Boy Meets Girl

What is the sound of one hand clapping? What is the weight of a single grain of sand? Equal to my interest in the message you are about to leave. Speak at the tone.

(Tone)

Mitchell. This is your mother. Mitchell, if you’re there, pick up. Mitchell, this is serious. Your little sister is missing. Janice has run away. I came home from the American Doll Society meeting and she was gone. I have no idea where she is and I’m worried sick, because . . . well, we had a little tiff earlier. Is she with you, Mitchell? I can’t think where else she’d go. If you hear from her, Mitchell, let me know. I know we aren’t exactly speaking right now, you and I, but . . . well, I would think you could let your own mother know that her child is all right. I mean, it would be common courtesy to do so. Whatever your personal feelings about me might be. So . . . call me. Please.

(Click)

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: We need to talk

Get whichever one of your children who is on the phone and not picking up the Call Waiting OFF the phone and call me.

This is serious.

Mitch

To: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stacy Trent

Re: We need to talk

It isn’t one of the kids, it’s Jason, he’s on the phone with his grandmother. It’s their semi-annual “what shall we invest our fortune in” discussion. What seems to be the problem?

Stacy

P.S. How was your big dinner last night? Did it work? The aphrodisiac shrimp scampi, I mean.

I’ll tell you, it would take a lot more than shrimp to get ME to forgive a guy who’d gotten me fired. Hope she wasn’t THAT easy, or you’ll lose interest, I just know it. You always did love a challenge. Especially if it had breasts.

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: We need to talk

It’s Sean. She showed up at my apartment last night. At a very inopportune moment. I don’t want to talk about it over the office e-mail system. I don’t want Stuart to know about this. Can you come into the city and meet me for lunch today? It’s important.

Mitch

To: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stacy Trent

Re: We need to talk

I’ll be there with bells on. Such a mystery! See you at noon.

Stacy

P.S. I’ll call you from the building lobby. I don’t want to run the risk of bumping into Stuie.

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: SO?????

HOW DID IT GO???? I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night. Did you even come HOME last night? Because I talked to Dolly already and she said by the time she and Skiboy retired to the boudoir—her exact words, by the way—you were still in absentia.

Oh my God, are you STILL with him? Where ARE you? CALL ME AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT!!!!!

J

P.S. I’m glad SOMEBODY is getting some. I mean, not that I’m not. But with this whole baby thing, it’s kind of a drag only doing it when a little stick tells you to, and not just when you feel like it. Anyway. DISH!

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: SO????

Sorry, I got back here really late and then overslept. I am turning into SUCH a slacker. I mean, just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I have to ACT like it. But here I am already sleeping past ten. It’s HORRIBLE!

Plus I missedCharmed.

Anyway, sorry to disappoint you, but nothing happened. Well, not NOTHING, but not what you think. I mean, we kissed. On his couch. For a long time.

And Jen: he has VERY strong lips.

I’m so confused.

Want to have lunch? Somewhere cheap ’cause I’m broke.

Kate

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: SO?????

No offense, honey, but I ate lunch at noon, like a normal person. You’re on your own with that one.

And as far as ‘fessing up goes, Kate, that was pathetic. You KISSED? That’s IT???

You MUST be confused, if a hot, wheelchair-basketball-playing lawyer makes you dinner, and all you do is KISS. I know it’s been awhile, Katie, but please. You couldn’t come up with anything better than THAT?

J

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: SO????

Please. That’s not what I’m confused about. We’d have screwed like rabbits if his doorman hadn’t buzzed. Mitch wasn’t going to answer it, but I was like, “What if the building is on fire?” and he swore (!!!!!!!!!!) and went and answered the buzzer, and the doorman was like, “Sean is here to see you,” and Mitch swore even more (!!!!!!!!) and said “Let me talk to her,” and this woman’s voice came on, and she was crying and going, “Mitch, you’ll never believe what she did to me.”

I swear to God for a minute I thought it was that praying mantis lady, the one I told you about, from the museum?

But then Mitch looked at me and said, “It’s my little sister.”

So of course I was all, “She sounds upset, you should let her up.”

Which he did, but you could tell he didn’t want to. Next thing I knew there was this girl with green hair crying on the sofa where we’d been making out (I can’t believe I just wrote that. But it’s true. We’d been making out! On his couch! AND IT WAS GREAT!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, God, I am so going to hell).

