Boy - The Boy Next Door Part 24

Nadine To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k From: Mel Fuller Subject: John Oh, yeah? Well, then you probably won't believe me when I say I think I have an idea who might have conked Mrs. Friedlander on the head. And it wasn't a member of the Trent family. Meet me over by the water cooler, and I'll tell you. George keeps walking by and reading over my shoulder to make sure I'm working. And then I said, "Are you kidding? George Sanchez is the s.e.xiest man alive. Any man with that much hair on his back has to be a veritable repository of testosterone...." HA, GEORGE! CAUGHT YOU!!!!

Mel To: Stacy Trent From: Genevieve Randolph Trent Subject: Melissa Fuller

Well, I sent it. And she hasn't written back. Stubborn little thing. I think it's time we move on to Plan B.

Mim To: John Trent From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Mel

Dear John, When I suggested that you do something to get Mel back, I didn't exactly mean get your grandmother to write to her. In fact, I don't think that was such a hot idea at all. I think it had sort of the opposite effect that you were looking for. When I suggested that you do something to get Mel back, I was thinking of something more along the lines of, oh, I don't know, stringing a ma.s.sive sign out the windows of the building opposite ours with the words, "Marry me, Mel" on it. Or something along those lines. However, you chose to take a more pa.s.sive approach...and often, that can work just as well. I congratulate you for trying, I really do. A lesser man might have given up by now. Mel has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and takes the saying "once burned, twice shy" to s.h.i.+ny new heights. But I think you ought to know that now Mel is convinced that your family is filled with women who will do anything you tell them to, because they are afraid that otherwise, you will put them in a home. Just thought you might be interested.

Nadine To: Genevieve Randolph Trent From: John Trent Subject: What is wrong with you? Did you write to Mel? What did you say to her? Whatever it was, it didn't work. She's madder at me than ever, according to her friend. Look, Mim, I do not need your help, all right? Kindly stay out of my love life--or lack thereof. And that goes for Stacy, too, in case the two of you are in cahoots, which I am beginning to suspect. I mean it, Mim.

John To: Stacy Trent From: Genevieve Randolph Trent Subject: John

Oh, dear. I just got a very angry email from John. It appears that he's found out aboutthe letter I wrote. He was quite put out about it, and warned me on no uncertain terms tostay out of his love life. He added that I should tell you the same.I suggest we move on to Plan B at once.

Mim

To: Sebastian Leandro From: Max Friedlander

Subject: I know there's probably no point in asking, but you haven't found any work for me lately, have you?

To: Max Friedlander

From: Sebastian Leandro Subject: Look I could live without this att.i.tude of yours. I have presented you with plenty of a.s.signments, none of which you have chosen to take. I can't help it if you won't take less than two thousand a day, have a prejudice against unnatural fibers, or refuse to even consider shooting fas.h.i.+ons for teens. My job is to find you work, and I have found you work. YOU are the one who's turning it down. Max, you are just going to have to face the fact that you must lower your rates. Your work is good, but you're no Annie Liebovitz. Photographers who are every bit as talented as you are are charging way less. That's just the way it goes. Things change...either move with the times, or get left behind. When you drop out and spend untold months in Florida with last year's It Girl, you get left behind. I hate to say I told you so, but, well, I told you so.

Sebastian To: Sebastian Leandro From: Max Friedlander

Subject: Yeah well you know what? I don't need you, or your cheesy Sears portrait studio a.s.signments. I am an artist, and as such, am taking my services, as you call them, elsewhere. You can consider my contract with your agency terminated as of this moment.

