Boy Meets Girl

Journal of Kate Mackenzie

Sorry about that. As I was writing that last bit, the front door burst open, and Peter Hargrave came in. That’s right, Peter Hargrave, the owner and CEO of theNew York Journal,and Dolly’s boyfriend, the guy who set her up in this fabulous pad in the first place?

And did his face go all shades of purple when he saw Dolly on top of Skiboy!

But the thing is, even though I don’t approve of cheating—even if you aren’t married to the person—I owe Dolly a lot. I mean, she’s let me live in her place rent-free, and eat all the Rye-Krisps and drink all the Tab I want. Which is pretty generous, you know.

So when I saw Peter’s face, and how the veins were sticking out all over it and everything, I went, “Okay, okay, you made your point. You’re a better kisser than I am, Dolly. Now give me my boyfriend back. Oh, hi, PETER!”

When Dolly heard Peter’s name, she dropped Skiboy like he was a piping-hot thermal massage rock. She stood up and went, “Dahling!” and threw her arms around Peter like he had been away at the war or something.

Then I pulled Skiboy down next to me and put my arms around him, you know, to make it seem like we were a couple.

Peter just kept looking at Skiboy like he was Osama bin Laden, live in the flesh in his very living room.

“Playing a little game, are we, ladies?” he asked, in this kind of choked-up voice.

“Yes,” I said. “Dolly was just showing me that I don’t kiss right. Weren’t you, Dolly?”

“Absolutely,” Dolly said. Then she looked up at Peter, with her dewy, Botox-injected face, and went, “Katie doesn’t use enough tongue.”

Well, I guess there’s nothing that gets CEOs of major publishing corporations hotter than the use of the wordtongue, since Peter wrapped his arms around Dolly and said, “I’ve missed you so much,” and stuck his own big fat one right in her ear.

Which, you know, ew, but whatever floats your boat.

Then Skiboy—I swear, he has a real feel for the theatrical—stuck his own tongue right in my ear.

So now we’re all sitting here—me and Skiboy, Dolly and Peter—drinking Campari and watching B2K (what is with the all-white living rooms) onCribs . I’m waiting for just the right moment to bring up the whole How I Got Fired thing. Dolly said she’d work on it for me, but it’s clear Peter doesn’t know a thing. He’s too busy sniffing Dolly’s hair. Geez, it’s just Aveda.

Ew, Skiboy is still nuzzling me. He is taking this whole thing way too far. If he doesn’t watch it, I may have to break up with him right in front of Dolly and Peter. Get off—why is the doorman buzzing at freaking midnight?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

So? What’s happening?

Sleaterkinney:

Oh my God. Where are you?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

I’m upstairs, in Peter’s office. His assistant Penny is letting me use the intern’s computer. So WHAT’S HAPPENING?????

Sleaterkinneyfan:

No. Uh-uh. No way. You go first. What happened after Tim and Eddie and I left? Come on. SPILL.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

You mean, after we made Skiboy put a steak on his eye?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Poor Skiboy. He never saw it coming, did he?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

I know! I never had a guy hit another guy over me. I mean, once at a New Year’s party Scroggs felt me up, but Dale just thought it was funny.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

When we walked in and Mitch saw that big dope with his arms all draped around you, I really thought he was going to have a coronary. Mitch, I mean. He hit him HARD. Does Dolly mind?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

About Skiboy’s black eye? Or her grand piano?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Both. Either.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

I think she was more worried about the piano than Skiboy. But that thing needed tuning anyway.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Okay. So what happened after the steak?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Well, Mitch suggested we go out for a drink. To celebrate.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

At MIDNIGHT? Where the hell did you go???

Sleaterkinneyfan:

His place.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

You spill it all right NOW.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

Not on IM! What if the T.O.D. is lurking?

Sleaterkinneyfan:

She’s lurked her last. But you’re right. E-mail me. I want DETAILS.

Sleaterkinneyfan:

logged off

Sleaterkinneyfan:

logged off

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: Last night

First of all, can I just say, because I don’t think I was really all that intelligible last night, I was so stunned, what an incredible, cool, giving, generous, cool, smart, incredible friend you are? NO ONE has ever done anything like this for me before. I mean, you and Tim risked your JOBS for me. That is just the sweetest thing anyone has ever, ever, ever done for me.

I mean it. I just wish there was something I could do for you.

Kate

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: Last night

Those weren’t the kinds of details I was looking for.

And duh. You are my best friend, Kate. Of course I’m going to help you any way I can.

