Fucker
To: Mitch Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>
Fr: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@freemail.com>
Re: Kate
<Good thing they’re both still fully dressed, or I’d be wiping the smarmy grin off his face.>
You like her, you like her, you really, really like her.
Sorry. I was momentarily transported to second grade there.
So. You’re in love with the instable little lush, aren’t you? It’s okay, you can admit it to your big sis. You always did have a bit of a rescue complex where girls were concerned. You just LOVE rushing in to play the big hero.
But do you really think you can get her job back? I mean, no offense, but you’re not the one engaged to her boss.
And, uh, just a word of warning: when she sobers up, she might not like you anymore. You DID get her fired, from what I understand.
Stace
P.S. I am so getting you back when you have kids of your own. Their first words are gonna be “I love my uncle Stuart.”
To: Stacy Trent <IH8BARNEY@freemail.com>
Fr: Mitch Hertzog <mitchell.hertzog@hwd.com>
Re: Kate
Re: your accusation that I have some sort of “rescue complex” when it comes to choosing my romantic partners: I must disagree. Admittedly, there have not been many, but the women I have chosen to date have all been fiercely independent, with very definite goals and lives of their own. Even the flight attendant you mentioned—the one in Kuala Lampur—aspired to own her own gym someday. Her body was important to her, and she worked hard to keep it trim, and longed to help other women do the same. . . .
Sorry, I’m being flippant when I meant to be serious. The fact of the matter is, Stuart’s girlfriend really pulled a number on us both. Kate and me, I mean. Well, mostly on Kate. I suspected, but wasn’t sure, that Amy falsified a document—and forged Kate’s name on it. I will admit that I hoped to force Ms. Jenkins to own up to it at the depo today. I figured I’d rub Stuart’s nose in the fact that his future wife isn’t the innocent young flower he’d like all of us to believe she is. You know, make him admit Amy’s capable of calling me a fucker, and all of that. In fact, I was hoping I could get her to do it in front of him.
But damned if Ms. Jenkins—with Stuart’s help—didn’t turn the tables. I’ve seen dirty dealing in my day, but even some of the pimps I’ve defended in the past couldn’t have held a candle to those two for pure subterfuge. Amy’s now saying Kate is the one lying about it, and used that as grounds for firing her.
Thing is, Amy seized Kate’s computer, so the chances of proving Amy wrong are slim to none. Still, the urge to see justice done is pretty strong, considering the whole damn thing’s my own fault—and where there’s a will, there’s a way, and yadda yadda yadda. . . .
You know us rescue-complex types. We’re all the same.
Hey, did you talk to Stuart at all? I almost got off a good one right in his face, but I tripped over one of those damned potted ferns Dad’s got all over the lobby. Then he barricaded himself in his office and wouldn’t come out. Big baby.
Better go, my battery needs recharging, and Kate seems to be coming around. . . .
The Fucker
To: Margaret Hertzog <margaret.hertzog@hwd.com>
Fr: Stuart Hertzog <stuart.hertzog@hwd.com>
Re: Mitch
I tried calling you, Mother, but no one is picking up. Are you speaking to Dad, perhaps? I put a call in to him, but got no response. I hope you’re having better luck.
Seriously, Mother, I’m worried. I think Mitch needs to be on medication. Clearly he has anger management issues, as today’s violent outburst so eloquently illustrated. I suggest we sit down with the therapist you’ve been sending Janice to and ask if he can do some sort of intervention on Mitch. The man is clearly suffering from some sort of delusion. I almost wonder if it could be post-traumatic stress syndrome left over from his days as a public defender. You know he saw some grisly photos during that time, death and dismemberment and she-males and who knows what all else.
And really, he can’t think any of it—the sacrifices, the time—was ultimately worth it, because all he was doing was trying to defend lowlifes who were never meant to function in society in the first place, and probably should never have been born at all.
Maybe Mitch just needs a vacation. Maybe Dad could arrange for Mitch to use the condo in Aspen for a few weeks. I think if we could just get him out of the office for a while, he might be okay.
Think about it, Mother. He’s been acting strangely ever since you made Janice come home from college—not speaking to you, except to accuse you of interfering where your help’s not wanted or needed, that kind of thing. Almost as if he were on JANICE’s side.
He’s screwed up his own life so badly, it’s no wonder he thinks it’s fine if Janice screws up hers. Thank God Dad was able to bail Mitch out by offering him a position with the firm. Think what he’d be doing by now if Dad hadn’t been so generous. Probably working for the Legal Defense Fund, or worse.
Well, anyway, call me, Mother, as soon as you can. We really need to do something about Mitch before it’s too late.
Stuart
P.S. Amy sends her love. We looked at the loveliest apartment today, a three-bedroom on Fifth Avenue, complete with a maid’s room and eat-in kitchen. We also had blood taken for genetic testing to make sure neither of us is a carrier of any inherited disorders. You know Dad’s side of the family has always been a little sketchy—I mean, everything that happened prior to great-grandad’s arrival at Ellis Island. It will be interesting to discover if there is any form of psychosis that might possibly run through our family. Because I’m convinced that is what’s wrong with Mitch.
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: Kate Mackenzie <katydid@freemail.com>
Fr: Vivica <vivica@sophisticate.com>
Re: Your Ex
Dear Kate,
Hi, you don’t know me, but the other night I did a runway show (I am a model) in Bryant Park for Marc Jacobs and I met your ex-boyfriend, Dale Carter, lead singer for the band I’m Not Making Any More Sandwiches (isn’t that the funniest name for a band? Dale told me why he calls his band that, and I think it’s just the CUTEST story).
Anyway, I think Dale is pretty hot, and all. I mean, I have always wanted to have a boyfriend who could perhaps immortalize me in song. Like that Alison girl that other guy sings about, or the Lady in Red. Or Layla. Or that lucky-duck showgirl Lola, for that matter.
But the thing is, due to an unfortunate experience two years ago involving a man I learned was actually a murderer (well, attempted, currently serving twenty years to life), I have given up on dating men who don’t come with references, particularly from their exes. I would really like to get to know Dale better, because he is a fox—I love his little goatee!—and a musician and all. But I told him, “No way will I ask you out, buster, unless you give me your mother’s phone number and the names and e-mail addresses of the last five girls you’ve dated.”
Well, you can imagine I was pretty surprised when I found out Dale’s only been with one girl in the past ten years! I mean, I haven’t even had the same HAIR COLOR for that long, let alone DATED anyone. I think it is pretty impressive that Dale and you went out for that long, even if, like Dale says, you ultimately stabbed him in the back by demanding a commitment and then left him, rendering him into the broken shell that he is today.