Part 3 (2/2)

Nad :) PS I think it's good you left out the part about all your tardies. No one in the real world cares about tardies. Just at OUR &$%^ work place does anyone keep track of how late we are.

To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k < From: Mel Fuller < Subject: The Letter Yeah, but do you think he'll even get it? From what I can tell based on the people I'vetalked to so far, this Max Friedlander seems to be taking the role of playboy artiste tobrand new heights. In fact, I can't believe he's never hit Page Ten before!Plus it seems like hes always on the road. The guy was in Thailand on a shoot lastmonth, Hawaii last week, and this week, what do you know? n.o.body seems to have anyidea where he is. Oh, and it's no good trying his cell phone: According to SI, he lost it scuba diving in Belize. If he even gets this message, does he sound to you like the kind of guy who'll even do anything about it? I'm a little worried.And it's okay, I guess. I mean, I'm bonding with the cats (well, Mr. Peepers won't comeout from under the bed) and Paco's like my best friend now.But I've gotten five more of those tardy warnings from Human Resources. They areseriously going to put me on probation! But what can I do? Paco NEEDS a good hourlong walk in the morning. Still, if I have to ditch out of one more society function because I have to get home to walk that dog, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get fired. I completely missed the Sarah Jessica Parker thing the other night because Paco wouldn't go. I had to walk him for like an hour. George was furious, because the Chronicle got the scoop on us.Though what the Chronicle is doing, reporting on celeb gossip, I can't imagine. I alwaysthought they were too highbrow for that!

Mel

To: Tom Barrett < From: Max Friedlander

Please deliver the following message to Vivica Chandler, who is staying in the Sopradilla Cottage.

Viv--

Do not--I repeat, DO NOT--accept any messages, telephone calls, faxes, emails, etc. for me from a woman named Melissa Fuller.

No, don't worry, she's not one of my exes. She's my aunt's next door neighbor.

Apparently, Helen took a tumble, and this Fuller woman is trying to get in touch with me about the stupid dog.

But we aren't going to let her ruin our little get away together, are we?

So don't even answer the door until I get there. I'm just finis.h.i.+ng up the Neve Campbell shoot, and then I'll be taking the red-eye out from LAX, so I ought to be there in time to watch the sunset with you, baby. Keep the champagne chilled for me.

Love ya, Max To: Max Friedlander

Subject: Message Dear Mr. Friedlander,

It is my pleasure to inform you that your message for Miss Chandler has been delivered.

If there is anything else we here at the Paradise Inn can do to make your stay an enjoyable one, please do not hesitate to let us know.

We look forward to your joining us tomorrow.

Sincerely, Tom Barrett Concierge Paradise Inn Key West, Florida

To: Mel Fuller < From: Max Friedlander

Subject: My Aunt

Dear Ms. Fuller,

I am shocked. Deeply shocked and appalled to hear what has happened to my aunt Helen. She is, as I'm sure you know, my only living relative. I cannot thank you enough for the efforts you've gone to in order to contact me and let me know about this tragedy.

Although I am currently on a.s.signment in Africa--perhaps you've heard of the drought here in Ethiopia? I am doing a photo shoot for the Save the Children Fund--I will begin making preparations to return to New York at once. If my aunt should wake before I get there, please a.s.sure her that I am on my way.

And thank you again, Ms. Fuller. Everything they say about cold and unfeeling New Yorkers is obviously untrue in your case. G.o.d bless you.

Sincerely, Maxwell Friedlander

To: John Trent < From: Max Friedlander

Subject: SOS

Dude. I'm in trouble. You've got to help me out. I'm serious. You don't know what's at stake here: I have a chance for an extended vacation with Vivica. Yeah, you read that right. Vivica. The supermodel. The one who just dumped Trump. The one in those ads for that new bra with the water pump. The one on the SI cover. Yeah. THAT one. But it's not going to work out, buddy, if you don't do me a little favor. Just one little favor. That's all I'm asking. And I know I don't have to remind you about that time I saved your you-know-what in Vegas. Remember? Spring Break, our senior year? I've never seen anybody drink as many pitchers of margaritas as you did that night. I'm telling you, man, you'd be paying alimony right now if it weren't for me. I SAVED you. And you swore to me the next day (by the pool, remember?) that if there was ever anything you could do for me, you'd do it. Well, today's the day. I'm calling it in. The Favor. c.r.a.p, they're making me put away my electronic devices for take-off. Write back, man. I gotta know if you can do this for me, or else I'm dead meat.

Max To: Jason Trent < From: John Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander I knew it was coming. I knew it was coming, and just now, it arrived: A dispatch from Max Friedlander, demanding payback for a favor he did me our senior year in college. My G.o.d, that was ten years ago. The man has a mind like a sieve. He can't remember his own Social Security number, but this favor I owe him, he remembers. What did I ever do to deserve this?

You remember Max, don't you, Jase? He was my roommate senior year, the one I got my first apartment with when I moved to the city after college. That dive in h.e.l.l's Kitchen, where the guy got stabbed in the back the first night we were there--remember? It was in the papers the next day...I think that's what led to my deciding to become a crime reporter, as a matter of fact.

Remember how Mim offered to get me out of the lease so I could move in with her and live, to quote Mim, like a human being? G.o.d, after two months of living with Max, I almost took her up on it. It's like the guy still thought we were in college--half of Manhattan used to show up in our living room for Monday night football every week. No hard feelings when I moved out, though. He still calls me every few months to catch up. And now this.

G.o.d only knows what Max wants me to do for him. Rescue a raftful of refugee Cuban ballerinas, I suppose. Or house the Australian rugby team. Or loan him the $50,000 he owes to the Russian mob. I am seriously considering leaving the country, Jase. Do you think Mim would let me have the Lear for the weekend?

John To: John Trent < From: Jason Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander I hesitate to ask, of course, but as your big brother, I feel I have a right to know: What, precisely, did Max Friedlander do for you that left you owing him this enormous debt?

Jason PS Stacy says when are you coming to visit? The kids have been asking about you. Brittany's riding post, and Haley won best jumper at last week's exhibit.

PPS No go on the Lear. Julia's using it.

To: Jason Trent < From: John Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander Her name was Heidi. She was a showgirl. She had feathers in her hair, and a dress cutdown there. Okay, not really. But her name was Heidi, and she was a showgirl. And apparently, I was determined to make her the first Mrs. John Trent.You wouldn't understand, of course, having never done anything even slightlydisreputable in all of your thirty-five years, but try, Jason, to put yourself in my shoes:It was Spring Break. I was twenty-two. I was in love. I'd had way too many margaritas.Max dragged me out of the Wedding Chapel, sent Heidi home, took away my keys so Icouldn't follow her, sobered me up, and put me to bed. I still think of her sometimes. She had red hair, and slightly bucked teeth. She was adorable. But not worth THIS.

John PS Congratulate Haley and Brittany for me. Are you going out to the Vineyard this weekend? I could meet you all there. Depending on whatever this favor of Max's turns out to be.

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