Max Friedlander To: Mel Fuller From: Max Friedlander

Subject: My aunt

I know you've visited my aunt since she's been in the hospital. What are the visiting hours there? Max Friedlander To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k From: Mel Fuller Subject: Max Friedlander Nadine! Remember when I told you that I thought I knew who attacked Mrs.Friedlander? Well, I sort of started thinking it might have been Max. I mean, Vivica says he was at his aunt's apartment one night right before they left for Key West, and that had to be close to when Mrs. Friedlander was struck, although of course I can't get her to pin down the exact date. I mean, the girl can't even remember her wallet, how is she going to remember a date? And now Max wants to know the visiting hours at his aunt's hospital. The visiting hours,Nadine. He's never visited her before now.... And that's because he could never figure out how he was going to finish her off before. But he knows now, because I told him! Remember? I told him about Sunny von Bulow and how Klaus injected her with an insulin overdose, and how he should have done it between the toes where no one would notice a needlemark....Yes! I actually said that! I mean, you know how I read mysteries, and I was just talking,you know. I didn't think he was going to actually take one of Tweedle Dum's syringesand some insulin and go visit his poor comatose aunt in her hospital room and KILL HER!!!! Nadine, what should I do??? Do you think I should call the police? I never actuallybelieved Max would do something as heinous as try to kill his own aunt--I mean, I wasgoing to write a story about it and give it to George, to show him I can do hard news, butI never actually thought, I mean, I didn't really believe.... But Nadine, I do now, I really believe he's going to try to kill her!!! What should I do????

Mel

To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Max Friedlander

Mel. Honey. Calm down. Max Friedlander is not going to kill his aunt. All right?You are letting the stress of your breakup with John and the whole suspension thing getthe better of you. Max Friedlander is not going to inject his aunt with her cat's insulin.Okay? People don't do things like that. Well, they do in the movies, and in books andthings, but not in real life. I think you've seen "Shadow of a Doubt" one too many times.Just take a deep breath and think about it. Why would Max do something like that? I mean, really, Mel. He is a big loser, it's true. He treated Vivica--not to mention you-very badly. But that doesn't make him a murderer. A big stupid jerk, but not a murderer. All right? Now if you want to take a little walk with me outside the building, get a little fresh air to clear your head, I'd be happy to go with you. I heard there's a sale over at Banana Republic. We could go look at some nice silk sweater sets, if you want. But please do not call the police to report that Max Friedlander is contemplating killing his aunt. Please. I beg of you. You will only be wasting their time and your own.

Nadine To: [email protected] From: Mel Fuller Subject: Max Vivica, please. I am begging you. Can you remember anything, anything at all, that might help pinpoint what night it was you and Max were at my building? It could be a matter of life and death.

To: From: Mel Fuller Subject: WOW IT SURE IS IMPORTANT TO YOU TO KNOW WHAT NIGHT ME AND MAX WERE AT HIS AUNT'S, HUH? DID YOUR DRY CLEANER LOSE A SWEATER OF YOURS THAT DAY OR SOMETHING? I HATE WHEN THAT HAPPENS. I REALLY WISH I COULD REMEMBER WHEN IT WAS EXACTLY, SO I COULD HELP YOU. OH WAIT. I KNOW THERE WAS SOME KIND OF PLAYOFF GAME, BECAUSE ALL THE CARS THAT WENT BY WHILE I WAS WAITING IN THE CAR, THEY HAD THE GAME ON. AND WE WERE LOSING, SO EVERYBODY WAS REALLY MAD. OH, AND THERE WAS NO DOORMAN. IT WAS WEIRD, BECAUSE MAX JUST WALKED RIGHT IN, AND n.o.bODY STOPPED HIM. BUT WHILE HE WAS GONE THIS CHINESE FOOD DELIVERY MAN CAME, AND HE LOOKED ALL AROUND THE LOBBY FOR THE DOORMAN, SO HE COULD CALL UP TO THE PEOPLE HE WAS DELIVERING TO AND TELL THEM HE WAS COMING. THE REASON I NOTICED WAS BECAUSE THE CHINESE FOOD DELIVERY MAN WAS WEARING ACID WASHED JEANS, WHICH ARE SO TOTALLY EIGHTIES, BUT I GUESS IF YOU ARE AN IMMIGRANT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THAT. AND I WAS THINKING WE SHOULD REALLY START SOME KIND OF EDUCATION PROGRAM FOR THE IMMIGRANTS SO THEY WOULD KNOW WHAT TO WEAR, SO AS NOT TO STAND OUT SO MUCH. KNOW WHAT I MEAN? LIKE YOU KNOW HOW CHRISTIE AND NAOMI AND CINDY STARTED THE FAs.h.i.+ON CAFE? I WAS THINKING I COULD START LIKE A FAs.h.i.+ON SCHOOL, FOR PEOPLE WHO COME TO NEW YORK FROM CHINA AND HAITI AND THE MIDWEST AND STUFF. ANYWAY, FINALLY MR. ACID WASHED JEANS FOUND HIM--THE DOORMAN, I MEAN--AND GOT BUZZED UP. THEN THE DOORMAN WENT AWAY AGAIN, AND RIGHT THEN MAX CAME DOWN, AND THE TWO OF US LEFT. DOES THAT HELP?.

