Boy Meets Girl
Page 6
Kate
Kathleen A. MacKenzie
Personnel Representative, LZ
Human Resources
The New York Journal
216 W. 57th Street
New York, NY 10019
212-555-6891
kathleen.mackenzie@nyjournal.com
To: Paula Reznik
— — — — — — — —
Paula, I waited for you for half
CVS Pharmacy
an hour, then I finally gave up
Thank you for
shopping at CVS
and left. You must have gotten
Imitrex $10.00
held up. I tried your cell and
Levlin-21 $10.00
got no answer. Hope you find
Allegra $10.00
this note. I was really looking
Total: $30.00
forward to seeing this apart-
Paid: $40.00
ment, too. Call me tomorrow
Change: S10.00
so we can reschedule.
Thanks! Kate
P.S. Sorry, this was the only
paper I could find.
The East Village’s Number-1 Destination for Live Music, All the Time
Tonight’s Band:
I’m Not Making Any More Sandwiches
Featuring:
Dale Carter: Guitar, Vocals
Jake Hartnett: Guitar, Vocals
Marty Hicks: Bass
Scroggs: Drums, Vocals
I’m Not Making Any More Sandwiches™ appears courtesy of Liberation Music Records
Playlist:
Kate and Me Random Acts of Kate
In the Bedroom with Kate I Love U, Kate, for Now
Kate, Y Did U Leave Me Chasing Kate
Come Back, Kate Ice Weasels Gnaw My Brain
All songs, lyrics by Dale Carter &
I’m Not Making Any More Sandwiches™
Y Won’t U B With Me, Kate?
Oh, Kate, Y won’t U B with me?
Kate, Don’t U know what U mean to me?
I look at the dirty dishes piling up in the sink
and all I can think
is Kate
U kept the place so clean
Kate, I treated U like a queen
Oh, Kate, U mean the world to me
Kate, Come home to me
Oh, Kate, Y can’t it B
Like it used to B
Because this world ain’t meant for lovers
No, this world ain’t meant for U and me
Because the bureaucrats in Washington, they’ll set off the bombs, so what’s the point, Kate?
We’re all just going to die, anyway.
So, Kate, Y won’t U B with me?
—Dale Carter, All Rights Reserved
Journal of Kate Mackenzie
Dale shoved another one of his songs about me under the door. This one was written on the back of a playlist. Craig found it when he got home today from the office. Seriously, what am I going to do about him? Dale, not Craig. I think eight songs about me is a little much (could “Ice Weasels Gnaw My Brain” be about me, too? No, surely not. I mean, what do I have to do with ice weasels? What ARE ice weasels? Are they real? Are there really weasels that live on ice? What do they eat?).
Oh God, I have got to get some sleep, I can’t be groggy in the morning, I’ve to go get deposed by Stuart Hertzog’s brother. What am I even going to say to him? What if I accidentally let slip that I don’t think Mrs. Lopez should have been fired in the first place, and he tells the T.O.D. what I said? You so know he will, he’s Stuart Hertzog’s BROTHER. Stuart I’m-engaged-to-the-T.O.D. Hertzog. Plus he’s a lawyer. Lawyer + Stuart Hertzog’s brother = mean, evil person with no conscience or soul. He’ll tell Stuart, and Stuart’ll tell Amy, and then I’ll get fired. I’ll get fired just like Mrs. Lopez got fired. Only I don’t belong to a union, so I won’t even have anyone to defend me. I’ll just become a statistic, another member of Manhattan’s homeless, jobless community.
Oh my God, I hate my life. Something has GOT to give. It’s just GOT to.
* * *
Deposition of Kathleen Mackenzie
in case of Ida D. Lopez/United Staff
Association of NYJ. Local 6884
vs.
