by Meg Cabot
Hey, we’re Trents, aren’t we?
Jason
To: Sebastian Leandro
From: Max Friedlander
Subject: Look, dude
It’s been weeks since I heard from you. Have you got anything for me, or not?
Don’t try to reach me in Key West. I’m headed back to New York. You can reach me at my aunt’s place. You’ve got the number. I’m crashing there until I can get back on my feet again. I mean, why not? She’s sure as hell not using it.
Max
To: Mel Fuller
From: George Sanchez
Subject: I realize
that you’ve been crippled with grief over your boyfriend’s heinous betrayal and all that, but are you going to turn in a column for tomorrow’s paper, or aren’t you? Maybe you think we should just print a big blank space with the words DOWN WITH MEN in the middle of it. That’d sure make us look like professionals, huh? We’d certainly out sell the Chronicle then, wouldn’t we?
GET ME THAT COLUMN!!!
George
To: George Sanchez
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: Calm down, George
I sent the column down to the copy desk hours ago. I didn’t want to bother you with it. You were busy yelling at Dolly for failing to complete her assignment on Christina Aguilera—Victim or Soulless Sellout?
I’ve attached a copy of tomorrow’s Page Ten for your enjoyment.
And unless you intend to stop the presses, it’s going to run, since Peter Hargrave himself gave it his seal of approval. He was in here waiting for Dolly, so I ran it past him. Hope you don’t mind.
Enjoy!
Mel
Attachment: [Page Ten, issue 3,784, volume 234 for 1st AM, WHO WANTS TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE question mark, Mel Fuller, w/ exhibits, 1) photo Vivica, 2) photo Trent Capital Management building, u have in rack]
WHO WANTS TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE?
Tired of watching 5 to 10 percent of your hard-earned pay disappear into that 401(k) every month, girls? Why not try accruing capital the old-fashioned way? There’s a millionaire bachelor out there who’s sick of the single life, and is actively seeking a bride.
That’s right, you heard it here first. The New York Journal—has even learned that John Randolph Trent—grandson of the late Harold Sinclair Trent, who founded Trent Capital Management, one of New York’s oldest and most revered brokerage firms—has finally decided to get hitched. The only problem? He can’t seem to find the right girl.
“I’m tired of dating models and movie starlets who are only after my money,” Mr. Trent was heard to observe to a friend. “I’m looking for a woman of character and substance, an ordinary woman who doesn’t live in Beverly Hills. I would love to marry a woman from, say, Staten Island.”
It is for this reason that the 35-year-old—who inherited a reported $20 million upon the death of his grandfather—will be interviewing potential lifemates in his office at the New York Chronicle beginning at 9:00 A.M. this morning. When will the interviews end?
“When I’ve found her,” Mr. Trent asserts.
So get down to 53rd and Madison, girls, before this prince turns into a frog and hops away!
Wedding Bells for
Wonder (Bra) Woman
Meanwhile, another New York bachelor isn’t having nearly the same trouble finding Ms. Right. Max Friedlander, 35, who is responsible for the steamy photos in last year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, recently confided to a friend his secret engagement to supermodel Vivica, 22.
Vivica, whose gorgeous visage has graced the covers of Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, is most widely known for modeling the newest version of the Wonder Bra in last spring’s Victoria’s Secret catalog. Says Mr. Friedlander of his upcoming nuptials: “I couldn’t be happier. I am ready at last to settle down and start a family, and Vivica will make the perfect wife and mother.” Vivica was not available for comment, although her publicist would not rule out the possibility of a Christmas wedding.
To: Mel Fuller
From: George Sanchez
Subject: Your future employment at this place of business
The minute you get to work, report to my office, and be prepared to tell me, in one hundred words or less, why I shouldn’t fire you.
George
To: Peter Hargrave
From: Traffic Update
Subject: Congestion at 53rd and Madison
New Yorkers traveling by rail should have no problems with their commute today. For all you road warriors out there, however, it’s a different story entirely. Thanks to an item appearing in the Page Ten column of today’s New York Journal, Madison Avenue from 51st to approximately 59th Streets has practically been shut down due to a line of women eager to be interviewed by bachelor millionaire John Trent.
Police are urging drivers to use the FDR for any uptown travel, and avoid the midtown area altogether.
This has been an automated traffic update from NEWYORK TRAVEL.COM.
