Mitch
To: Dolly Vargas <dolly.vargas@thenyjournal.com>
Fr: Mitch Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>
Re: Kate
What do you mean, “Not to worry, she’s home safe with Skiboy”? What the hell is a Skiboy?
Mitch
Journal of Kate Mackenzie
Vodka and tonic is good. I loves my vodkja tonic!!!!!!!! I love= Skiboy for mkiokhkin vosah toiniubc and fir dskoiwn k khiohmvu kjh ojjng bdf Skikjfioh vodkaolsj is goodnkjn oi dks Boy knlskn MIiktch nsk JSen ihds Skibooy knlsknf DOlly knds i liek lijnf pretty kndnvloucds skibod friend!!!!
Har hahr
To: Mitchell Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>
Fr: Stuart Hertzog <stuart.hertzog@hwd.com>
Re: Kate Mackenzie
Hey, don’t blame ME for the fact that your little girlfriend got her ass canned. If she doesn’t know how to play the game, she shouldn’t be playing with the big kids now, should she? Besides, the only person you SHOULD be blaming for what happened is yourself. You’re the one who brought up that stinking letter, friend, not me, and not Jeri.
The real question is . . .
Why’d you do it? Was it really out of some vestigial White Knight desire to see that Lopez woman get her job back? Or were you just trying to make Amy look bad? Are you really so jealous of my having found a woman so perfect that you can’t stand to see me happy? Is that it, Mitch?
Well, hope you’re satisfied. That Lopez bitch isn’t getting her job back, Amy’s probably going to get promoted over this, and your little blonde is going to have to head on down to the food-stamp line.
Good times, bud. Good times.
“Stuie”
Stuart Hertzog, Senior Partner
Hertzog Webber and Doyle, Attorneys at Law
444 Madison Avenue, Suite 1505
New York, NY 10022
212-555-7900
Hello, you’ve reached the mobile phone of Arthur Hertzog. I’m on the links at the moment—or maybe at the bar—and can’t get to my phone. But leave a message, and I’ll be back to you in a flash.
(Tone)
Dad, it’s Stuart. You have to come home. I mean it. I know you’re probably enjoying yourself, and God knows, you deserve a vacation, just like the rest of us. But Mitch is out of control. I really mean it. I’m worried he actually might do me—or worse, my fiancée—bodily harm. Dad, I’ve had to barricade myself in my office because just now in the hallway—right in front of Clarissa—right in front of the receptionists—he actually took a swing at me. A swing at me, Dad. He tried to physically strike me. You know he’s always been bigger than me. You HAVE to do something. Call me tonight, I’ll be home.
(Click)
Hello, you’ve reached the mobile phone of Arthur Hertzog. I’m on the links at the moment—or maybe at the bar—and can’t get to my phone. But leave a message, and I’ll be back to you in a flash.
(Tone)
Arthur, it’s Margaret. You know I would never deliberately disturb you when you are on one of your interminable lost boys’ retreats. But if you would deign to check your messages once in a while, you would see that all hell has broken loose back home. Mitchell physically assaulted Stuart—assaulted him!—in the hallway. I understand that law enforcement was not called in, but only because Stuart didn’t want the reputation of the firm tarnished by controversy. You’ve GOT to do something, Arthur. Oh, and your daughter Janice hasn’t been any joy to live with these past few days either. You might want to give her a call, too, and tell her that drugs kill! THAT’s why I violated her privacy. Because I don’t want HER to end up like Mitch. You do know he smoked marijuana when he was in Thailand, don’t you? I swear it’s residual THC that’s making him behave this way. Oh, for God’s sake, Arthur, put down the highball and come HOME!
(Click)
Hello, you’ve reached the mobile phone of Arthur Hertzog. I’m on the links at the moment—or maybe at the bar—and can’t get to my phone. But leave a message, and I’ll be back to you in a flash.
(Tone)
Dad, it’s Sean. Seriously. I’m going to kill her. If she comes in my room one more time, I won’t be held responsible for my actions. Also, Stuart’s girlfriend is a tool. That’s all.
(Click)
Hello, you’ve reached the mobile phone of Arthur Hertzog. I’m on the links at the moment—or maybe at the bar—and can’t get to my phone. But leave a message, and I’ll be back to you in a flash.
(Tone)
Hi, Daddy, it’s Stacy. Look. You might be getting some messages. . . . I’m not saying I really understand what’s going on, but if I were you, I’d just ignore them. It’s just Stuart, being a jerk. How’s the weather? It snowed here last night. Just a dusting, but still. Snow! In March! The girls say hi, and so does Little John. Love you.
(Click)
To: Mitch Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>
Fr: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@freemail.com>
Re: Kate
Okay, okay, slow down. I could barely understand your message. Apparently, you’ve left the office now, and you aren’t answering your cell, so I’ll try Blackberrying you. So you had a meeting with Stuart and his girlfriend and the ever-attractive Kate this morning, and then Amy apparently fired Kate, and now you can’t find her (Kate) because she’s run off with someone named Skiboy?
Well, really, Mitch. She doesn’t sound as if she was all that stable to begin with if she’s hanging out with people named Skiboy. Maybe you’re better off.
Although it was mean of Amy to fire her. Why’d she do it, anyway?
Little John said his first full sentence today, in case you’re interested. It was, “Up yours, dickhead.” Apparently, he heard it from his “Unca Mitch,” who said it to his “Unca Stu” last Saturday. So thanks for that.
All my love,
Stace
To: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@freemail.com>
Fr: Mitch Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>
Re: Kate
Thanks, got your message. Don’t worry, though, I found her. Well, “we” found her, actually—I ran into Kate’s friend Jen in the lobby of Dolly Vargas’s building. Apparently, she was as concerned as I was about Kate, and we both came rushing over here, in separate cabs. We finally convinced the doorman to let us up, since no one was answering the intercom.
Thank God he did, too. Apparently “Skiboy,” Dolly’s latest “friend”—not Kate’s—got Kate completely plowed on vodka and tonics. He doesn’t seem to see what the problem is, being pretty well sloshed himself. But he’s not the one we found facedown on Dolly’s bearskin rug.
Good thing they’re both still fully dressed, or I’d be wiping the smarmy grin off his face.
By the way, his real name is Gunther. He doesn’t know why everyone seems to call him Skiboy.
Anyway, Jen and I are currently trying to sober Kate up, although she is not being very receptive to this plan. Jen’s trying to get her to down some Vitamin B right now.
Sorry about the alarming phone call—I guess I just needed to talk to someone sane for a minute. But this Jen girl seems surprisingly lucid, for a human-resources type.
I’m just going to ignore that little barb of yours about Kate being unstable.
Oh, and congratulate Jason for me. I’ll be proud as punch the day MY boy first uses the worddickhead in a sentence.