by Meg Cabot
To: Kate Mackenzie
Fr: Dolly Vargas
Re: That cafeteria lady
Darling, you simply can’t let them get rid of that little dessert-cart person. Her low-fat yogurt muffins are to DIE FOR. I myself have had her cater numerous events, and have received nothing but compliments . . . her carrot cake is simply DIVINE (if not exactly easy for those of us doing the low-carb thing to resist).
And really, if you get rid of her, who are you going to get to replace her? Good help doesn’t grow on trees, you know.
XXXOOO
Dolly
P.S. Thanks for helping to bail me out of that nasty little thing with Aaron Spender. Isn’t it the pits when they go all John Hinckley on you? So glad he took that job with Newsweek, I can’t even tell you! XXOO—D
* * *
To: Kate Mackenzie
Fr: Jen Sadler
Re: Dessert Cart Lady
It is all over the building that the T.O.D. is going to give the Dessert Cart Lady the heave ho for not handing over a piece of pie to Stu Hertzog at lunch today. Is this true?
J
* * *
To: Jen Sadler
Fr: Kate Mackenzie
Re: Ida Lopez
It’s true. The T.O.D. says *I* have got to fire her. Today. Jen, how am I supposed to fire that sweet old lady? This has to be a mistake. English isn’t her first language. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. I mean, she always calls me dearie when she sees me in the hallway, and sneaks me chocolate chip cookies, even though as a new hire I am not even allowed in the senior staff dining room. Plus everyone—EVERYONE—at the paper loves her.
Everyone except Stuart Hertzog, apparently.
But he’s a lawyer. A LAWYER. What does that tell you about his abilities as a judge of character? Hmmm?
Oh my God, I wish I had called in sick today.
Kate
* * *
To: Kate Mackenzie
Fr: Jen Sadler
Re: Dessert Cart Lady
Amy is such a bitch. You know she’s totally in love with Hertzog, right? Tim up in Computers says he saw them at Il Buco last Saturday, with their tongues down each other’s throats. I mean, she’s all but picked out the china pattern. That’s the only reason she gives a crap about Ida.
I wonder if she’ll change her name when the time comes. If anyone deserves to be Mrs. Stuart Hertzog, it’s the T.O.D.
You know what I heard? Hertzog has a cigar-store Indian in his office. He thinks just because he’s a big shot in his daddy’s firm—like his father before him, and his father before him, and so on—nobody’s going to say anything about how unPC it is, or the fact that he’s such a pedantic phony.
Maybe that’s why Ida wouldn’t give him pie.
All I have to say is, that suit he had on today had to cost three grand, easy. It was Armani.
But it doesn’t matter how well he dresses, he’ll still always look like Barney from The Flintstones.
Have you tried reasoning with the T.O.D.? I realize it probably won’t work, but you can be pretty persuasive, when you bat those baby-blues of yours.
J
* * *
To: Amy Jenkins
Fr: Kate Mackenzie
Re: Ida Lopez
Amy, are you really sure terminating Mrs. Lopez is the best idea? I mean, like you said, she is extremely popular with the staff. I have been inundated with e-mails from members of the staff—some of them senior members—asking that she not be let go.
It is possible that Mrs. Lopez might benefit from going through customer-service training again. Maybe if we go ahead with the written warning from last week’s infraction, she’ll straighten up. Like you yourself said at last month’s Staff Relations Committee meeting, termination represents not just a failure on the employee’s part, but a failure on the part of her supervisor, as well!
Kate
* * *
To: Kate Mackenzie
Fr: Amy Jenkins
Re: Ida Lopez
I sincerely hope you are not questioning my authority in this matter, Kathleen. As someone who has less than a year of work here at the Journal under her belt, I would think the last thing you would want to do is question the actions of your direct supervisor—especially while you are still on employment probation.
Ida Lopez has been a continuous problem at this company since the day she was hired. My predecessor was not successful in getting rid of her, but I will be. This time, Ida’s gone too far. I want to see a complete written transcript of your interaction with her this afternoon before you leave the office for the day.
Amy Denise Jenkins
Director
Human Resources
The New York Journal
216 W. 57th Street
New York, NY 10019
212-555-6890
[email protected]
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: Jen Sadler
Fr: Kate Mackenzie
Re: Ida Lopez
It’s no good, the T.O.D. won’t go for it. Oh, God, Jen. Poor Mrs. Lopez is coming down in ten minutes! What am I going to say to her? WHY did I have to be assigned the LZs??? WHY???
Kate
* * *
To: Kate Mackenzie
Fr: Jen Sadler
Re: Dessert Cart Lady
That’s it. We’re going to Lupe’s for mojitos after work. Damn the hormones, I need a drink.
J
Journal of Kate Mackenzie
Professor Wingblade in Soc 101 said writing down our feelings would help us organize our thoughts and enable us to approach problem-solving in a rational manner. But I don’t feel very rational. What am I going to do? I can’t fire Mrs. Lopez.
