The Boy Next Door (29 page)
Authors: Meg Cabot
To: Dolly Vargas
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: Models
Um, thanks for that advice about supermodels…I think. It was very enlightening. I guess. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just treat Vivica the way I would anybody else…meaning that I’m going to go on the assumption that she does have some feelings.
Thanks anyway, and say to hi everyone for me.
Mel
P.S.: I hope you aren’t still going out with Peter. He’s the one who put me on suspension, you know. I know it’s asking a lot, but if you are still going out with him, could you at least refrain from having sex with him until I get back? I really think it would be the least you could do.
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: Max Friedlander
Dear Vivica,
In answer to your question, I am sorry to have to tell you that that story about Max wanting to marry you was completely made up by me.
See, I was really angry with Max and his friend John for tricking me the way they did—making me think John was Max, and all. It really hurt my feelings, and I wanted to hurt them back, any way I could.
The one thing I didn’t think about was that by writing that
story I might also be hurting you. I am very sorry for that, and hope you will forgive me.
If it would make you feel better, when I get back to work—I am currently taking a brief hiatus—I am composing a retraction.
Sincerely,
Mel Fuller
P.S.: If it is any comfort at all to you, I know how you feel: I thought I was going to marry his friend—you know, the one who was pretending to be Max. But of course it didn’t work out. You can’t have a relationship that is based on lies.
To: Mel Fuller
From: [email protected]
Subject: Max Friedlander
DEAR MEL,
WELL, I THOUGHT THAT MIGHT BE THE CASE. THAT THE STORY ABOUT MAX WANTING TO MARRY ME BEING MADE UP, I MEAN. I LIKE YOUR IDEA ABOUT RUNNING ANOTHER STORY ABOUT HIM. COULD YOU SAY THAT WHEN HE SLEEPS, HE SNORES LOUDER THAN ANY HUMAN BEING ON THE PLANET? BECAUSE THAT IS DEFINITELY TRUE.
I AGREE WITH YOU ABOUT HOW YOU CAN’T HAVE A RELATIONSHIP THAT IS BASED ON LIES. MAX TOLD ME HE LOVED ME, AND IT TURNED OUT THAT WAS ALL LIES. I REALLY, REALLY LOVED HIM, BUT HE SLEPT WITH THE MAID ANYWAY. AND ALL BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID DRIFTWOOD DOLPHINS.
YOU SOUND PRETTY NICE, FOR A REPORTER. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE LUNCH ONE DAY WHILE YOU ARE ON
HIATUS? I FOUND A NEW RESTAURANT I REALLY, REALLY LIKE. IT IS CALLED APPLEBEE’S AND THEY HAVE EXCELLENT CHILI NACHOS, ALMOST AS GOOD AS AT MY OTHER FAVORITE RESTAURANT, FRIDAY’S. DO YOU WANT TO GO WITH ME SOMETIME? IT IS OKAY IF YOU SAY NO BECAUSE LOTS OF GIRLS DON’T LIKE ME ON ACCOUNT OF MY BEING A MODEL. LIKE MY GRAMMA SAYS, HONEY, IF YOU AIN’T A HUNDRED-DOLLAR BILL, NOT EVERYONE IS GOING TO LIKE YOU.
LET ME KNOW.
LOVE,
VIVICA
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: Lunch
Dear Vivica,
I would be honored to go to lunch with you any time you want. You just let me know what day is good for you.
Mel
P.S.: I will definitely try to work the snoring thing into my next column.
To: John Trent
From: Stacy Trent
Subject: Why is it that
I leave you alone for a couple of days while I have a baby, and the next thing I know
a) you’ve split up with your girlfriend, who I thought you were going to marry,
b) you’ve moved back to your old place in Brooklyn, and
c) you’re suddenly the most sought after bachelor in all of North America.
How on earth did you manage to make such a mess out of everything? And what can I do to help put the pieces back together?
Stacy
P. S.: The twins are brokenhearted. They were counting on being flower girls.
P.P. S.: Thanks for the bracelet. And the baseball rattle is precious.
To: Stacy Trent
From: John Trent
Subject: I blew it
And I’m man enough to admit it.
