The Boy Next Door - Weebly

if I was somebody who liked to sit in the park and drink coffee, I'd have taken out a hit on her.
Plus she was stingy. REALLY stingy. You ask her for a loan--just a piddling five hundred bucks-and
it was like World War II all over again, only you're London and she's the Luftwaffe. This
from a woman worth twelve million. Look, Trent, I don't have time for this stuff. Things aren't
going as well over here as I'd hoped. Vivica is proving to be far more avian than I ever expected.
She's going through money like it's conditioner, or something. It would be fine if it were *her*
money, but it's not. She forgot her bankcard. I ask you, how does somebody forget their
bankcard when they go on vacation? I wouldn't care if it were just a matter of buying her a
sandwich now and then, but she keeps insisting she needs new shoes, new shorts, new bathing
suits. She's got nineteen bikinis with matching coverups already. I ask you, how many bathing
suits does a woman need?
Particularly when the concierge and I are the only ones around to see them.
Gotta go. She's got a hankering to go to Gucci. GUCCI! Jesus!
Max
To:Max Friedlander
From: Sebastian Leandro
Subject: Your message
Max Got your message. Sorry I wasn't in. Where were you calling from? Hemingway's
house, or something? I hear there's a bunch of stray cats that live there, which would
certainly explain all that caterwauling I heard in the background when you called.
Look, bud, I don't have a lot, workwise. I told you not to go on hiatus, or whatever it is
you're calling this extended vacation of yours. A week here and there is one thing, but
this has turned into a full on sabbatical. Dropping out of sight the way you're doing has
hurt a lot more careers than it's ever helped. But hey, the news isn't all bad. If you can
hang in there a few more weeks, the resort-and-cruise wear issues of J Crew and VS are coming
up. They're looking at Corfu and Morocco, respectively. The pay's not much, I know, but it's
something. Don't panic. Swimsuit issues are right around the corner. Call me. We'll talk.
Sebastian
To: Sebastian Leandro
From: Max Friedlander
Subject: You've got to get me out of here
You don't understand. I *need* work. Any work. I have to get out of Key West.
Vivica's gone mental. THAT's what you heard when I called. It wasn't cats. It was her.
She was crying. And let me tell you, when Vivica cries, she does NOT look like a supermodel.
Or any kind of model, for that matter. Except like one of those models they use in horror
movies just before someone's head gets chopped off by a flying pylon, or whatever.