VIVICA.

To: Max Friedlander

From: Mel Fuller Subject: Your aunt Dear Mr. Friedlander,

Your aunt is in the ICU, which means she can't have visitors. Ever. In fact, they get mad if you even ask if you can visit people who are in the ICU. Because people who are in the ICU are in very, very unstable condition, and the slightest germ from the outside world might make them worse. So not only are there no visitors allowed, but the room is constantly monitored for movement with motion detectors, so even if you tried to sneak in there, you would get caught right away. So I wouldn't even try to go visit your aunt. Sorry. But I bet if you sent a card, they'd show it to her when she wakes up.

Mel Fuller To: Mel Fuller From: Max Friedlander

Subject: My aunt

I just thought you might be interested to know that I found out from her physician that my aunt was moved out of the ICU a month ago. She is now in a private room. She is, of course, still in a coma, but she can be visited any day between four and seven o'clock. Her prognosis, I'm sorry to say, is not good.

Max Friedlander To: Mel Fuller From: Stacy Trent Subject: John Dear Ms. Fuller,

You don't know me, but you do know my brother-in-law, John. I am sorry to write tothis way, seeing as how we've never actually been introduced, but I couldn't sit still andwatch what was happening between you and John without saying something.Melissa--I hope you don't mind if I call you Melissa; I feel like I know you, from all thetalking John's done about you--I know that what John and his friend Max did was veryvery wrong. I was completely shocked when I heard about it. In fact, I urged him to tellyou the truth from the very beginning. But he was afraid you'd be so mad at him, you wouldn't want to have anything to do with him...a fear which unfortunately proved well founded. And so he chose instead to wait for that "perfect moment" to tell you.Except that, as you or I could have told him, there is no perfect moment to hear that theperson you have fallen in love with has misrepresented himself in some way.I am not saying that you do not have ample reason to be furiously, even murderouslyangry with John. And I absolutely adored the creative manner in which you got back athim. But don't you think he has suffered long enough? Because he *is* suffering, very badly.

Why, when he came by the other night to see the baby--I just had my third, a boy we named John after my twin daughters' favorite uncle (see? He's well-liked by children, which means he can'tbe all bad) he looked quite dreadful. I swear he's lost at least ten pounds. I know how maddening men can be (do I ever--I've been married to John's older brother Jason for a decade), but I also remember from my single days how truly hard it is to find a good one...and that's what John is, despite what you might think, based on his behavior towards you so far.Won't you please give him a second chance? He really is crazy about you--and I can prove it. I'd like to offer you John's own words, in emails he has sent to me over the course of the past few months. Perhaps, after reading them, you will come to the same conclusion I did: that the two of you have managed to find something very few of us in this world are lucky enough to discover: a soulmate.

