Really, things aren’t SO bad, are they? Yes, I have no job, no life, no place to live, etc. And I can’t even move back home with my parents, because my father is dead and my mother is driving cross-country in an RV the size of Dolly’s terrace.

But I have what few are given—ooooh, Skiboy makes strong drinks—I have what you called the greatest gift of all: the opportunity to make a whole new start in life. Really, I could be anything. I could be a doctor—well, if I could get money for med school. And if the sight of blood didn’t make me feel all sweaty. I could be a politician—really, I’d be very good at that, you know, because I know what it feels like to be trod upon and broken, like the people of Jersey City or wherever. I could be a lawyer—

Oh, no, blecch, a lawyer, never! I never want to be like Stuart Hertzog. I HATE him. As much as I hate Amy Jenkins. The two of them deserve each other. I hope they both enjoy their country-club wedding and their Sandals honeymoon and their house in Westchester and their 2.1 kids and no dog because of the kids’ allergies and their gas-guzzling, environment-destroying—Yes, thank you, Skiboy, a refill would be lovely—SUV, and their two weeks in Aspen and their summer on the Cape and their JP Tods and their Tse cashmere sweaters on their two-year-old, and preschools that cost ten grand a year for two mornings a week and then the right elementary school because God forbid Junior doesn’t get into the right college so he can get the right job so he doesn’t end up like ME, A BIG FAT HOMELESS UNEMPLOYED FREAK THAT NO ONE LOVES AND WHO IS GOING TO DIE PENNILESS, BITTER, AND ALONE. . . .

Okay, one more drinkie, then I have to hite the pavement, becauge I am woman hear me rihatibgrmvn


To: Dolly Vargas <dolly.vargas@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jen Sadler <jennifer.sadler@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Kate

Dolly, something AWFUL has happened. Kate’s been fired! Amy gave her the old heave-ho right before lunch. I don’t know what went down at the meeting they went to this morning, but Amy came tearing in here with SECURITY, cleaned out Kate’s desk, confiscated her computer, and that was that. I haven’t been able to reach Kate—I don’t even know where she is. She left a message a little before noon, but since then. . . .

Dolly, you’ve GOT to talk to Peter about this. Kate is a GOOD employee. If she’s been fired—and like this—it must be a mistake. It probably has to do with Mrs. Lopez. PLEASE PLEASE ask Peter to look into it.

And if she shows up at your place, can you ask her to call me? I’m really worried about her.

Jen


To: Jen Sadler <jennifer.sadler@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Dolly Vargas <dolly.vargas@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Kate

Darling, don’t worry. I just called home, and Kate’s safe with Skiboy. He says he’s taking good care of her.

Of COURSE I’ll talk to Peter, only you know he flew to San Francisco this morning to check on his vineyard. I mean, I’m happy to see if I can do anything to help our poor little Miss Moppett, but I’m not sure Peter’s going to be able to be of any help until he gets back.

Tell you what, though, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll call Mitch Hertzog. He’ll know what to do. After all, from what I hear from Kate—and it’s hard to tell, with all the slurring—he’s the one who got her fired. He can damn well get her hired back.

Got to run—so many new designs, so few adjectives to describe them. . . .

XXXOOO

Dolly

Hola, darling! It’s me, Dolly! I’m not home at the moment—or possibly I am, but I’m . . . indisposed. Anyway, leave a message, and I’ll get back to you just the second I can. Ciao!

(Tone)

Kate? Kate, it’s me, Jen. Dolly says you’re home. How come you’re not picking up? Kate, come on, pick up. I know you’re upset—hell, I would be, too. But this is not over, okay? Dolly and I are going to get your job back, don’t you worry. We’re not going to let that fucking T.O.D. win. We’re all in this together, Kate, and we’re going to get your job back. Did you hear me? Well, call me as soon as you get this message. I’m really worried about you, Kate.

(Click)

Hola, darling! It’s me, Dolly! I’m not home at the moment—or possibly I am, but I’m . . . indisposed. Anyway, leave a message, and I’ll get back to you just the second I can. Ciao!

(Tone)

Kate? This is Mitch Hertzog. I just heard. Look, I am so—I don’t even know how to begin to say how sorry I am. I had no idea—I mean, I suspected she was up to something, but I never in a million years thought that she’d stoop to—Listen, I am not going to let them do this to you. All I need is that e-mail Amy sent you and a draft of that letter you wrote, and we have them, okay? I’ll get your job back in no time. If you can just get one of your coworkers to forward those documents from your computer, we’re golden. Kate? Are you there? If you’re there, pick up. If not . . . well, call me as soon as you can. You have my numbers. Just . . . God, I can’t believe she did this. I’m so sorry. Call me.

(Click)


To: Stuart Hertzog <stuart.hertzog@hwd.com>

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

Re: Kate Mackenzie

Well, I hope you’re satisfied. Your fiancée, obviously acting under your instructions, just dug her own grave. That’s right, Stu. Because I am going to bury Amy for this. Bury her. I hope this won’t interfere with your wedding plans too much. Don’t worry, she’ll probably still marry you, since she’s going to NEED to change her name by the time I get through with her. She won’t be able to get on a guestlist in town with the name Jenkins.

Oh, and tell her from me—she doesn’t know the meaning of the wordfucker. But she will, shortly.

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.