I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do to put the pieces
together again. She won’t even speak to me. I’ve tried everything, from flowers to begging. Nothing has worked. She’s furious.
It’s over.
And I can’t help thinking it’s probably all for the best. I mean, I’ll admit what I did was wrong, but it wasn’t as if I set out from the beginning with the intention of tricking her. Well, okay, I did, but it wasn’t as if when I did I had any idea I was going to fall in love with her.
The fact is, I was trying to help a friend. Admittedly, he’s an idiot, but I did owe him one.
If she can’t understand that, then it’s probably better that we part ways. I can’t spend my life with someone who doesn’t understand that friends have to do things for one another that may not be pleasant or even ethical, but that are necessary, in order to preserve the friendsh…
Oh, forget it. I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m delirious with grief and heartbreak. I wish someone would just shoot me and put me out of my misery. I want her back. I want her back. I want her back.
That’s all there is to say.
John
To: Jason Trent
From: Stacy Trent
Subject: My God
I’ve never seen your brother this way. He’s got it bad. We’ve got to do something!
Stacy
P. S.: We’re out of milk.
To: Stacy Trent
From: Jason Trent
Subject: My God
Stay out of John’s personal affairs. If it hadn’t been for you egging him on, none of this would have happened.
I mean it, Stacy. DO NOT GET INVOLVED. You’ve done quite enough.
Jason
P. S.: Send Gretchen out for milk. What are we paying a nanny $1,000 a week for, if not to pick up a quart of milk now and then?
To: Genevieve Randolph Trent
From: Stacy Trent
Subject: John
Mim—
I just spoke with John. He is so down, I could hardly believe it. We’ve got to do something about it, you and I.
Jason won’t help, of course. He thinks we should stay out of it. But I’m telling you, John is just going to spend the rest of his life alone and unhappy unless we take charge of this thing. You know men can’t be left to their own devices where romance is concerned. They just foul everything up.
What do you say? Are you with me?
Stacy
To: Stacy Trent
From: Genevieve Randolph Trent
Subject: John
Dearest Stacy,
Loath as I am to admit that one of my two favorite grandsons is an incompetent ass when it comes to personal relationships, I cannot help but feel that you are right. John desperately needs our help.
What do you suggest that we do? Please telephone me tonight so that we can discuss our options. I will be home between six and eight o’clock.
Mim
P. S.: Who is this poor Barney, and why do you hate him so?
To: Nadine Wilcock
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: The weirdest thing
just happened. I was sitting at my computer playing an innocent game of Tetris—I’ve gotten really good since being suspended—when I noticed something going on next door—you know, in Mrs. Friedlander’s apartment.
Through the window into her guest room—the one John used to sleep in, and where I used to see him getting undressed every night…but let’s not get into that—I saw Max Friedlander jumping up and down and waving his arms, and screaming at someone.
When I got out my binoculars (don’t worry, I turned the lights out first) I saw he was yelling at one of his aunt’s cats. Tweedledum, to be exact.
This seemed excessively strange to me, so I put down the binoculars and went out into the hall and banged on the door. My excuse was that I could hear him screaming through the wall, which wasn’t true of course, but he didn’t know that.
He answered the door looking all sweaty and upset. What Vivica sees in this guy I cannot imagine. He is so completely not like John, you couldn’t believe it. First of all, he wears a gold necklace. Not that I have anything against guys who wear jewelry, but, excuse me, he wears his shirt unbuttoned practically to his navel so you’ll be sure to notice his. Necklace, I mean.
Plus he has that I-haven’t-shaved-in-days thing. I mean, John used to get that, too, but I knew he actually had shaved; with Max, I sort of doubt his fingers have touched a razor—or soap—in weeks.
Anyway, he was very rude, as usual, demanding to know what I wanted, and when I explained that it was his hysterical screaming had brought me running, he started cursing, and saying that Tweedledum was driving him crazy with his going outside the litter box.
I was understandably confused by this, since Tweedledum has never gone outside the box, as far as I knew. Then Max said the cat was going around drinking out of everything he could find, include Max’s bedside water glass (imagine someone as foul as him having a bedside water glass) and the toilet.