The New York Journal
held at the offices of
Hertzog Webber and Doyle
444 Madison Avenue, Suite 1505
New York, NY 10022
* * *
Appearances:
Kathleen Mackenzie (KM)
Mitchell Hertzog (MH)
Recorded by Anne Kelly (AK) for later comparison with stenographer’s transcript
Miriam Lowe, Shorthand Reporter and Notary Public within and for the State of New York
AK: Good morning, Ms. Mackenzie, thank you so much for coming. Please have a seat. May I get you a cup of coffee, tea, soda—whatever you prefer?
KM: Coffee would be good, thanks.
AK: Fine. Mr. Hertzog should be joining us in a second. I’ll just be a moment while I get your coffee. Do you take cream or sugar?
KM: Yes, both, thank you.
(Sound of door closing)
(Sound of door opening)
MH: Oh, sorry, wrong room.
KM: No problem.
(Sound of door closing)
(Sound of door opening)
MH: Wait a minute. You’re Katherine Mackenzie?
KM: Kathleen. Kate, actually.
MH: Oh, Kathleen. Sorry. I didn’t . . . I expected someone . . .
KM: Yes?
MH: Never mind. Nice to meet you. I’m Mitch Hertzog.
KM: You’re Mitchell Hertzog?
MH: Last time I checked. Why?
KM: I . . . Nothing. I just—you’re not—
MH: I think it’s safe to say neither of us is what the other expected.
KM: It’s just that . . . Well, you don’t look anything like your brother.
MH: Thank God. Sorry. It’s the tie, isn’t it?
KM: I’m sorry? Oh, the tie. Is that . . . Rocky and Bullwinkle?
MH: ‘Fraid so. Gift from my nieces.
KM: It’s . . . colorful.
MH: I know it throws people when we turn out to have a sense of humor.
KM: We?
MH: Lawyers. Oh, I see Anne’s got the recorder going already. Where’d she go?
KM: To get coffee.
MH: Great. And here’s the stenographer. So I guess we can start—
KM: Shouldn’t Mrs. Lopez be here? And her lawyer?
MH: This is just a pretrial conference, not a deposition. I’ve found it’s good to get all the facts straight before moving on to any formal proceedings. Less surprises that way. That okay with you?
KM: Sure. I guess.
MH: Great. Like I said, I’m Mitchell Hertzog, and I’m representing the New York Journal against Ida Lopez, for whom I understand you were . . .
(Sound of papers shuffling)
MH (con’t) . . . a personnel rep?
KM: That’s right. Not for very long. I mean, I just started working at the Journal.
MH: Is that right? When did you start working there?
KM: Last fall. I was a social worker, with the city, before.
MH: Really? But—excuse me for pointing it out—you obviously aren’t from around here—
KM: Oh, no. My accent, you mean? I’m from Kentucky, actually. I just moved here, you know, after I got my degree. Social work.
MH: I see. And if social work’s your thing, New York City’s the place to be?
KM: Well, yes. That, and my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—well, he’s a musician—
MH: Say no more. Did it work out better for him than it did for you?
KM: I beg your pardon?
MH: The social work thing. I mean, you’re not doing it anymore.
KM: Oh. No. I took the job with the Journal because, you know, working for the city . . . it was kind of depressing.
MH:
Sure.
KM: All these people, they don’t have anything, or any way, really, to make things better. And there were these programs, you know, to help them, but—I don’t know—it didn’t quite work out the way I thought it would. I mean, a lot of the programs got eliminated because the city ran out of money, or sometimes my clients didn’t qualify for them for whatever reason . . . and it just seemed like no matter how hard I tried, you know, things never got better, and there was really nothing I could do about it, and I took the job because I thought I could help make a difference. Only it turned out, I couldn’t. So I was going home every night and crying into my chicken in garlic sauce, and finally, it just seemed healthier to quit.
MH: Chicken. In garlic sauce.
KM: That sounded stupid, didn’t it?
MH: Absolutely not.
KM: No. It did. You’re just being nice.
MH: I’m not. I swear I’m not. I’m not nice.
(Sound of door opening)
Oh, look. Here’s Anne with the coffee.
AK: Here you go.
MH: Cream or sugar, Ms.—
KM: Kate. Both, thanks. I . . . oops.
MH: Sorry about that.
