by Meg Cabot
He finally ended up at Michigan State and fell in with a bad crowd—you know the sorts I mean: writers . . . artists . . . democrats. He didn’t even join a fraternity. I was as surprised as anybody when he decided to go to law school instead of joining the Peace Corps or becoming a mime or something.
Of course, when he graduated, Dad offered him a job with the firm—familial loyalty, and all of that. But would you believe Mitch had the nerve to turn it down? The guy spent four years working as a public defender (!) before finally agreeing to come work for Dad—but not until the old guy was on his deathbed . . . or thought he was, anyway, since he’s apparently doing fine now, given that he never seems to come in off the links.
Anyway, I can’t say spending all that time with murderers and drug addicts did Mitch’s disposition any good.
But he’s a damned good lawyer. So you can quit worrying and meet me for lunch at Lespinasse, as we planned. I can’t wait to gaze into those sparkling eyes of yours over a glass of Cristal . . . I hope they’re still shining as brightly as that diamond on your finger. . . .
Yours, as ever,
Stuart
Stuart Hertzog, Senior Partner
Hertzog Webber and Doyle, Attorneys at Law
444 Madison Avenue, Suite 1505
New York, NY 10022
212-555-7900
To: Stuart Hertzog
Fr: Amy Jenkins
Re: Mitchell Hertzog
Oh, Stuart, that’s so sweet! I knew you’d take care of it. Thank you so much!
And don’t worry about that stuff with your brother. We all have family members we’d prefer to have little to do with. I myself have both a sister and a brother I’m not exactly looking forward to introducing to you. And my parents—well, I won’t get into that.
But there are some family members of mine I’m dying for you to get to know—my Pi Delt sisters! I just know you’re going to love them—they’re really a swell group of gals. A bunch of us are meeting at the Monkey Bar after work . . . PLEASE say you’ll stop by so I can show you off to them. I can’t wait for you to meet them!
Looking forward to our lunch . . . and to proving to you that my eyes are still shining just as brightly as they were last night. . . .
Amy
Amy Denise Jenkins
Director
Human Resources
The New York Journal
216 W. 57th Street
New York, NY 10019
212-555-6890
[email protected]
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.
From the Desk of
Amy D. Jenkins
Mrs. Stuart Hertzog
Mrs. S. A. Hertzog
Mrs. Amy Denise Hertzog
Jenkins-Hertzog
Mrs. Jenkins-Hertzog
Mrs. Amy Jenkins-Hertzog
Mrs. A. D. Jenkins-Hertzog
Stuart, Amy, Heath, and Annabelle Hertzog
Heath Hertzog
no
Connor Hertzog
Annabelle Hertzog
Connor Jenkins-Hertzog
Annabelle Jenkins-Hertzog
Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Jenkins-Hertzog
Amy Denise Jenkins
Director
Human Resources
The New York Journal
216 W. 57th Street
New York, NY 10019
212-555-6890
[email protected]
To: Kate Mackenzie
Fr: Jen Sadler
Re: OH MY GOD
SO????????? WHAT HAPPENED??????
J
To: Jen Sadler
Fr: Kate Mackenzie
Re: OH MY GOD
I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing. I went into the T.O.D.’s office, and she was . . . doodling. And humming. Doodling and humming, almost like . . .
Like a human being!
She seemed surprised to see me—like she’d forgotten about the whole thing. I asked her about the letter, and she just went, “Oh, that’s Stuart’s brother. He’ll be representing the paper in the arbitration.” Then she SHOWED ME HER RING!
I’m not kidding. She went, “I thought I should tell you before you heard it through the departmental grapevine . . . Stuart Hertzog and I are engaged.”
Then she waved that massive rock—you were right, it IS three carats, she told me—under my nose and went, “Oh, Kate! I’m so happy!” in this very weird voice. Almost like she knows she SHOULD be happy, so she’s determined to ACT happy. You know what I mean?
I didn’t know what to do—genuflect and kiss the stupid thing, or just say congratulations—so I just said congratulations and got the hell out of there.
Oh my God, I still feel unclean. I think I’ll need a bacon cheeseburger for lunch before I feel like myself again.
Kate
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Okay, now THAT is weird.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Are you crazy? Quit I.M.-ing me, she’s gonna catch us.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Hello, you said she was doodling. And HUMMING. Doodling, humming, newly engaged bosses do not pay attention when their employees are I.M.-ing. So did you ask if she’s taking his name?
Sleaterkinneyfan:
No, of course not.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
She will. I can’t WAIT to address my first employee action form to Amy Hertzog. Oh my God, it is going to be great. OH MY GOD, IF THEY HAVE KIDS, THEY’LL BE HERTZOGS TOO!!!!!!!!!
Sleaterkinneyfan:
You so know if she has a boy she’ll name it Connor. It’s like the number-one most popular name for boys right now, and God knows, Amy has to do whatever’s popular.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Totally. And if it’s a girl, it will be Annabelle. ANNABELLE HERTZOG!!!
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Stop it. The guy can’t help what his last name is.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Um, hello, he so can. You think my last name is really Sadler? No, it was Sadlinsokov, until my ancestors got to Ellis Island and wisely shortened it.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
I think Sadlinsokov sounds nice. It has character.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
So . . . admit it. Things are getting good around here. You don’t want to quit anymore, do you?
Sleaterkinneyfan:
For what they made me do to Mrs. Lopez? Yes, I do.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
Oh, right. And miss out on all this fun? I know—after lunch, let’s ask the T.O.D. if that’s a hickey on her neck. 10 to 1 she’ll say it’s a bruise from the gym.
Sleaterkinneyfan:
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
Fr: Stacy Trent
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
Fr: Mitchell Hertzog
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
Fr: Stacy Trent
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.