That’s when I knew something was wrong. At home in Lansing, whenever an animal starts drinking that much and peeing everywhere, it means they have probably developed diabetes. I told Max we needed to get Tweedledum to the vet right away.
And do you know what he said?
“Not me, sister. I got places to be and people to do.”
Seriously. That is what he said.
So I said, “Fine, I’ll take him myself,” and I bundled Tweedledum up and took him. Oh, Nadine, you should have seen Paco’s expression when he saw me leaving! You’ve never seen such a sad old dog. He misses John, too, you could totally tell. Even Mr. Peepers came out and tried to follow me into the hallway, so he could escape Max Friedlander’s oppressive presence.
So I took Tweedledum to the animal hospital, and two hundred dollars later (out of my own pocket, thank you very much; you know I’ll never see that money again), it turns out the poor cat is diabetic, and he has to have two insulin shots a day, and be brought back to the vet once a week for tests until his diabetes is regulated and stabilized.
Do you think MAX is trustworthy enough to handle this kind of responsibility? Of course not. He’s going to kill this poor cat. Right now I have Tweedledum here with me, but he isn’t really my cat. I know Mrs. Friedlander would want him to have the best care possible, but he isn’t going to get that if he stays with Max.
I don’t know what to do. Should I just tell him the cat died, and keep him here with me in secret? I wish I could smuggle all of them out of there. Paco and Mr. Peepers, I mean. Max is the worst animal caretaker I have ever seen. John may have been a liar, but at least he genuinely cared about Mrs. Friedlander’s pets. Max doesn’t care. You can just tell.
I would give anything to have things back the way they were before I knew John wasn’t really Max Friedlander. He was a much better Max than the real Max.
Mel
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: You
You have completely lost your mind. Mel, GROW UP. This isn’t some little orphan you’ve adopted. It’s a CAT. It’s your neighbor’s cat. Give it back to Max and stop obsessing. He is a grown man. He can handle a diabetic cat.
Nad
To: Nadine Wilcock
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: You’re right
So why do I feel so guilty?
I went over to Max’s just now and I pounded on the door and I told him about Tweedledum. I brought the cat with me, along with all of his medical supplies, and I showed Max what he has to do…you know, how to fill the syringe and how to give the cat his shots.
Max looked pretty dumbfounded. He was all, “You mean cats can get diabetes, too, just like people?” I don’t think he really understood a word I said. In fact, I
know
he didn’t, because when I told him to fill the syringe himself, he filled it all the way up to the number 2, instead of 2 units, which is the correct dosage.
I started to explain to him why this was so dangerous, and how Sunny von Bülow has been in a coma ever since Claus slipped her a needle filled with too much insulin, but I don’t think he heard anything but that last part, since he became very interested in that, and wanted to know how much insulin would send someone into a coma or even kill him. As if I would know that. I told him to watch
ER
like a normal person and he’d probably find out eventually.
He’s going to kill that cat. I’m telling you right now, he’s going to kill him. And if he does, I will never forgive myself.
God, I wish Mrs. Friedlander would wake up, kick Max out, and go back to planning trips to Nepal and her aquacize class. Wouldn’t it be great if all of this turned out to be some weird dream she was having while she was asleep? Like if it turned out everything that has happened in the past few months since I found her unconscious never happened, and everything could just go back to normal?
That would be so great. Then I wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore.
Mel
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: Mel
Dear John,
I got your e-mail address from Tony. I hope you don’t mind.
I don’t normally get involved in Mel’s personal affairs if I can help it, but I am making an exception in this case. I really can’t restrain myself any longer.
WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??? You and that stupid Max Friedlander. What could you have been thinking, trying to pull off something so incredibly asinine?
Now you’ve broken my best friend’s heart, something for which I am sure I will never forgive you. But even worse, you have left her to the mercy of the real Max Friedlander, whom I am convinced has got to be the biggest idiot who ever walked the face of the planet.
How could you? HOW COULD YOU???
That’s all I have to know. I hope you’re satisfied. You have ruined the life of one of the sweetest girls who ever lived.
I hope you’re proud of yourself.
Nadine Wilcock