To: John Trent
From: Michael Everett
Subject: I had no idea
we had such a celebrity in our midst. Would you care to invest any of that $20 million of yours toward the extra security we’ve had to hire in order to get in and out of our own building?
Mike
To: Michael Everett
From: John Trent
Subject: What are you talking about?
Look, I’ve had a really long week moving back into my place. Can you just break it to me, whatever it is, and get it over with?
John
To: John Trent
From: Michael Everett
Subject: Are you trying to tell me
that you did not tell Mel Fuller of the Journal that you are currently seeking a bride? And that you have nothing to do with the fact that there are, by last NYPD estimates, twelve thousand women standing on the sidewalk downstairs, demanding an appointment to see you? Because if you’ll take a look at today’s Journal, that’s what it says.
Mike
To: Michael Everett
From: John Trent
Subject: LIES!!!
All of it is lies!!!!
Mike, I never said any of those things—you know I didn’t.
I can’t believe this. I’ll be right in. I’ll straighten this out somehow, I swear it.
John
To: John Trent
From: Michael Everett
Subject: Hold on there
pardner. Just stay where you are. We don’t need you strolling in here and causing a mob scene. Stay put until further notice.
Mike
P.S.: So ALL of it is untrue? Even the part about you being related to the Park Avenue Trents and having millions of dollars? Joan was kind of hoping that part might be true. See, we’re trying to refinish our basement, and…
Just kidding.
To: George Sanchez
From: Michael Everett
Subject: Excuse me
But you want me to keep MY reporter on a leash? What about yours?
Mine may have loosened a couple of your Senior Correspondent’s teeth, but yours has created a citywide traffic jam! Did you know I couldn’t even get in to my office building today, due to the fact that it is surrounded by ten thousand screaming women—some of whom are dressed in bridal gowns—all screaming, “Pick m
e”?
This is a hundred times worse than the sinkhole. With that, we couldn’t use the john. But with this, we can’t get in or out of our building without being mauled by desperate single women, anxious to marry and breed before menopause hits.
If Trent doesn’t sue the pants off you, you can be sure we will.
Mike
To: Peter Hargrave
From: Dolly Vargas
Subject: Mel
Well, frankly, I think it’s a scream.
And you can’t let George fire her, Peter. You approved the column, remember? Aren’t you the publisher of this paper? Are you going to stand by your employee and her story, or run for the hills?
Are you a man, Peter, or a mouse?
XXXOOO
Dolly
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: What did you do?
Mel, I do not believe this. I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS. With a single column, you’ve managed to shut down an entire city.
ARE YOU INSANE??? George is going to kill you.
And don’t you think you’ve gone a little far? I mean, yes, John lied to you, and it was wrong. But you’re lying to the entire tristate area—or at least everywhere that the Journal is readily available. Two wrongs do not make a right, Mel.
Now you’re going to get fired and then you’re going to have to go home and live with your folks. And then who’s going to be my maid of honor???
Nad :-(
To: Mel Fuller
From: Tony Salerno
Subject: I had to
ride my bike to work today because of the whole mess over there on Madison. There are women of all shapes and sizes lined up outside the Chronicle building. It’s like when they drop the ball in Times Square on New Year’s, only everyone is more dressed up. You should see the panicked expressions on the faces of the cops who have been called in. Some of them are wearing riot gear.
Do you feel better now? I think you could safely say the two of you are even.
Tony
To: Mel Fuller
From: Tim Grabowski
Subject: I can’t believe
you’ve finally started using your powers for evil, instead of good. I’m so proud I could burst.
You go, girl.
Tim
To: Mel Fuller
From: Don and Beverly Fuller
Subject: Millionaire bachelor
Honey, I just saw on the news that there’s a man in New York who is looking to marry a nice girl from Staten Island. I know you aren’t from Staten Island, but you are much prettier than all those woman they showed, standing in line. You should go right over there and sign up for an interview because I think any millionaire would just love you.
And be sure to take that picture of you in your Miss Duane County Fair crown and sash! No man can resist a girl in a tiara.
Mommy
To: John Trent
From: Sergeant Paul Reese
Subject: If you were that desperate
you should have said something: I have a sister who’s single.
FYI: This is the first hats-and-bats alert we’ve ever had for midtown. You don’t get a lot of calls for riot masks and sticks up there by Saks. Congratulations.