Anyway, poor Sean—that’s his sister. Or really, her name is Janice, but she wants everyone to call her Sean, and who can blame her, really? Janice is a bit of an old-fashioned name for a girl like her. I mean, she’s only nineteen—was clearly in crisis and was just busting to tell Mitch all about it. I offered to leave, since I figured she didn’t want a complete stranger to hear whatever it was.

But before I could go she just spilled it all out—about how their mother had made her leave college because she was concerned about a “friendship” Sean had developed with one of her roommates, and how Sean had tried to be reasonable about it, but how Mrs. Hertzog had forbidden her to communicate with this girl—Sarah—and how she’d taken away her (Sean’s) computer so she and Sarah could not even exchange e-mails. Because of course Mrs. Hertzog had secretly been reading Sean’s e-mails to Sarah, and had figured out that the girls’ relationship wasn’t exactly of the platonic variety, if you know what I mean.

Poor Mitch! I mean, it was clear he loves his little sister very much, and he was very good and gentle with her, offering to make her some hot chocolate—“the kind with the mini-marshmallows”—and let her stay the night if she wanted to.

But when he heard the part about Sean and Sarah’s “forbidden love”—her words, not mine—I thought he might run out of there and never come back. I mean, he deals—or dealt, rather—with murderers every day, but the thought of dealing with his little sister’s sexual identity crisis clearly threw him into panic. He sent me a look of such total and complete helplessness, well, I knew I couldn’t possibly leave. I mean, he NEEDED me, Jen. He genuinely needed help coping with his tiny little lesbian sister.

So I sat right down and, just like Professor Wingblade told us to, I held Sean’s hand and I listened to everything she had to say, which was most of the usual stuff for a kid who was coming out to her family for the first time. And I explained to Sean that her mother still loved her, but that Mrs. Hertzog was just frightened and confused, and that she hadn’t meant any of the things she said, and that Sean should give her a few days to process the information, and she’d probably calm down and be able to discuss the situation rationally again.

Only Mitch didn’t look as if he believed this. In fact, he even snorted . . . which, I let him know, wasn’t helping. You know, when Sean wasn’t listening. But Mitch just said I didn’t know his mother, and that rational thinking was not one of her strong points.

But I find that so hard to believe. I mean, she gave birth to Mitch, didn’t she? And—aside from the whole getting-me-fired thing—he seems like one of the most rational people I have ever met. I mean, after his initial shock, he took the whole thing with Sean in stride. In fact, when we said good night—after Sean had calmed down and stopped crying, and even cracked a joke or two about how sorry she was to have spoiled our “date”—he told me not to worry, that getting my job back was his biggest priority, especially now that he’d seen me “in action,” as he put it.

In fact, he said I seem wasted on human resources, and should go into a private therapy practice.

But of course, it’ll never happen. The private-therapy thing. Unless I get an MSW, I mean. And how would I ever be able to afford to go back to school when I don’t even have a job?

But it felt good to be of use to somebody for a change, instead of, you know, just mooching off everybody, like I’ve been doing since—oh, I don’t know, it seems like forever. Sean seemed almost perky by the time I left.

I can’t really say the same for Mitch. I mean, he didn’t exactly look like he was going to slit his wrists or anything, but he didn’t look too pleased.

I’m almost positive he thought he was going to score last night.

Um . . . so did I, actually. Thank God Sean showed up when she did, or I might have done something really, really stupid.

I miss you. I miss the office. What’s happening? Has anybody jammed the copier accidentally on purpose so that the hot copier repairman has to come?

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: SO?????

Whoa. Ask and ye shall receive. That was some story.

But excuse me, Miss “Is The Hot Copy Repairman There.” It sounds to me like you’ve got a hottie of your own eating right out of your little hand. I mean, counseling his little sister through her sexual identity crisis? Way to score! The guy must think you’re freaking Dr. Phil. Only, you know, not bald, and with boobs.

Anyway, enough with the little sister. What are you talking about, “Thank God Sean showed up when she did, or I might have done something really, really stupid”? He’s a nice guy, Kate. Whyshouldn’t you have jumped his bones? Because you don’t like his choice of profession? Or because he’s seen you with your head in Dolly Vargas’s toilet?