Besides, I didn’t really do anything. It was all Mitch’s idea. He talked to Tim. He hired Eddie. All I did was come back to the office last night after everybody had gone home and signed them both in. They did the rest . . . well, with Tim’s help.

You would, I know, have done the same for me.

Now. Details please. And remember that I am an old married lady and on massive amounts of hormones. So make it good.

J

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: Last night

Okay. Well.

You know, after you guys came in with the good news—at least, I hope it will turn out to be good news. If Peter really does what he said he was going to do, anyway—and Mitch hit Skiboy and I pretended to break up with him (SB, I mean) and we got the whole thing straightened out and everything, Mitch was like, “Let’s get out of here,” and I was like, “Why?” and he was like, “Because of that,” and there was Skiboy, you know, all dejected on the couch.

And it WAS kind of depressing, what with Dolly and Peter making out right in front of him.

So, Jen, I went with him. You know he doesn’t live that far away, it was just a few blocks’ walk, and it really WAS just supposed to be to have drinks until things back at Dolly’s cooled off a little. . . . I didn’t imagine it would be anything more than a drink or two, and all, because you know I thought his little sister was still there.

But then we got to his place and I asked where Sean was and he said she’d left a note saying she was going to his sister’s in Greenwich. . . .

. . . and that’s when I realized I was in big trouble.

And oh! Jen, I know I shouldn’t have, but he has such really nice lips, and he’d just committed a burglary for me, and hit Skiboy, and his knuckles were all raw so I was running them under the tap in the kitchen, when I happened to look up, and there were those lips, and . . .

Well, is it really my fault, what happened next?

Jen, he was so gentle and nice and STRONG (he CARRIED me from the kitchen to the bedroom) and underneath his clothes he is as much of a superhero as the ones on his ties, that wheelchair-basketball thing must be some workout, let me tell you.

And I know I’ve only been with one other guy before, and don’t have a wide and varied experience to draw upon, but, Jen, I have to say . . . lawyers really DO do it better.

Or maybe it’s just Mitch.

In any case, I didn’t get much sleep, but I don’t care, I don’t feel tired or anything, just . . . HAPPY! Happier than I’ve felt in weeks. Maybe even years. Jen! He loves me! He told me! He loved me from the moment he first saw me, in the conference room, when I was dribbling on about chicken in garlic sauce! Remember how I told you about that?

Well, the whole time, he loved me, and was trying to figure out ways to get me to love him back, seeing as how he knew I hated lawyers, what with the whole Mrs. Lopez thing. He thought that if he could prove Amy lied about the letter that day I gave my second deposition, it would show me that he was really on my side—on Mrs. Lopez’s side—and that then I might start to like him. But then the whole thing backfired, and instead of getting Amy in trouble, he got ME in trouble, and he just felt awful, and, JEN!!!!

HE LOVES ME!!!!

Oh, what did I ever do to deserve such a great guy?

He wants me to move in.

But you would be really proud of me, Jen. I said no. I said it was too soon. I said I needed to get my job back first—or some job, anyway—and then we could talk about it.

We made breakfast together, and shared a cab downtown. JUST LIKE HARRISON FORD AND MELANIE GRIFFITH INWORKING GIRL !!!!!!

Oh my God, I’m so happy, I’m telling you, even if I don’t get my job back, I wouldn’t care. I have HIM!

Well, okay, I wouldn’t care much.

Oh, all right, I’d care. Have you heard anything?

Kate

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: Last night

Sorry. Can’t talk now. Must go into ladies’ room to splash cold water on face.

J

To: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stuart Hertzog

Re: Work

You remember work, don’t you, Mitch? It’s that place we all come to every day and sit at things called desks, and type on things called computers, and try things called LEGAL CASES.

It might behoove you to remember that you have a job, and that it starts at nine sharp. Not nine thirty, as you seem to think. You can’t just come waltzing in here any time you damn please, just because you’re the boss’s son, you know.

Speaking of which, when Dad gets back, your ass is grass. When he hears that shit you pulled at the Lopez depo, you’ll be back downtown, defending the Gomez brothers for assault and battery, or whatever the fuck it is you used to do all day.

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: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: Work

Promise?

Mitch

To: Amy Jenkins

Fr: Stuart Hertzog

Re: You

My angel. I can’t tell you what your last missive meant to me. The fact that you will still have me, in spite of my deficiency, means more to me than all the money in the world. Can I take you some place nice for lunch, to celebrate? Daniel, perhaps? Please let me know.

