug and tell me why you didn’t call Mom for her birthday. Is it still the Janice thing? Mitch, you have got to let Janice fight her own battles. She’s not just our kid sister anymore, she’s over eighteen, and legally an adult.

Which, if you think about it, is something I should be telling Mom and not you, but whatever, I already told Mom, to no perceptible effect.

Oh, God, I’m as bad as you.

But at least I’m not spreading unfounded rumors about our esteemed eldest sibling. Haven’t I warned you about this before, Mitch? Use your impressive cerebral powers for good and not evil. Stuart is so beneath your intellectual capabilities. Making fun of him is like shooting fish in a barrel, it just isn’t worthy of your prodigious talents.

Now Mom, on the other hand . . .

Just kidding.

Hey, are you coming out this weekend, or what? The kids were asking. And Jason’s been dying to show you this new putter he got. Or something golf related, anyway.

Stacy


To: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@Freemail.com>

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>

Re: You hurt me

Attachment: l Ida Lopez

Seriously, how can you imagine, even for a minute, that I would joke about something as deadly serious as the impending nuptials of our esteemed elder brother? I have it in writing from the Stu Meister himself (see attached e-mail, plus quote from it below):

> Amy Jenkins happens to be my fiancée—a word I’m aware you

> wouldn’t understand, because you’ve never gone out with a woman

> longer than a single basketball season.

See. I told you so. You know I could never make up anything that sounded half that smug.He’s getting married . To that harpy from the personnel office at theJournal. Remember, the one he brought to your place for Thanksgiving dinner last year? Who went jogging after we finished, while the rest of us sat in catatonic stupors?

Yeah.That one. He’s marryingher.

Personally, I think there should be a law against strenuous exercise after a large holiday meal. But then, I would never agree to marry a blowhard like Stuie, so maybe it’s just me.

And you don’t need me coming out there to visit all the time. You have your ever-escalating horde of in-laws to keep my nieces and nephew entertained.

Much love,

Mitch


To: Mitchell Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>

Fr: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@Freemail.com>

Re: I am in shock

I can’t believe it. Stuart’s getting married. He’s actually going to share his much-vaulted millions with someone other than his dry cleaner and doorman. How can this be? Has there been a rift in the space-time continuum?

Of course, the fact that he’s marrying someone so heinous explains a lot. Did you know I actually overheard Amy Jenkins telling Mom that she thinks it’s a travesty that Martin Luther King’s birthday was made into a national holiday?

Mom, of course, agreed with her.

Have I mentioned that Jason asked me not to invite Stuart back for Thanksgiving next year? This is apparently on account of the half-hour lecture Stu gave him on the difference between a multepuciano and lungarotti. Jason’s actual words were that if he’d had to hear a second more about it, he’d have lunged at Stu’s rotti.

Which I thought rather witty myself. You know, for Jason.

Speaking of Jason, you’re right: I do love my in-laws dearly. The Trents cannot be rivaled for pure Kennedy-esque familial catfights.

But for self-delusional psychodrama, no one can hold a candle to the Hertzogs. And that’s why it bothers me when you don’t come around more. It’s no fun laughing at Mom, Dad, and Stuart all by myself.

Oh, wait, I have an idea. Why don’t YOU get married? To someone fun. Then she and I can dish the dirt on Mom and Dad when you’re too busy to join me.

Just a suggestion.

Stace


To: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@Freemail.com>

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>

Re: Nice try . . .

. . . but law is definitely not the field to go into if you’re looking to meet a nice girl. So far the only women I’ve met since graduation are other lawyers . . . and of course the hookers I was defending.

No offense to any female lawyers you might have in your acquaintance, but I kind of preferred the hookers. I mean, at least they didn’t care what kind of shoes I had on.

Mitch

Sleaterkinneyfan:

What do I do???? There’s a message on my phone from Mitchell Hertzog’s assistant! She wants me to call to schedule an appointment for pretrial discovery! About Mrs. Lopez!!!!!!

Sleaterkinneyfan:

So? Schedule an appointment.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

But . . . I’m on Mrs. Lopez’s side.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Better not let the T.O.D. catch you saying that.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

No worries. She’s not even here. She went to go meet the Stepford Wives at the Monkey Bar. I overheard her on the phone with one of them.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Oh, you mean her sorority sisters. That’s right, they meet the first Thursday of every month. I can’t understand how they can bear to tear themselves away from

Friends

. Isn’t Jennifer Aniston like the sorority girl icon of all time, or something?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Hey. I like Jennifer Aniston.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Whatever. Better make the appointment. And leave the T.O.D. a message to let her know you did it. Then let’s get out of here. There’s a sale at Nine West.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

But isn’t my cooperating with the paper’s soulless corporate lawyers tantamount to supporting the dismissal of Mrs. Lopez, an act which grates against every fiber of my being?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

You already lost your apartment. You want to be out of a job too?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Roger. Over and out.

From the Desk of

Kate Mackenzie

Amy, just to let you know, I got a message from Mitchell Hertzog’s assistant, asking me to call to schedule an appointment to give a deposition concerning Ida Lopez’s grievance suit.

So I went ahead and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow morning at nine . . . which of course means I probably won’t be in to the office until after eleven or so.