That’s right, the “L” word! He loves me, Mom! He says so every day, like ten times a day! He is so not like any of those other losers I have been out with since I moved here. HE LOVES ME. And I love him. And I am just so happy, sometimes I think I could burst.
Well, I have to go now. He’s making me dinner. Speaking of which, he actually likes my cooking. Really! I made pasta the other night, and he loved it. I used your recipe for the sauce. Well, with a little help from Zabar’s prepared-food section. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him!
Love,
Mel
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: Don and Beverly Fuller <DonBev@dnr.com>
Subject: Daddy and I are
just so happy for you, sweetie. It’s just so nice that you have met this lovely boy. I hope the two of you are having a very nice time together, preparing meals for one another and perhaps taking strolls through Central Park (though I hope you’ll stay out of there at night. I’ve heard all about those wilding youths).
Just remember though that there are men out there (and I’m not saying your John is one of them) who are only after one thing, and will TELL a girl that they love her just to get her into bed.
That’s all I’m saying. Not that this young man of yours would ever do such a thing. I just know there are men out there who do. The reason I know this, Melissa, is that, well, don’t tell your father, but…
It happened to me.
Fortunately I realized in time that the young man in question was one of those. But Melissa, I came very close. Very, very close to giving away my most precious jewel to a man who most decidedly did not deserve it.
All I’m trying to say, Melissa, is to get a ring on that finger of yours before you give anything away. Will you promise Mommy you’ll do that?
Have fun—but not too much fun.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Also, if you have a picture of this young man, Robbie says he has a friend in the FBI who will run it through their computer and see if he is wanted for any federal crimes. It can’t hurt, Melissa, just to be on the safe side.
To: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
From: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: My mother
Would you please remind me never to tell my mother anything again?
Mel
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: You told your mother something?
What are you, nuts? I make it a point never to tell mine anything. I am keeping a journal, however, so she can find it all out in the event that I die before she does.
I bet she told you to get a ring on your finger before you go to bed with John. Am I right?
Did you tell her it was too late? No, of course you didn’t. Because then she’d have a heart attack, and it would be ALL YOUR FAULT.
You chump.
Are you ever going to start going to spin class with me again? You know, it’s lonely spinning alone.
Nad ;-)
To: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
From: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Spinning
Oh, Nadine, I would love to start going to spinning with you again. It’s just that, with John and all this work George keeps piling on me and everything, I just can’t seem to find a single moment to myself.
I’m sorry.
You don’t hate me, do you? Please don’t hate me. I mean, we still see each other at lunch….
Mel
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Hate you?
You really ARE nuts.
Of course I don’t hate you.
It’s just that—and I don’t want to sound like your mother—don’t you think things are moving a little…fast? I mean, you two haven’t spent a night apart since you…you know.
And what do you know about this guy? I mean, really? Besides his aunt, what do you know about him? Where does he go every morning when you go off to work? Does he sit around his aunt’s apartment? Has he taken any pictures of you? It seems to me that, being a photographer, he’d want to. Has he taken you to see his studio, if he has one? Where does he live, when he’s not living at his aunt’s? Have you seen his place? HIS place, not his aunt’s? Does he even have a place?
You mentioned that his credit cards are maxed out. Shouldn’t he be working to pay them off? But has he gone off to any shoots since you’ve known him? I mean, does he even HAVE a job, that you know of?
I just feel like…I don’t know. These are things you ought to find out before you go off the deep end for the guy.
Nad
To: Tony Salerno <foodie@fresche.com>
From: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Help
I think I just did a bad thing. I suggested to Mel that there is quite a lot about Max Friedlander that she doesn’t know—for instance, where the guy lives when he is not shacking up at his aunt’s—and that before she goes off the deep end for the guy she at least ought to find some of out.
I sort of forgot that she’s pretty much gone off the deep end already.
Now she’s not speaking to me. At least, I think she’s not speaking to me. She’s locked in the copy room right now, with DOLLY, of all people.
I’m a very bad person, aren’t I?
Nad
To: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
From: Tony Salerno <foodie@fresche.com>
Subject: Mel
No, you’re not a bad person. And I’m sure she isn’t mad at you. She’s just, you know, in love. She doesn’t want to think about anything else.
Why don’t you ask her if she and John want to come out to dinner with us tonight? Tell them I’ll fix us all something really special. I just got in some excellent squid ink pasta.
Let me know.