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: You

Daniel sounds divine! One o’clock okay?

Amy

Amy Denise Jenkins

Director

Human Resources

The New York Journal

216 W. 57th Street

New York, NY 10019

212-555-6890

amy.jenkins@thenyjournal.com

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.

To: Courtney Allington

Fr: Amy Jenkins

Re: Hey

I haven’t heard back from you. Usually your replies are so prompt. Did you get my last, about Stuart being Jewish? I tried calling just now, but your assistant said you were in meetings all morning. Drinks after work? Let me know.

Ames

P.S. Courtney, the fact that my fiancé is Jewish—that doesn’t bother you, does it? I mean, he’s not a PRACTICING Jew. He’s just of Jewish descent. I mean, it’s not like he goes around in a yarmulke or anything. As if!

Ames

Amy Denise Jenkins

Director

Human Resources

The New York Journal

216 W. 57th Street

New York, NY 10019

212-555-6890

amy.jenkins@thenyjournal.com

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.

To: Amy Jenkins

Fr: Penny Croft

Re: Meeting with Peter

Amy, Peter Hargrave would like to meet with you this morning at eleven. Please phone me to let me know whether or not you can make it. If not, can we reschedule? He really must meet with you at some point today.

Penny

Penny Croft

Assistant to Peter Hargrave

Founder and CEO of

The New York Journal

To: Stuart Hertzog

Fr: Amy Jenkins

Re: Promotion

Stuart, darling, remember that position I told you I applied for—vice president of Employee Development? Well, I just got an e-mail from Peter Hargrave’s assistant, wanting to schedule an appointment with the big man himself. Honey, I think it’s happened! I’m going to be a VP!

Better call Daniel and tell them to chill the champagne. We’re going to have a double celebration!

Amy

Amy Denise Jenkins

Director

Human Resources

The New York Journal

216 W. 57th Street

New York, NY 10019

212-555-6890

amy.jenkins@thenyjournal.com

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.

To: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stacy Trent

Re: Last night

So who was over last night when I called? That didn’t sound like Sean. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, I just wanted to know if you’d seen that comic dog on Conan. He was ripping on Eminem again, it was HILARIOUS. I know I’m not usually up that late, but Little John has a cold.

So. Who was she? Was it HER? What was she doing at your place after midnight? Naughty, naughty.

Besides, I thought she hated you, for getting her fired and all of that.

Stace

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: Last night

Yes, it was HER. Or Kate, as you had better get used to calling her, since I’m hoping she’s going to become a permanent addition to—well, not the family, since I would never wish that on anyone, but at least to me.

Stacy, I have to say, when you married Jason, I thought you were completely insane. I mean, MARRY someone? Pledge to spend your entire life with one other person, until DEATH? For what? So you can end up like Mom and Dad, barely able to stand the sight of each other? Who in their right mind would ever wish such a thing on their worst enemy?

But I understand now. I get it. I want to be with her, and just her, forever. For the rest of my life. If she’ll have me. Which I think she might, if I just play my cards right. . . .

I can’t wait until you meet her. I think she’ll almost balance out Amy.

Almost.

Last night was the most incredible night of my life. Is this how you felt, the first time you and Jason . . . you know?

No. Strike that. I don’t want to know. The thought of the two of you. . . .

Gotta go.

Mitch

To: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stacy Trent

Re: Last night

Oh, what, the thought of me doing my husband makes you want to barf?

Well, never mind. It does me, too.

Just kidding.

So, um, congrats on you and the girl. She must be something, if she’s got YOU talking wedding bells. But I always knew you’d find the right girl eventually.

By the way, did you hear about Stuart’s genetic test results? Turns out he’s a carrier for Tay Sach’s disease. Which means that somewhere back in our genealogical past, we were Jewish. No big surprise, is it, that we should have had a relative who, upon witnessing the pogroms, conveniently converted?

Mom is in fits over the whole thing. She thinks the country club is going to kick us out if they find out. Jason was like, “Why would she even want to belong to an organization that discriminates against ethnicity—or anything else for that matter?”

Poor Jason. You think he’d have learned by now, wouldn’t you?

Hey, so, what was Sean up to while you and Little Miss Dreamgirl were reaching the heights of ecstasy on those brown sheets of yours (we so need to take a little trip to Bloomies)?

Stace

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: Sean

What are you talking about? Sean left me a note saying she was staying with you this weekend. Isn’t she there?

Mitch