The Boy Next Door (16 page)

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: Well?

Which was it, boxers or briefs? Don’t leave me in suspense here, Fuller.

Nad ;-)

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: Duh

Boxers.

Really cute ones, too, with little golf balls on them.

Mel ;-)

To: George Sanchez

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: My health

Dear George,

I am still sick. I won’t be coming in today, and probably not tomorrow, either.

Don’t get mad, George. I know this is a busy time, what with all the parties out in the Hamptons, but what am I supposed to do? I took advantage of my fabulous healthcare package yesterday and
went to a doctor. You know what he prescribed? Bed rest and fluids. Bed rest and fluids, George! I won’t be able to get that in the Hamptons. I mean, Dolly could, of course, but not me.

Besides, I’m sure the doctor didn’t mean those kind of fluids.

Tell Ronnie that I don’t believe that thing about George and Winona in Cannes, and that she had better check with their publicists before she runs it. He is way too old for her.

Mel

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Tony Salerno

Subject: Mel

What are you, on-line again? I’ve been trying to get through to you for an hour. And I KNOW you aren’t talking to Mel, because I was just there.

And I wasn’t the only one who was there, either. One guess as to who opened the door when I knocked:

Yep, you’re right, Mr. Perfect himself.

Actually, I shouldn’t call him that. I kind of like the guy. He’s, like, normal, you know? Not like that freak Spender. Remember when you and me and Mel and Spender went out that one time, and he went off on cops? Man, that burned me. I shut him up pretty quick, didn’t I, when I told him four of my cousins were with the NYPD? At least this new guy doesn’t talk crap like Spender used to.

Anyway, so I delivered the stuff, like you wanted, and John answered the door, and at first I was pretty embarrassed, let me tell you. I thought I’d interrupted some kind of sex thing. But the guy had his clothes on, and he was, like, “Come on in.”

And there was Mel, in these weird white pajamas with black splotches on them, like a cow, and she was in bed, but she didn’t look very sick, if you ask me. They were watching a movie. Apparently, since she’s been sick, they’ve been doing this quite a lot. He brings over some food—nothing, I must say, up to my standards, but edible, anyway—and they watch movies.

I don’t know. Does that make it serious? There was no hanky-panky, as far as I could tell. I mean, there was tons of Kleenex on the floor, but I’m pretty sure that was from Mel’s runny nose, and not, you know, anything else.

Hey, don’t get mad at
me
. I’m just the messenger here.

So I was like, “Here’s the stuff from work, plus I made you a peach cobbler.” And of course Mel totally freaked, because like any decent gourmand she recognizes that my peach cobbler is a gift from the gods, and she insisted we all have some, and so John took it and dished it out, and I sort of got the impression he knew his way around Mel’s kitchen, which is saying something, because you know she keeps her Tupperware in the oven and there’s that thing she has with the beer in the vegetable crispers.

Anyway, he put these big globs of vanilla ice cream on it, which as you know, sullies the purity of the cobbler’s texture. But whatever. We all sat on the bed and ate it, and I have to admit, even if I do say so myself, it was the best peach cobbler ever created, in spite of the ice cream.

So I tried watching the movie for a while because Mel said stay, but I could tell even though
she
said stay,
he
was like, When is he going to leave? in a major way, so I said I had to get back to work, and Mel said thanks and that she was feeling better and would be back to work on Monday, and I was all, Okay, and John walked me to the door and was like, Nice seeing you again, good-bye, and practically shut it in my face.

I guess I can’t blame him. I was the same way when you and I first started going out. Except I never would have let you buy pajamas like that. Doesn’t Mel own any lingerie?

Well, in spite of the pajamas, I’m telling you, the guy’s got it bad. Way worse than Spender ever did.

And I suppose that, as usual, Mel has no idea, has she? Don’t you think somebody ought to tell her?

Tony

To: Tony Salerno

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: Mel

Now
who isn’t picking up his phone?

I assume you’re out front, dazzling the customers with your salmon tartar on endive.

Anyway, thanks for taking that stuff to Mel. So he was there again, huh? He was over last night, too. I think you’re right: He
has
got it bad.

But then, so has she.

And no, I do not think either of them needs our help. No one helped us, did they? And we turned out all right.

You didn’t tell Mel I skipped spin class, did you?

Nad

To: Don and Beverly Fuller

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: Snickerdoodles

Dear Mommy,

Thank you so much for the cookies! They are delicious—at least, if I could taste anything, I’m sure they would be.

I want you to know I am feeling much better—not better enough to go to work, of course, but better. I still sound bad enough that when I call my boss to say I won’t be in, he isn’t suspicious, which is good.

Also, about that whole kissing thing: I’m sorry I accused you and Daddy of not passing good kissing genes down to me. It turns out I’m a fine kisser: John is just shy.

Of course, it’s hard kissing when you have a completely stuffed-up nose, but I suppose practice makes perfect.

Anyway, thanks again for the cookies, and I’ll call you later.

Love,

Mel

To: Mel Fuller

From: Don and Beverly Fuller

Subject: Snickerdoodles

Melissa, you’ll have to forgive me. I really don’t mean to pry. But I got the distinct impression—and don’t feel like you have to tell me if you don’t want to—but I got the impression that you and this John Max Friedlander are
having sex
.