Tony
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: Dolly Vargas <dolly.vargas@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Nadine
She’s just JEALOUS, darling. That’s all. I mean, have you seen that scrawny thing she’s marrying? A cook. That’s all he is. A glorified fry cook, who just happens to own a restaurant that, for some inexplicable reason, is doing very well.
What am I talking about, inexplicable? It’s completely explicable: His fiancée’s a food critic for the New York Journal!
Don’t WORRY about it. Max Friedlander is a hugely successful, hugely sought after artiste. So what if he hasn’t had any work in months? He’ll be back up on his feet in no time.
So dry your little eyes and keep your beard-burned little chin up. I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.
And if not, well, there’s always Xanax, isn’t there, sweetie?
XXXOOO
Dolly
To: Dolly Vargas <dolly.vargas@thenyjournal.com>
From: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Nadine
Dolly, you had better watch it. You happen to be speaking about my best friend. Nadine is NOT jealous. She is just looking out for me.
And Tony is far more than a “glorified fry cook.” He’s the most talented chef in all of Manhattan.
But thank you for saying nice things about John.
Mel
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: jerrylives@freemail.com
Subject: Next weekend
Hey, what are you doing next weekend? Do you think you could get out early on Friday? I’m thinking about renting a car and driving up to this ski cabin in Vermont that someone lent me the keys to. I know there’s no snow this time of year, but I promise it’s gorgeous even without the white stuff. And the cabin’s got all the amenities, including a great big
fireplace, hot tub, and, yes, even a satellite dish for the wide-screen television.
I knew that one would get you. What do you say?
Love,
John
To: jerrylives@freemail.com
From: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Next weekend
I would love to go to Vermont with you. Maybe you could bring your photography equipment and take some pictures while we’re there. Because you know, I’ve never even seen you in action? With a camera, I mean. You read my column every day, but I haven’t seen a single photo you’ve taken. I mean, aside from last year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition….
And maybe before we go, we could stop by your apartment, so I could see it, too. You know, I never have. I have no idea where you live when you aren’t at your aunt’s, or what kind of stuff you have. I mean, what your taste in furniture and stuff is.
Mel
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: jerrylives@freemail.com
Subject: Next weekend
Um, we most certainly can stop by my apartment any time you want. I’m afraid you’re going to be sadly disappointed in it, however, since its furnishings are mostly of the Ikea and plastic-milk-crate variety.
As for bringing my photography equipment with us to Vermont, I think that might be a little like a busman’s holiday, don’t you think? Let’s just play it by ear.
Why this sudden interest in my taste in home furnishings? Are you thinking of asking me to move in? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think, seeing as how all of my clean shirts are now sitting in your linen closet. Or maybe you haven’t noticed. Well, they are.
And I’m not moving them. Unless, that is, you would deign to give me a drawer somewhere.
Love,
John
To: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
From: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: You’re wrong
So I asked John if I could see his place, and he said yes, and that it is furnished with milk crates and Ikea furniture, which means it must exist, so you see he DOES have his own place, and though I haven’t exactly pinned him down on the work thing yet, I will, because we are going away together next weekend, and we’re going to have to spend fourteen hours in a car together, and I fully intend to find out everything there is to know about his career.
So there.
Mel
To: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
From: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: I was wrong
Mel, I’m sorry I said all of those things. I had absolutely no right to. I am really very, very sorry.
Can I make it up to you by inviting you and John to dinner? Tony says he’s got some squid ink pasta. Will you come?
Nad
To: Nadine Wilcock <nadine.wilcock@thenyjournal.com>
From: Mel Fuller <melissa.fuller@thenyjournal.com>
Subject: Well…
Even though I am totally angry with you, I’ll accept your invitation, just so you can see how WRONG you were, thinking all of those horrible things about John. We’ll see you both at seven.
Mel
To: John Trent <john.trent@thenychronicle.com>
From: Sergeant Paul Reese <preese@eightyninthprecinct.nyc.org>
Subject: Transvestite killer
Okay. I’m not saying you’re right about the old lady knowing her attacker, but I will say this: It was definitely a copycat.
You didn’t hear this from me, understand? But remember that kid I told you about? The one whose folks found him hanging from the hook in the bathroom in ladies’ underdrawers?
Well, we did a bit of investigating, and what do you think we found out? It seems the kid works for one of those dot-com delivery companies. You know, any time of day, anything you want, you go on-line and make a request, and they’ll deliver it?