Paul
To: John Trent
From: Genevieve Randolph Trent
Subject: I am ashamed of you
Of all my grandchildren, you were always the one I least expected to see in any sort of gossip column.
But what does Higgins show me, first thing after breakfast? That horrid story about you and your search for a bride! Who wants to marry a millionaire, indeed!
I can only assume, having read that this piece of garbage was written by none other than M. Fuller, that you have somehow managed to alienate the girl. That, my boy, was most unwise.
I understand further that both your place of employment and now your apartment are under siege. If you wish, I could send Jonesy to fetch you. I hesitate to do so, of course, since it will upset the neighbors if all of those women who are currently chasing after you show up outside our doors. However, I am assured by the police commissioner, who, as you know, is an old friend, that every attempt will be made to keep the riffraff off our sidewalk. You are welcome to spend the next few days here with me, where it’s safe.
I have also been assured, by Mr. Peter Hargrave, publisher of that filthy rag, that a retraction will appear within the next day or two. He offered to dismiss the girl, but I told him that would be unnecessary. I’m quite certain that she was perfectly justified, whatever her reasons for doing it.
Really, John. You never did learn to play nicely with the other children. I am quite disgusted with you.
Mim
To: John Trent
From: Jason Trent
Subject: Now you’ve done it
You’ve really done it. Mim’s furious.
I suggest you take an extended sabbatical. There isn’t a place you can go in this town where people aren’t talking about you. I heard they’ve even got a new sandwich: the Trent—just two slices of bread with nothing in the middle (on account of you not showing up to the interviews).
Why don’t you come out here to visit with Stace and the kids? We’d love to have you, and you haven’t met your namesake yet. What do you say?
Jason
To: Jason Trent
From: John Trent
Subject: Thanks for the offer
Mim made a similar one. But I prefer to stay here and fester in my own self-made hell.
I can’t say it hasn’t been interesting. I can’t even go down to the corner deli to buy milk without the guy behind the counter offering to introduce me to his daughter. Much as I try to claim the story about my search for a bride isn’t true, people just don’t seem to want to believe it. They like the idea of a guy being rich enough to have anything in the world except the one thing he really wants…the love of a good woman.
Of course, whenever I attempt to explain that I had that, too, but that I managed to louse it up, people really don’t want to hear it. It’s like they can’t comprehend the fact that rich does not equal happy.
It hasn’t been too bad, really. I’ve been getting a lot of work done on my novel. It’s funny, though. I actually miss that stupid dog. The cats, too. I’ve been thinking about getting one. A dog, I mean. Or maybe a cat. I don’t know. I don’t seem to be fit to associate with humans.
Not that I don’t keep on trying, though. I’ve been sending Mel flowers every day—even the day after the column appeared. But do I hear squat from her? Not a word. I imagine the sidewalk outside the office of the New York Journal is littered with all the floral arrangements of mine that she’s heaved out the window.
Got to go. My Chinese food—for one—is here.
John
To: Mel Fuller
From: John Trent
Subject: You got me.
All right? Are you satisfied? That column caused me untold embarrassment. They still won’t let me come to work. My family is barely speaking to me. I haven’t heard from Max, but I assume he’s been duly chastened as well.
Can we be friends again?
John
To: John Trent
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: Can we be friends again?
No.
Mel
To: Mel Fuller
From: Human Resources
Subject: Suspension
Dear Melissa Fuller,
This is an automated message from the Human Resources Division of the New York Journal, New York City’s leading photo-newspaper. Please be aware that as of today, your employment at this newspaper is suspended without pay. Your employment will be reinstated in 3 business days.
This action was taken as the result of a column that you submitted without first going through the appropriate channels. Please note for future reference that all columns must be submitted through your division’s managing editor, and not sent directly to the copy desk.
Melissa Fuller, we here at the New York Journal are a team. We win as a team, and we lose as one, as well. Melissa Fuller don’t you want to be on a winning team? So please do your part to see that your work is delivered through the appropriate channels from now on!
Sincerely,
Human Resources Division
New York Journal
Please note that any future suspensions will result in dismissal.
This e-mail is confidential and should not be used by anyone who is not the original intended recipient. If you have received this e-mail in error please inform the sender and delete it from your mailbox or any other storage mechanism.
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: Suspended???
Are you kidding??? Can they even do that?
Oh, Mel, this has gone from bad to worse! What am I going to do without you for three days? I’m going to die of boredom!