>So what do you want to know? Did she believe I was Max Friedlander? >I am sorry to say that she did. Did I play the part of Max Friedlander to perfection? >I guess I must have, or she wouldn't have believed I was he.>Do I feel like a grade-A heel for doing it? Yes. Self-flagellation and a big scarlet letter>A for me. The worst part is...well, I already told you the worst part. She thinks I'm Max>Friedlander. Max Friedlander, the ingrate who doesn't even seem to care that someone>cold-c.o.c.ked his eighty-year-old aunt.>Melissa cares, though.>That's her name. The redhead. Melissa. People call her Mel. That's what she told me.>"People call me Mel." She moved to the city right after college, which makes her about >twenty-seven years old, since she's lived here for five years. Originally, she's from >Lansing, Illinois. Have you ever heard of Lansing, Illinois? I've heard of Lansing, >Michigan, but not Lansing, Illinois. She says it's a small town where you can walk >down Main Street and everyone goes, "Oh, hi, Mel." >Just like that. "Oh, hi, Mel." >She showed me where Max's aunt keeps the dog and cat food. She told me where to >buy more, in case I ran out. She told me what Paco's favorite walks were. She showed >me how to lure a cat named, and I kid you not, Mr. Peepers, out from underneath the bed. > >She asked me about my work for the Save the Children Fund. She asked me about my trip >to Ethiopia. She asked me if I'd been to visit my aunt in the hospital, and if it had >upset me very much, seeing her with all those tubes coming out of her. She patted me on >the arm and told me not to worry, that if anyone could come out of a coma, it was my >aunt Helen. > >And I stood there and grinned like an idiot and pretended I was Max Friedlander. > >I've met this completely terrific girl. I mean completely terrific, Stace: She likes >tornadoes and the blues, beer, and anything to do with serial killers. She eats up >celebrity gossip with as much enthusiasm as she attacks a plate of moo shu pork, wears >shoes with heels that are way too high and looks fabulous in them--but manages to look >just as fabulous in Keds and a pair of sweatpants. >And she's nice . I mean, really, truly, genuinely kind. In a city where no one knows his >neighbors, she not only knows hers, but actually cares about them. And she lives in > Manhattan . Manhattan, where people routinely step over the homeless in an effort to >get into their favorite restaurants. As far as Mel seems to be concerned, she never left >Lansing, Illinois, population 13,000. Broadway might as well be Main Street. >I've met this completely terrific girl.... And I can't even tell her my real name. >No, she thinks I'm Max Friedlander. I know what you're going to say. I know exactly what >you're going to say, Stace. And the answer is no, I can't. Maybe if I'd never lied to her >about it in the first place. Maybe if right from the first moment I met her I'd said, >"Listen, I am not Max. Max couldn't make it. He feels really bad about what happened to his >aunt, so he sent me in his place." But I didn't, all right? I blew it. I blew it from the >very beginning. And now it's too late to tell her the truth, because anything else I ever try >to tell her, she'll think I'm lying about that, too. Maybe she won't admit it. But in the >back of her mind, it will always be there. "Maybe he's lying about this, too." >Don't try to tell me she won't, either, Stace. >So there you have it. My h.e.l.lish life, in a nutsh.e.l.l. Got any advice? Any sage words of >womanly wisdom to throw my way? >No, I didn't think so. I am perfectly aware of the fact that I've dug this grave myself. I >guess I have no choice but to lie down in it. >What do you want me to say, anyway? That she's exactly what I've been looking for in >a woman all this time, but never dared hope I'd find? That she's my soulmate, my >kismet, my cosmic destiny? That I'm counting the minutes until I can see her again? >Fine. There. I've said it. I found this particular bit most interesting: >I bought her a ring. An engagement ring. >And no, this isn't like the time in Vegas. I have not been perpetually drunk for the past >three months. I genuinely believe that this woman, out of all the women I have ever >known, is the one with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. >I was going to tell her the truth, and then propose, in Vermont. >Now she won't answer my phone calls, open her door, or reply to my emails. >My life is over.

Well, there you have it. I hope you won't discuss what you have just read with John. Hewould never speak to me again if he found out I had shared all this with you.But I had to. I really had to. Because I think it's important for you to know...well, howmuch he loves you. That's all.

Sincerely, Stacy Trent

To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k From: Dolly Vargas Subject: Mel Darling, do you have any idea why Mel is weeping in the Ladies'? It's extremely annoying. I was trying to show the new fax boy how cozy it can be for two in the handicapped-accessible stall, but her incessant sobs completely killed the mood.

x.x.xOOO Dolly To: Dolly Vargas From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Mel

I don't know why she's crying. She won't tell me. She's barely speaking to me since I shot down her theory that Max Friedlander is trying to kill his aunt. But I'm not the only one. Apparently, no one will believe her. Not even Aaron. I have to admit, I'm worried. It's like Mel's taken this whole thing with John and turned it around so that it's all about Max and his attempts at aunty-cide. Maybe we should call somebody down in Human Resources. I mean, maybe she's cracking up. What do you think?