Okay, yeah, she did refuse service to the paper’s chief legal counsel. But I’ve seen Stuart Hertzog in action, and the fact is, like most lawyers—the ones I’ve met, anyway—he’s a pig. Once I had to share a cab with him to an arbitration and he yelled at the cabbie for taking Lexington Avenue instead of Park, even though the cabbie said there was construction on Park. Then when it came time to pay, Stuart wouldn’t give the guy a tip and said that he can’t stand immigrants because they think they know everything and that even if in the cabbie’s native land he was a surgeon, like he said, that didn’t mean he was qualified to navigate the streets of Manhattan in a moving vehicle, and why couldn’t they all (he meant immigrants, I guess) just stay home?
I totally wanted to point out that Hertzog isn’t exactly a Native-American name, which means at one point Stuart’s relatives must have been new to this country as well, and who knows, maybe one of them worked as a cabbie or an omnibus driver or whatever and how would Stuart have liked it if some lawyer in a fancy suit spoke to his great-great-great-great-grandpa like that?
Only I couldn’t say anything like that because Amy was there and she would have fired me. I actually don’t know if you can get fired for saying something like that—right to free speech and all—but I’m sure Amy would have found a way.
I can
’t believe I’m the one who has to fire her. Mrs. Lopez, I mean. Why me? I’ve never fired anyone before. Well, okay, I fired that porter who tried to feel up that seventeen-year-old lacrosse player who was touring the paper’s offices on that school field trip, but he so totally deserved it—I mean, his defense was that he couldn’t help it because she looked so good in her little plaid skirt. Please! I mean, it was a pleasure to fire him.
But this! This is totally different. I love Mrs. Lopez, and really, I don’t blame her a bit for what she did. I mean, they ought to fire Stuart Hertzog, is what they ought to do. I once saw him with a cigar—a CIGAR!—in the 3rd-floor hallway while he was waiting for the elevator, and when Mel Fuller from Features came by and asked him to put it out because she’s pregnant, he just went, “It’s not lit,” which was only half true because it totally had been lit in Mr. Hargrave’s office, it was still smoldering a little, even. Who does that, who smokes cigars inside a public building? And yells at poor innocent cab drivers? I mean, really.
And now Jen wants to go out for drinks and she could be pregnant RIGHT NOW, which means she’ll probably have some kind of flipper baby, and it will all be my fault. Oh my God, I have got to find somewhere else to stay, I can’t keep crashing on their couch. It’s so nice of them, but I can tell Craig is getting sick of having to share a bathroom with not just one woman but two. I could not have timed this thing with Dale worse. I mean, Jen and Craig have been trying to have a baby since they got married, and now that Jen’s on all those drugs—and really, she has to see me all day at work, and then again at home—we never get a break from each other. It’s a wonder she hasn’t cracked. . . .
If I could find a decent sublet I would move out in a second, but I just don’t think I could handle having a roommate I don’t know. I mean, that girl in the share up on East 86th—I admire people with goals and all, but shouldn’t women in this day and age be striving to help improve the planet, or at least their community in some small way, instead of focusing all of their energy on finding a husband? I guess I should be more accepting of other people’s dreams, but really, I don’t think marrying an investment banker is going to solve all of your problems. I just don’t. I mean, it might HELP, in the long run, with rent and everything, but you can’t just go around life being Mrs. Investment Banker. I mean, you have to find where YOU as an individual, not Mrs. Whoever You Marry, fits into the world.
And frankly, no matter how many Upper East Side bars you hit on a Saturday night, there is no guarantee you are going to meet someone decent in any of them. All the bridal magazines in the world aren’t going to change that. I mean, you’re better off volunteering somewhere. At least that way you’ll be doing something to improve the earth, in addition to trolling for a man. So it won’t be a COMPLETE waste of your time. . . .
Oh God, maybe I’m being stupid, maybe I should just go back to him, I mean, it isn’t that bad, being in a relationship with someone who won’t commit. I mean, lots of girls would die for a boyfriend like Dale. At least he never beat me up or cheated on me. I think he really does love me, and it IS just a stupid societal more. Marriage, I mean.
Except that I distinctly remember Professor Wingblade telling us in Soc 101 that in EVERY civilization in the world—even in places like Micronesia where for hundreds of years they had no contact whatsoever with outside cultures—there is some sort of ceremony where couples in love stand up before their community and pledge their devotion to each other. I mean, essentially, Dale is flying in the face of thousands of years of tradition by saying he and I don’t need to do this to have a satisfying and nurturing romantic relationship. That simply isn’t true.
Which is not to say that if Dale agreed to marry me today, I’d move back in with him tomorrow. I mean, I don’t want him to ask me just to humor me. I want him to ask me because he honestly and truly cannot picture a future without me. . . .
Except that it seems like Dale is incapable of picturing any kind of future at all, except maybe a future where the fridge isn’t fully stocked with Rolling Rock, which is why he always seems to remember to buy more. But me, I don’t think he sees me in his future. . . .
And I’m not even sure I want him to anymore, because the truth is, after seeing Jen and Craig and the way they are with each other, I know what true love looks like, and it is so not what Dale and I have, and I think I deserve to have love like that. I think it’s out there, I don’t know where, but somewhere. . . .