Now, you are a big girl and of course you have to make your own decisions, but I think you should be aware of a few things:

He won’t buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.

It’s true. It’s really true. Get a ring on your finger before you uncross those legs, sweetie.

Now, I know, I know. All the girls are doing it these days.

Well, if you have to follow the “in crowd,” then at least practice the safe sex, all right, honey? Promise Mommy now.

Oops, I have to go. Daddy and I are meeting his bowling team at the Sizzler for dinner tonight.

Love,

Mommy

To: Don and Beverly Fuller

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: Snickerdoodles

Oh, my God, Mother, I am NOT having sex with him, all right? I am just talking about kissing! How do you go from kissing to sex?

Well, all right, I guess it’s a natural progression, but still. That thing about the cow is so stupid. Do I look like a cow to you?

Besides, whatever happened to trying the pants on before you buy them, huh? That’s the advice Daddy gave Robbie before he went away to college.

What do I get? The stupid cow thing!

Well, for your information, Mother, I might want to try on some pants. Has that ever occurred to you? I mean, there are a lot of pants out there, and how am I going to find the right ones if I don’t try on all the potential candidates? You know, after a thorough screening process?

And OF COURSE if I do decide to try on these particular pants, I will use the utmost safety precautions. I mean, for God’s sake, this is the twenty-first century, after all.

Would you PLEASE not tell any of this to Daddy? I am begging you.

Mel

To: Mel Fuller

From: Don and Beverly Fuller

Subject: Snickerdoodles

You don’t have to shout, sweetie. I can read you just fine in lower-case letters.

Of course I trust you and know that you will make the right decision.

And I’m sure you’re right about the pants. I know you’ll do what’s best. You always have.

I just think a good rule of thumb would be not to try on any pants that haven’t mentioned the “L” word. I know lots of pants—French and Italian pants, in particular—toss around the “L” word at the drop of a hat, but I think American pants are a little more reticent about it. When they say it, I think they usually mean it.

So will you do me a favor and just get the “L” word first? Because I know you, Melissa. I know how easily your little heart gets broken. I was there for Jer, wasn’t I?

So you just wait until you’ve heard the “L” word, all right?

I saw on the news that the transvestite killer has attacked another woman, this time on the Upper East Side! I hope you’re locking your door at night, sweetie. He seems especially fond of
size 6s, so you really need to look over your shoulder when you go out at night, honey.

But don’t forget to look out for those sinkholes!

Love,

Mommy

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: Help me

I made the mistake of telling my mother John and I made out, and now she’s all over me about cows and something she calls the “L” word.

But she got me thinking: What is the rule? You know, the sleeping-together rule? Like after how many dates are you allowed to sleep with someone? Without seeming like a slut, I mean? And does it count as a date if you’re sick and he brings you ice cream?

Vanilla ice cream, to be exact.

Mel

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: Help me

What does the term
slut
mean to you? It is a very subjective word, if you ask me. For instance, I slept with Tony on our first date. Does that make me a slut?

Let’s examine this:

You like the guy. You want to jump his bones.

But you are concerned that if you do so too early in the relationship he will qualify you as a slut.

Do you really want to be with someone who thinks in such pejorative terms? No, of course not.

So I think the answer to your question “after how many dates are you allowed to sleep with someone” is:

There is no right answer.

It’s different for everyone.

Wish I could be more help.

Nad

To: Mel Fuller

From: Tony Salerno

Subject: Sex

Dear Mel,

Hi. I hope you don’t mind, but Nadine mentioned the little problem you’ve been having—you know, the one about how soon into a relationship do you do the deed. And I think I have an answer for you:

If it feels good, do it.

Seriously. That’s how I’ve always lived my life, and look how it’s turned out? I’m the chef in my own restaurant, and I’m getting married to a totally hot lady who wears a thong under her Ann Taylor.

Can’t go wrong with that.

Tony

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: Please excuse

my boyfriend. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned to you that he has a learning disorder.

Nad

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: I don’t mind

you’re telling Tony about my sex life—or lack thereof—but you aren’t telling people in the office, right?

RIGHT?

Mel

To: Peter Hargrave

From: Dolly Vargas

Subject: Mel Fuller

But
of course
she should just do it, darling. What has she got to lose? It isn’t as if she’s getting any younger: Quite soon gravity is
going to begin pulling down those parts of her that she most wants pointing toward the sun. And you know what they say about making hay while the sun shines.

Speaking of which, Aaron’s canceled on me for the weekend. What do you say? Stephen’s house is a dream, and everyone would be very discreet. They’re
movie
people, darling. It isn’t as if any of them would have the slightest idea who you are.

Let me know.

XXXOOO

Dolly

To: Tim Grabowski

From: Jimmy Chu

Subject: Mel Fuller

Yeah, but if she sleeps with him and it doesn’t work out, she’s going to have to see him every day, since he lives right next door. How awkward is that going to be? Especially if she—or he—starts seeing someone else.

It’s a no-win situation. Unless they get married, or something, and what’s the chance of that happening?

Jim