Nadine To: John Trent From: Mel Fuller Subject: Max Friedlander Dear John, I forgive you. Now we've got a real problem: I think Max Friedlander is going to try to kill his aunt! I think he tried to do it once before, but loused it up. We've got to stop him. Can you come over right away? Mel To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k From: George Sanchez Subject: Where the h.e.l.l is Fuller? I turn my back for one minute, and she's gone. Do I have tomorrow's column yet? No, I do not have tomorrow's column. How can she leave without giving me tomorrow's column? HOW CAN SHE DO THAT??????

To: George Sanchez From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: Mel Um, I think she had to do some research for her column. I'm sure shemll hand it in before the copy desk shuts down. Don't worry. Meanwhile, did you read my story on Mars 2120? Theme Restaurants: Not Just for Tourists Anymore. Has a nice ring to it, right?

Nadine To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: You are so dead

WHERE ARE YOU??? George is furious. I tried to cover for you as best I could, but I don't think it worked very well. Are you having a breakdown? Because seriously, if you are, I think it's pretty selfish of you. I'm the one who should be having the breakdown. I mean, I'm the one who's getting married and all. I'm the one with the mother who's furious that I'm not wearing her wedding dress, and just spent $700 on one from some outlet in New Jersey. You don't have any right to have a breakdown. And I know you're going to say that you do, that this whole thing with John has destroyed your faith in men and all of that, but Mel, the truth is, your faith in men was destroyed a long time ago. I'll admit that when you first started seeing the guy, I thought there was something kind of sketchy about him, but now that I know what it is, I have to say, you could do a lot worse. A LOT worse.And I know you really love him and are perfectly miserable without him, so could youplease just call the man and get back together with him? I mean, seriously, this has goneon long enough. There. I've said it. Now where the h.e.l.l are you?????

Nad

To: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k From: Mel Fuller Subject: Shhhh....

You want to know where I am? Well, right now I am squatting in an emergencystairwell, which just happens to have a wall that adjoins Mrs. Friedlander's living room.No, really! I'm using that satellite hook-in function George had installed in laptops.That one none of us could figure out how to use? Well, Tim showed me....I know you think I'm crazy, but I can prove to you I'm not. And the way I can prove it isby telling you exactly what I'm hearing right now, and that's John Trent asking MaxFriedlander where he was the night his aunt got her head bashed in.I am not the only one who is listening, either.John is wearing a wire.That's right. A WIRE. And there are a bunch of policemen in my apartment, listening tothe same conversation I'm listening to. Only they are using headphones. I don't have to.I can hear the whole thing just by pressing my ear against the wall. I am not supposed to be doing this. I am supposed to be in the coffee shop across the street, for my own protection. When they told me this, I was like, "Right!" As if I would wait in a coffee shop across the street when I could be here, getting the scoop first hand. Nadine, I am telling you, this is going to be the story of the year, maybe of the decade! And I am going to write it, and George is going to have no choice but to run it. He will be forced to admit that I am too good for Page Ten, and put me on hard news. I can feel it, Nadine. I can feel it in my bones!

Okay, so here's what I'm hearing: John: I'm just saying, I could understand it, if you did.

Max: Yeah, but I didn't.

John: But I'd understand it if you did. I mean, look at my family. They are loaded.Loaded. It's a bit different in my case, but let's just say my grandfather hadn't left meany money, and had left it all to my grandmother. If she wasn't willing to loan me a fewhundred bucks now and then, I'd flip out, too.

Max: I never flipped out.

John: Look, I know how it is. I mean, not really, but you know how I've been trying to live off just my reporter's salary? It's tough. If I ran out, and I knew I didn't have any more cash coming to me for a while, and I had a supermodel waiting downstairs in my rental car, and I went to my grandmother for a loan, and she said no...well, I might get mad, too.