Oh God, she’s here.
* * *
Employee Interaction Transcript
Employee: Ida Lopez
Personnel Rep: Kathleen Mackenzie
Date: Wednesday
Time: 3:15 P.M.
* * *
KM: Um, just a second here, Mrs. Lopez. I have to turn this thing on . . . um . . . testing. . . . Testing. Oh, wait. Oops. There. I think it’s on. Does that look on?
IL: The little wheels are spinning.
KM: Um, okay. Well, this is Kathleen Mackenzie, and this is . . . is an employee interaction with Ida Lopez. Mrs. Lopez, I’m required by Human Resource policy to tape this session, for both your protection as well as my own.
IL: I understand, carina.
KM: Okay. Well. Thank you very much for coming to see me, Mrs. Lopez. I . . . er . . . I’m afraid I—
IL: Well now, you know there’s nothing I like better than a little visit with my Kate. And just look how pretty you are looking today, in that pink top.
KM: Thank you, Mrs. Lopez. I—
IL: Pretty as a movie star. Skinny as a movie star, too. Too skinny, if you ask me. I don’t know about you girls today, always starving yourselves to look thinner. What’s so great about being thin? You think men want to go to bed with a stick figure? What’s so much fun about that? Would you want to go to bed with a stick figure? No, you wouldn’t. Here, better have a cookie.
KM: Oh, thank you, but really, I shouldn’t—
IL: Shouldn’t what, get a little meat on those bones?
KM: No, I mean, I shouldn’t . . . Mrs. Lopez, you know these desserts are supposed to be for senior staff members only. . . .
IL: I don’t see why, if I made them, I cannot decide who deserves one of my famous chocolate chip cookies, and who does not. And you deserve a cookie. Here.
KM: But Mrs. Lopez—
IL: Look, it is your favorite. No nuts. Of course, most people like them with nuts. I recommend the pecans. Come on. Take a bite.
KM: Mrs. Lopez, really, I—
IL: One little bite never hurt anybody. And it’s not like that good-looking boyfriend of yours will care if you gain a little weight. That one I saw with you in the lobby after last year’s Christmas party. Sorry, holiday party. He seemed like a man who appreciates a woman with a little meat on their bones.
KM: Oh, well, actually, he and I sort of—
IL: Oh no! You broke up?
KM: Well, yes, a little while ago. I mean . . . we didn’t break up, exactly—Oh my God, Mrs. Lopez. This is the best chocolate chip cookie I ever had.
IL: You know the secret, of course?
KM: Hmmm, wait, let me guess. You melt the butter before putting it in?
IL: No, carina. Well, I do let it sit to room temperature. But I meant the secret to getting a man to commit.
KM: No, what is it?
IL: Find the right man. Yours—the one I saw you with—he’s not right for you. I knew it the minute I saw him. He’ll never appreciate you. He’s too wrapped up in himself. I could tell, because of the way he kept talking about that band of his. He made it sound like his band meant more to him than you do!
KM: (Choking sound) Excuse me.
IL: Oh, here, better have some milk to wash that down. No, don’t go on about how fattening it is. It’s good for you. Helps build strong bones. There. So simple, you really could make them at home. Here, let me write the recipe down for you.
KM: Oh, Mrs. Lopez! Your secret recipe? You can’t—
IL: Of course I can. Now, in a
large mixing bowl, beat two sticks of unsalted butter until smooth. Then add one cup of packed brown sugar, a quarter cup of granulated sugar, one large egg, and two and a half teaspoons of vanilla extract. Beat this until very well blended. Then gently beat in half—just half—of a mixture of one and three quarter cups, plus seven tablespoons—this is important—of all-purpose flour, three quarters of a teaspoon of baking powder, one third teaspoon of baking soda, a generous quarter teaspoon of salt—
KM: Mrs. Lopez, really, this isn’t—
IL: Then stir in the remaining flour mixture—but don’t overmix it. Then stir in the chocolate chips and pecans. Drop the cookies by teaspoonfuls—about two inches apart—on greased baking sheets, then bake for eight to ten minutes. Remember to let the pans stand for about a minute after you take them from the oven. You don’t want them to lose their shape. Then use a spatula—you have a spatula, don’t you, Kate?—and put the cookies on a wire rack to cool. See? Easy! Now. Hadn’t you better get on with it?
KM: What? Oh. Yes. Mrs. Lopez. The reason I’ve asked you here today has to do with the incident that occurred this afternoon in the senior staff dining room—
IL: Yes, of course. Señor Hertzog.
KM: Yes, exactly. Mrs. Lopez, you know you and I have met before over a similar—
IL: Yes, I remember. I wouldn’t give any of my peach cobbler to that man from the Mayor’s Office. Oh, your boss was very put out with me that time. That . . . What’s her name again? Oh, yes, Jenkins. Amy Jenkins. You know, talking about food issues? That one has some big ones. I’ve seen your boss down three of my chocolate cheesecake muffins, then head straight to the ladies’ room—