J

P.S. Did he get into your bra? Please say yes.

J

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: SO?????

BECAUSE I HAVE NO JOB (THANKS TO HIM, REMEMBER)????

Not to mention, NO PERMANENT ADDRESS.

Also, I AM ON THE REBOUND.

God.

Kate

P.S. The answer is yes.

To: Amy Jenkins

Fr: Stuart Hertzog

Re: Bad news

I don’t know quite how to tell you this, darling. In fact, I hesitate even to do so. You know I don’t want anything to intrude on the dream that is our love for each other.

But the truth is, you’re marrying a man who comes . . . not from a fractured home, per se, since my parents have enjoyed a married life of almost forty years. But definitely a home that—thanks to my siblings, who didn’t have the same advantages as me, being younger and therefore not as important to my parents as I was, being the only child for three years—has known its share of controversy.

You’ve met Stacy, I know, and commented on how normal she seems, despite my descriptions of her as the heartless shrew who once locked me inside a car trunk.

And you’ve met Mitch, who—well, what can I say about Mitch that you don’t already know? I mean, he’s the man who claims you called him a foul name. That is the kind of low to which he’s willing to stoop.

But you’ve never met my youngest sister, Janice. I was hoping, I will admit, that you never would—until her hair grew out, anyway. But now it appears that Janice’s hair is the least of her problems. I’m afraid I have some hard news, Amy, and as it might actually have bearing on the outcome of our genetic testing—as they say these things can be inherited—I feel I have no choice but to tell you.

My sister Janice has been seduced by another woman.

I know it’s shocking. My mother, rightfully, has forbidden Janice from ever communicating with the woman—her college roommate—again. But this girl has my sister so thoroughly under her spell that poor Janice apparently fancies herself a lesbian.

Which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, because of COURSE Janice isn’t a lesbian. I mean, yes, she’s always liked to keep her hair short, but she was never into sports as a child. True, she never played with Barbies like my sister Stacy, but she never expressed an interest in hiking, or even cargo pants.

I can only assume that this whole thing is a result of brainwashing on the part of the roommate. I don’t actually know what my parents expected, allowing Janice to go to Berkeley, of all the colleges in the world. But . . . well, I just wanted to let you know, Amy, so you would be fully aware of what, exactly, you’re getting yourself into, marrying into the Hertzog clan.

I hope you’ll call me when you get this e-mail. I tried phoning a little while ago, but they said you were attending a staff meeting. Just remember the most important thing: Darling . . . I love you.

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: Bad news

Darling! I can’t believe you’re worried about howImight be feeling at a time like this. You really are just the sweetest thing on earth. Please don’t bother your head about me. Your poor mother is the one you should be worrying about. What that woman has suffered because of your siblings! I don’t know how she bears it. Please send her my deepest sympathies.

And tell her not to worry. One of the girls in the Pi Delt house—a legacy, can you believe it?—went lesbian in grad school, but she snapped out of it two years ago. Some of the most happily married women in Manhattan are “hasbians,” and you’d never know it to look at them. I’m sure Janice will be fine.

Kisses,

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: Stuart’s sister

Get this: the youngest one? Not the older one who claims to be a witch and is married to one of the Park Avenue Trents (though what he sees in her, God knows), but the younger one? Yeah. Turns out she’s a full-on dyke.

What the hell am I going to do? I don’t want a carpet-muncher in my bridal party.

Drinks after work? I need anesthetizing.

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: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stacy Trent

Re: Janice aka Sean

Okay, look: It’s not like it’s the world’s biggest surprise.

And the thing is, she’s better off realizing it now than later, after she’s married some dope and squeezed out a couple of kids.

Anyway. The thing is, what are we going to do with her? I know you don’t want her staying with you, because she’s screwing up your chances with Miss Girl of Your Dreams. But I don’t want her staying with me, because Jason can’t stand Bikini Kill. And that’s going to screw up MY chances of getting laid.

And God knows we could never get Stuart to take her. Not that I’d let her go, if he offered.

So what’s left? I mean, Mom. That’s it, basically. Maybe if we could get to Dad before she does and explain the whole thing, he might be able to talk Mom into leaving the poor kid alone. What do you think?