Max: Well...You know. It's like, what do they think? They're going to take it with them?John: Exactly.Max: I mean, there she was, sitting on this huge pile of cash, and the stupid b.i.t.c.h couldn't part with a couple thou?John: Like she'd even know it was missing.Max: Seriously. Like she'd even know it was missing. But no. I have to get the lecture.

"If you'd learn to handle your money in a more responsible manner, you wouldn't be

running out of it all the time. You need to learn to live within your means." John: Meanwhile, she's dropping twenty grand flying to the opera in Helsinki every couple months.

Max: Yeah! I mean, yeah.John: It's enough to get a guy pretty hot under the collar.Max: It's more like the way she said it, you know. Like I was a little kid, or something.

I mean, Christ, I'm thirty-five years old. All I wanted was five grand. Just five grand.John: Drop in the bucket to a woman like that.Max: Don't you know it. Then she has the nerve to go, "Don't leave mad."John: Don't leave mad. Jesus.Max: Right. "Don't be like that, Maxie. Don't leave mad." And she's pulling on me, you know. On my arm. And I'm parked in front of the building, by a hydrant. AndVivica's waiting. "Don't leave mad," she says.John: But she won't give you the money.Max: h.e.l.l, no. And she wouldn't let go of me, either.

John: So you pushed her.Max: I had to. She wouldn't get offa me, you know? I didn't mean to, you know, makeher fall down. I just wanted her off me. Only--I don't know. I guess I pushed too hard.Because she fell over backwards, and her head slammed into the corner of the coffeetable, you know. And there's blood everywhere, and that d.a.m.ned dog was barking, and Igot scared that neighbor of hers would hear....

John: So you panicked.

Max: I panicked. I mean, I figured if she wasn't dead, somebody would find hereventually, you know. But if she was....John: You're her next of kin?Max: Yeah. We're talking twelve million, man. That's chump change to you, but for me, the way I go through money....John: So what did you do?Max: I went into her bedroom and threw a bunch of her clothes around. You know, so people would think it was that guy, that transvest.i.te killer. Then I got the h.e.l.l out of there. I figured, you know, lay low.

John: But she wasn't dead.Max: G.o.d, no. Tough old b.i.t.c.h that she is. And things...well, you know. Vivica. Andmy manager, he's such a larda.s.s. Wont get off his b.u.t.t to find me any real work. I wa.s.strapped.

John: And she's been in that coma how long?

Max: Months, man. She's probably going to croak anyway. I mean, if I gave heranother little push, who'd even notice?John: Push?Max: You know. Towards death, as they say.John: And how were you planning on doing that?Max: Insulin, man. You just inject too much. Like that Klaus von Bulow guy. Little old lady like that'd croak for sure--Uh oh. Footsteps in the hallway. The cops must think they have enough. They'rebanging on the door to 15A. I am telling you, Nadine, I am going to win a Pulitzer-Wait a minute. They are telling Max to come quietly. But Max isn't coming quietly.Max is- To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: WHAT????

MEL???? WHERE ARE YOU???? Why did you stop like that? What's happening????

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT????.

To: George Sanchez From: John Trent Subject: Attempted murder for 1st AM ( fp) SAY CHEESE w/exhibits: 1) Max Friedlander in cuffs, captioned w/cuts "The suspect being led away by New York's finest"; 2) Helen Friedlander on skis, captioned w/cuts "Beloved opera-buff and pet owner"; u have in rack SAY CHEESE.

