Part 4 (1/2)

To: John Trent < From: Jason Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander Ah. It is all become clear now. I know how you are when it comes to redheads. And just what is THIS?

Jason PS No, we're going to the place in the Hamptons. You're welcome to join us.

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent < Subject: SOS I don't even want to ask. What is it that you want me to do for you, Max? And please, I'm begging you, nothing illegal in New York, or any other, state.

John To: John Trent < From: Max Friedlander

Subject: SOS

Look, it'll be a piece of cake: All I want you to do is be me. Just for a week or two.

Well, okay, maybe a month. Simple, right? Here's the 411: My aunt--you know, the filthy stinking rich one who always kind of reminded me of your grandma, Mimi, or whatever the h.e.l.l her name is? The one who was so mean about our apartment? The neighborhood wasn't that bad.

Anyway, my aunt apparently suffered a senior moment and let a psychopath into her

place, who conked her on the head and fled, and now she's in the vegetable crisper at Beth Israel. There is a chance--albeit a small one--according to her doctors, that she might come out of it. So you understand that it simply won't do to have her waking up and finding out that her beloved Maxie didn't fly to her side as soon as he heard about her accident. Auntie Helen's will is arranged 80-20--80% of the twelve million my aunt is worth goes to me upon her demise, and 20% goes to various charitable organizations she sponsors. We wouldn't want there to be any sort of untimely s.h.i.+ft in those percentiles, now would we, on account of Maxie turning out to have been playing house with a supermodel during this alarming tragedy? Of course we wouldn't. Which is where you, my friend, come in:

You're going to tell this neighbor of hers that you're me.

That's it. Just be me, so Ms. Melissa Fuller reports back to Auntie Helen--if she ever comes around, which is extremely doubtful--that yes, her beloved nephew Maxie did show up as soon as he heard about her little accident. Oh, yeah, and you might have to walk this dog a few times. Just to shut the neighbor up.

And of course, if the old biddy shows the slightest sign of rejoining the conscious, you call me. Got it? And I'll rush right back.

But since I figure the chance of an eighty-year-old woman springing back from this kind of thing is pretty much nil, I won't be expecting to hear from you.

You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if we weren't talking Vivica here. Okay?

VIVICA. The girl is supposedly very well versed in yoga. YOGA, Trent.

You do this for me, and your slate's clean, dude. Whadduya say?

Max

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent < Subject: SOS

Let me see if I've got this straight: Your aunt was the victim of a brutal a.s.sault, and you don't even care enough to postpone your vacation? That is cold, Friedlander. Really cold.

Essentially, what you want me to do is commit fraud--a crime punishable by five to ten years in a state penitentiary--by impersonating you. Is that it?

I think I'd rather be married to the showgirl.

John

To: John Trent < From: Max Friedlander

Subject: SOS You crime reporters are all alike. Listen to me, Trent. I'm only going to say this once: It's not fraud if you have my permission to impersonate me. Why do you have to make it sound so underhanded? I told you, Helen's in a coma. She's never even going to know about it. If she croaks, you tell me, I come back to arrange the funeral. If she comes out of it, you tell me, I come back to help her convalesce. But as long as she's unconscious, she's never going to know the difference. So why postpone anything? Besides, we're talking Vivica here. You see how easy things can be if you don't overa.n.a.lyze them? You were always like this. I remember those multiple choice tests we'd get in Bio, you were always, It can't be A--that's too obvious. They must be trying to trick us, and so you'd choose D, when the answer was CLEARLY A. As long as Auntie Helen--and her lawyers--don't know any better, why not let me enjoy my well-earned little vacation? Placate this neighbor of hers. That's all I'm asking. Just take over the dog-walking duties a few nights a week. I think it's a very small price to pay, considering that I kept you from making the worst mistake of your entire life. You think old Mimsy would still be inviting you up to those soirees on the Vineyard if you had a Vegas showgirl for a wife? I think not. I think you owe your buddy Maxie, but good.

Max To: Jason Trent < From: John Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander He wants me to walk his comatose aunt's dog while he's off partying with a supermodel.

I guess it could be worse. A lot worse.

So why do I have such a bad feeling about it?

John

To: John Trent < From: Jason Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander You're right. It could be worse. Are you going to do it?

Jason PS Stacy says to tell you she's got the perfect girl for you: Haley's dressage instructor. Twenty-nine, size four, blonde, blue-eyed, the works. What do you say?

To: Jason Trent < From: John Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander Why not? I mean, walking an old lady's dog....How bad can that be?

John PS You know I can't stand dressage. There's something unnatural about making a horse dance.

To: John Trent < From: Jason Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander The horses don't dance in dressage, you moron. They step. And have you ever considered that you and Heidi might have been perfectly suited for one another? I mean, with the kind of luck you've been having with women lately, Heidi could very well have been your last chance at real happiness. Just think, if you'd followed your heart, instead of Max Friedlander's head, you could be the one providing Mim with a grandkid next December, instead of me.

Jason To: Jason Trent < From: John Trent < Subject: Max Friedlander Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?

To: Max Friedlander

From: John Trent < Subject: SOS Okay, I'll do it.

To: John Trent < From: Max Friedlander

Subject: Operation Paco

All right. I'll let the neighbor know to expect you (I mean, me) tonight for the big key exchange. She's got my aunt's spare. It has not apparently occurred to her to wonder why Aunt Helen never gave me a key to her place (that fire in her last apartment was not my fault. There was something wrong with the wiring).