And by doing some discreet investigating at the kid’s place of employment, we found out he’s been in all seven buildings in which a transvestite murder has occurred. We got a printout that places him at every single one of those crime scenes at exactly the time the murders took place. He killed them while he was supposed to be delivering ice cream and videos.
And here’s the worst part: The kid never missed a delivery. Not once. Just killed ’em, then went to the next place.
And do you think anybody from his place of employment ever caught on, you know, that people were dying at the places this kid delivered to? Oh, no.
And what do they have to say about this model employee of theirs? “He’s so quiet, so shy. He could NEVER have done anything so heinous as murder seven women for their lingerie and laundry quarters.”
We’re bringing the kid down tonight. He got released from the loony ward for that supposed “suicide” attempt yesterday.
But here’s the part that concerns you: Kid’s never made a delivery in Friedlander’s building. No record of anyone from that building ever even calling this particular biz.
Just thought you’d want to know.
Paul
To: John Trent <john.trent@thenychronicle.com>
From: Genevieve Randolph Trent <grtrent@trentcapital.com>
Subject: I am very disappointed
in you, John. We had yet another family get-together the other night, from which you were once again absent. I must say, I am becoming extremely irritated by your continued disdain for us. It is one thing to refuse to accept our financial aid. It is quite another simply to cut us from your life completely.
Your brother and his wife—who is, by the way, as large as a house; I am quite certain her physician is wrong about her due date, and would not be surprised if she gives birth at any moment—are quite reticent to discuss the matter with me, but I feel certain that you are up to something, John.
And Haley and Brittany had some very interesting things to say on the subject of your wedding to a certain redheaded lady, at which they presume they will be flower girls, and are planning their wardrobe for the occasion accordingly.
Is this true, John? Are you planning on marrying this girl, whom you have not even properly introduced to your family?
If so, I must say, I never expected such behavior from you. Some of your cousins, perhaps, but not you, John.
I do hope you will take steps to rectify this matter immediately. Only give me a date during which you are both free, and I will arrange a casual family dinner. I would be only too happy to introduce Miss Fuller to the rest of the Trents…those who are currently on parole, that is.
Do not mistake my flippancy for lack of caring, John. I care deeply. So deeply, in fact, that I am willing to overlook your exceedingly odd behavior in the matter.
But only up to a point, my boy.
Sincerely,
Mim
To: Genevieve Randolph Trent <grtrent@trentcapital.com>
From: John Trent <john.trent@thenychronicle.com>
Subject: Don’t you worry
Mim,
Just give me another week. Okay? Just one more week, and you can meet her—properly, this time. There’s just a little something I have to tell her beforehand.
Can you be patient just a little longer? I promise it will be worth it.
John
To: Sebastian Leandro <sleandro@hotphotos.com>
From: Max Friedlander <photoguy@stopthepresses.com>
Subject: Any luck?
I haven’t heard from you. Have you got anything for me? Anything at all?
Look, in case you didn’t quite get it: I NEED WORK
. I am extremely low in fundage at the moment. Vivica’s drained me dry….
And now, more than ever, I have to get out of here:
She’s starting to talk about commitment, Sebastian. Marriage. Kids. She’s turned completely bovine on me.
I just don’t get it. I come out to Key West with one of the top supermodels in the country, and somehow I end up broke and explaining my position on overpopulation.
You’ve got to find something for me, dude. I’m counting on you.
Max
To: Max Friedlander <photoguy@stopthepresses.com>
From: Sebastian Leandro <sleandro@hotphotos.com>
Subject: Look, man
You up and leave during our busiest season. And I’m not saying I blame you. I mean, it’s Vivica. I’d have done the same thing.
But you can’t disappear for three months in this business and expect to be able simply to pick up where you left off. New talent moves in. There are some real money-hungry kids out there who are good. Real good.
And they don’t charge as much as you do, pal.
But that is not to say I’m not trying. I WILL find something for you. But you’ve got to give me some time.
I’ll get in touch as soon as I hear of anything, I swear.
Sebastian
To: Sebastian Leandro <sleandro@hotphotos.com>
From: Max Friedlander <photoguy@stopthepresses.com>
Subject: So you’re saying
I’ve gone from one of the top photographers in the country to NOTHING??? In a little more than ninety days? That’s what you’re asking me to believe?
Thanks. Thanks for nothing.
Max
To: Lenore Fleming <lfleming@sophisticate.com>
From: Max Friedlander <photoguy@stopthepresses.com>