Famous Fas.h.i.+on Photographer Arrested for Attempted Murder In a sting conducted in tandem with the NYPD's 82nd Precinct, New York Chronicle reporter John Trent, and The New York Journal's Mel Fuller, an arrest has finally been made in the brutal a.s.sault on Upper West Side resident, Mrs. Helen Friedlander. Mrs. Friedlander, 82, was found unconscious in her apartment nearly six months ago, the victim of an apparent a.s.sault. Clothing spread across the victim's bed indicated to police that the opera-buff and animal lover might have been attacked by the so-called "Transvest.i.te Killer." But after last month's arrest of Harold Dumas, who confessed to killing seven women over the course of the past year, it became apparent that Mrs. Friedlander's a.s.sault was what police sergeant Paul Reese calls a "copycat." "The perpetrator wished to throw investigators off track," Sergeant Reese said in an interview early this morning. "He thought he could do so by making it look as if it had been the work of a serial killer known to have attacked other women in the area. There were several things, however, that just weren't right." Amongst them was the fact that Mrs. Friedlander had apparently known her attacker, having left her door unlocked in order for him to enter the apartment freely, and that no money had been stolen from the premises. "The motive for this attack," according to Sergeant Reese, "was money, but after pus.h.i.+ng the victim and causing her life-threatening injury, the perpetrator panicked, forgetting his need for cash." The suspect arrested last night would not have needed the two hundred dollars that had been sitting in Mrs. Friedlander's purse the night of her attack: had the victim died, he would have stood to inherit millions. "The victim is exceedingly wealthy," Sergeant Reese explained. "And the suspect is her only living relative." That suspect, Maxwell Friedlander, is Helen Friedlander's 35-year-old nephew. A well-known fas.h.i.+on photographer who has recently run into financial difficulties, Mr. Friedlander confessed to John Trent, New York Chronicle crime correspondent, and former friend of the suspect, that he was in need of money. Explaining that his aunt was "sitting on this huge pile of cash," while he himself had none, the suspect justified his actions by saying that he had not initially meant to kill Mrs. Friedlander, but that if she died, he would benefit greatly from the inheritance left to him by her. Mrs. Friedlander did not die, however. She has languished in a coma for nearly six months. And to Max Friedlander, this was a situation that needed rectifying. And last evening, he attempted to do so, planning, according to a secretly taped interview between the suspect and Mr. Trent, to kill his aunt in her hospital bed with an injection of insulin. It was just after this admission that police moved to arrest Mr. Friedlander in his aunt's apartment. Instead of coming quietly, however, Mr. Friedlander broke free, and attempted to flee the premises by taking a back stairwell. It was at this point that Mr. Friedlander was struck hard across the face with this reporter's iMac laptop, a blow which stopped him in his tracks, and required seven st.i.tches at Manhattan's St. Vincent's hospital. Mr. Friedlander will be arraigned this morning. Charges include the attempted murder of Helen Friedlander; conspiring to commit murder; resisting arrest; and fleeing an officer. Mr. Friedlander is expected to plead not guilty to all charges.

George--it's me, Mel. I had to type all this on John's computer, since mine is being heldas evidence. What do you think, George? Did I do good or what?

Mel

To: Mel Fuller From: Nadine Wilc.o.c.k Subject: I suppose this means

the two of you are back together. I will try to find room for him at the head table at our reception. Although I'm sure it will be difficult, considering how swollen your head will be by that time. Tony will be happy. He was secretly rooting for John all along.

Nadine ;-) PS I always did like him, you know. Well, at least after he loosened Aaron's molars for him.

To: Mel Fuller From: George Sanchez Subject: All right already

I suppose we could work in a hard news story or two from you occasionally. Very occasionally. You are still on Page Ten in the meantime. And now that I know what you can do, I want to really see some good stuff in that column. No more of this Winona Ryder c.r.a.p. Let's hear about some real celebrities. Like Brando, for G.o.d's sake. n.o.body talks about Brando anymore.

G PS Don't think if anything happens to that laptop that you aren't the one who's going to be paying for it, Fuller.

To: Mel Fuller From: Dolly Vargas Subject: Darling Just a quick congratulatory note before Aaron and I jet off for Barcelona...yes, I know, I can't believe he finally gave in, either. But I suppose in light of your recent journalistic coup, he is finally admitting defeat...and I'm the consolation prize!

As if I care. You know, a hard man really *is* good to find, and I honestly don't mind what kind of music he listens to. He's single, he's childless, and he can sign a check.

What more can a girl ask for? Anyway, best of luck to you and Little Lord Fauntleroy--I mean Mr. Trent. And *do* consider inviting me up to the house on the Cape...it really is divine, from what I saw in Architectural Digest.