Stace

P.S. Doesn’t Mom ever watch TV? Doesn’t she know by now that telling a kid you don’t approve of them liking someone is almost like daring them to sleep with the person? Jesus. It’s like she doesn’t even live on this PLANET.

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Stuart Hertzog

Re: Janice

I know you and Mitchell met today to discuss Janice. Don’t bother denying it, I saw you hiding behind that potted palm in the lobby.

Well, while you two were yukking it up at Gramercy Tavern or wherever, I actually did a little research, and found the solution to our problem.

There are several well-established and respectable organizations that will, for a fee, transport (forcibly, if necessary) a child to a sexual-orientation rehabilitation center. The most successful results have been achieved at one called Right Way, in Utah, where, during the course of six weeks of intensive therapy, she’ll be deprogrammed and ultimately made to see the error of her ways.

I’ve already given Right Way a call, and they do have an empty room at the moment. If we can get Janice there by this weekend, she’ll graduate well in advance of my wedding. I think it’s something we need to seriously consider. I’ve already discussed it with Mom, and she agrees: It’s clearly the appropriate way to handle the situation.

I know, of course, that Mitch—given the lowlifes with whom he used to associate—will get into his ultra-liberal “it’s genetics and not a choice” mode. But in Janice’s case, this whole lesbian thing is clearly just her acting out because she’s the youngest, and Mom and Dad never set appropriate boundaries for her. They were so worn out by Mitch that by the time Janice came along, they were just like, “Whatever you want to do, dear.”

Well, I for one won’t stand silently by while one of my siblings becomes a victim of left-wing politics and, eventually, a marginalized member of society. I’m hoping you, as one of the more rational members of this family, will back me up on this. 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: Stacy Trent

Re: Janice

Have you been sniffing glue or something? I’m not going to hire some company to kidnap Janice and ship her off to Utah to get made not-gay. Christ, Stuart, how would you like it if we hired a company to kidnap you and make you not marry a bitch with a stick up her ass?

Not so much, huh?

Leave Janice to Mitch and me. I think we can handle her.

Stacy

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Margaret Hertzog

Re: Janice

Stacy, Stuart forwarded your last, exceptionally rude, e-mail to him. I couldn’t believe—until I read it with my own eyes—that you would ever say something so cruel about your own brother’s fiancée. Amy is a lovely girl. I can only think this “stick” business is due to the influence of Mitch. Stuart told me that Mitch is apparently besotted with a young woman whom, I understand, Amy was forced to fire for lying—under oath, no less. While it doesn’t surprise me in the least that Mitch is associating with such a person, what DOES astonish me is that you would condone—even encourage—such a relationship.

I have to be honest with you, Stacy. I think Janice’s choosing to stay with Mitch at this crucial time in her psychosexual development is avery bad idea. Mitch will only ENCOURAGE the unnatural feelings Janice has for this horrible Sarah person. I happen to know for a fact that he once made a donation to the Rainbow Coalition. If that is not condoning perverse sexual practices, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, I would just like to suggest, young lady, that you apologize to your brother for saying such a nasty thing about his fiancée. And you had better do it soon, because I heard from your father a little while ago. He’s coming home.

At last.

Never mind that it took finding out that his youngest daughter is having alesbian affair to do it. He’s on his way. Think about THAT.

Mom

To: Mitchell Hertzog

Fr: Stacy Trent

Re: Mom

Dad’s coming home. Because of the whole Janice thing. Just thought you should know.

Oh, also, I really hope you aren’t thinking about marrying this Kate girl. Because I don’t think Mom’s gonna be real receptive to having her in the family.

Not, of course, that something like that would ever stop you. But it might bother your girlfriend a little.

S

To: Stacy Trent

Fr: Mitchell Hertzog

Re: Mom

Marry her? I can’t even seem to get five minutes alone with her without her ex or one of my family members bursting in on us.

But I’ll tell you something . . . I’ve got a feeling about this one. Kate, I mean.

Okay, yeah, so far I’ve managed to get her fired, and set her up in a living situation I wouldn’t exactly call ideal, given that there’s a six-foot-five German ski instructor residing there as well.

But I plan on making it up to her. Getting her a job. And then maybe the living situation thing will take care of itself.

Although I’ll have to get my little sister out of the guest room for that to happen.

One step at a time. . . .

Mitch