KM: No, it was my fault—
MH: Here you go. Now, uh, where were we? Oh, yes. So you quit social work. . . .
KM: Oh, right. Well, my friend Jen got a job there right out of college, and when a position came up in her department, she recommended me. And I’ve been there ever since. I mean, it isn’t my dream job, or anything. We’re not really helping anybody. Well, maybe occasionally. But at least, you know, I don’t go home anymore and—
MH: Cry into your chicken with garlic sauce.
KM: Exactly.
MH: Right. So I take it you inherited Ida from your predecessor?
KM: Yes, I did. From Amy Jenkins. She’s my supervisor now. Ida’s file is, like, three inches thick.
MH: So it would be safe to say that Ida was considered a troublemaker before you even got there.
KM: Not a troublemaker, no. Not everything in Mrs. Lopez’s file is bad. There are letters in there from administrators saying how much they like her. She’s really—was really—very popular—
MH: But not with everyone, clearly.
KM: No. Not with everyone. But the people who didn’t like her were people who, you know, nobody else really liked. Mostly just people like Stuart Hertz—
MH: Go on.
KM: Um. No. Sorry. That’s it. That’s all I had to say.
MH: You were saying something about Stuart Hertzog.
KM: No, I wasn’t.
MH: Yes, you were.
KM: No, I wasn’t. I really wasn’t.
MH: Kate, this is being recorded, remember? I can just play the tape back if you want. Also, Miriam’s taking it down. Miriam, could you read back to me Kate’s last—
KM: Well, I was just saying. You know. How everybody at the paper really, really likes Mr. Hertzog. He’s very, very popular.
MH: Kate. This is Stuart you’re talking about. No one likes Stuart. But what specific problem did Ida have with him?
KM: She won’t tell me. When Mrs. Lopez didn’t consider somebody worthy of her desserts, that was it. They just . . . you know. They were cut off.
MH: And my brother being cut off was what? The last straw?
KM: Well, she’d had a number of verbal warnings, and we’d sent her to, you know, customer service training. Several times. But I guess it never really took. But sometimes it takes more than just a couple of training sessions. Some people just need more time than others. It isn’t right to expect every single employee to be exactly the same. I mean, would you want people to expect you to be exactly the same as every other lawyer in the world, Mr. Hertzog?
MH: Mitch. You can call me Mitch. And, uh, it seems to me like some people already do.
KM: Which is not to say that I don’t completely understand why Mrs. Lopez did what she did, because you know, sometimes you give and you give and you give, and people, they just take, and take, and take, and you start feeling like you’re never going to get anything back, and you wait and wait for something, anything, any kind of acknowledgment, even the tiniest crumb, like, “Yeah, okay, I do want to be with you forever and not just, you know, till someone better comes along, and yeah, I’m an ex-pothead and I can only take it one day at a time, but you, I know I want you in my future.” Only it never comes. And the next thing you know, you’re looking at hellholes in Hoboken for eleven hundred a month and landlords named Ron won’t return your calls . . . er. I mean. What I mean is . . .
MH: I think I get what you mean.
KM: What I meant was, you know. Pie.
MH: Exactly. Pie.
KM: Yes. Mrs. Lopez, she’s human. And you know, clearly, she’d like people to show some appreciation for her hard work. But if people just, you know, take her pie and don’t even say, “Hey, nice pie,” they just scarf it down or whatever—
MH: I could see how that would get to be annoying. I mean, if you’re constantly providing . . . pie. And getting no positive feedback—
KM: Right! And what about your future? I mean, how do you know people are still going to want your pie in the future? Supposing they become a famous rock star or something. People are going to be offering them pie all over the place. If they haven’t promised only to eat your pie, well, where does that leave you?
MH: With perfectly justifiable insecurities over your own self-worth.
KM: Absolutely! See what I mean? I mean, it’s no wonder she cracked. Mrs. Lopez, I mean.
MH: Right. Mrs. Lopez.
KM: So you see what I mean, then? It’s wrong to fire somebody because they had one bad day. And without even any warning. I mean, yes, she was on probation, but I think she still should have gotten a written warning first. Just to let her know. And then if she messed up again, we could have fired her. But to just fire her like that, for not giving someone pie . . .
MH: Oh. Yes. Now I see what you mean. So there was no written warning?
KM: No. Just the verbal. Not that I think the Journal was wrong to fire Mrs. Lopez. I mean, I would never say that. I love working at the Journal. I would never say anything to make the Journal look bad.
MH: Don’t look so panicked, Kate. Nothing you say here is going to get back to your employer.
KM: Yeah, but, I mean, the T.O.D.—I mean, Amy. She’s your brother’s fiancée.
MH: She’s not here.
KM: But . . . Never mind.
MH: What you’re saying is that in your opinion, the firing of Ida Lopez wasn’t justified.
KM: That’s not what I said. That’s not what I said at all. Is that what I said?
MH: You said—excuse me, Miriam—It’s wrong to fire somebody because they had one bad day.
KM: Well, it is. And okay, Mrs. Lopez had a bunch of bad days. But only because bad people—
MH: Like my brother.
KM: Oh my gosh. Is that the time? Really? Because I have to go.
MH: Go?
KM: Yes. I have to meet my broker.
MH: Your broker?
KM: My real-estate broker. See, I’m looking for an apartment, and it’s kind of, you know, urgent that I find a place soon, because right now I’m, like, staying on my friend Jen’s—I told you about Jen—well, I’m staying on her couch, but she and her husband, they’re trying to have a baby, so I need to get out of there, and I was supposed to see this place last night but the broker never showed. But then she called and said if I could meet her at eleven this morning she’d let me in to see the place and so I really have to go, or if I can’t go now I need to call her and see if I can meet her after work.
MH: Uh. Yeah. I guess . . . I guess we’re through here. Maybe you could leave your contact information with Anne, so if I have any follow-up questions—
KM: Oh, sure. Thanks. It was nice to meet you. I hope I didn’t say anything—I mean, I didn’t mean to say anything bad about the Journal. Or your brother. I’m sure h
e’s, you know. A very nice person.
MH: (Indecipherable) Don’t worry about it. I’ll show you the way out.
Hi, you’ve reached the voice mail of Jen Sadler. At the tone, please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Bye!
(Tone)
Jen! It’s Kate! Oh my God, you are never going to believe—no, I’m sorry. I don’t have any spare change. Anyway, I went to that meeting this morning, you know, at Hertzog Webber and Doyle, and I—No, I really don’t have any spare change, I’m so sorry. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I met his brother—you know the T.O.D’s fiancée—his brother—and oh my God, he’s so cute . . . I can’t believe I’m saying something like this about a lawyer . . . let alone a relative of Stuart Hertzog’s—Look, here, this is all I’ve got. Take it. Go ahead. Take it. Oh, my God, I’m not sure this is the best neighborhood, and I don’t know where the realtor is, and—No, I’m sorry, I gave all my money to that guy over there. Sorry. I—Oh, here’s Paula, thank GOD. I’ll call you later. Tell the T.O.D. I’ll be back by noon. If I’m not knifed by a crackhead first.
(Click)
Journal of Kate Mackenzie
Oh my God, that apartment was so hideous, I would rather sleep on Jen’s couch for the rest of my life than set foot in a place like that ever, ever again. What is WRONG with this city? It’s like they penalize you if you’re single and can’t afford to pay two grand a month for decent housing. Like it’s not enough of a stigma, not being in a romantic relationship. No, they have to make it a thousand times worse by making every studio apartment in the city be next door to an OTB and look out over an air shaft.
And oh my God, what did I say to Mitchell Hertzog? It’s like I had diarrhea of the mouth, or something, I just kept talking and talking. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I mean, like I don’t have enough to worry about without jeopardizing my job, going around, saying the paper fires people unfairly.
It’s just that he was so . . . cute! Why did he have to be so cute??? And nice . . . He wears ties his nieces buy for him!