I can see your point, Fran, but I’m afraid you’re not seeing things in their true perspective. Love can do this, and I think the air of total illogic which you share with Steve is proof enough of the bond of devotion that unites you. But let me try to bring things more clearly into focus for you.
Like you, I started with the premise that the $1480 (if you insist) was in the nature of community property, belonging equally to both of us. While it’s true that I was the one who put most of the money in the account, you were the one who barely managed not to spend all of it, so I guess that makes us equal partners in the venture.
I figure we’re also equal partners in the debts that existed when you walked out, and they came to a great deal more than the balance in the account, especially when one includes the money I owe Lisa, which after all must be included since I owed it to her before you decided to dissolve the partnership and merge your shares with Stevie Boy. In that sense, if you follow this through all the way, you owe me more than $1480. You owe me a lot more like two grand, but I’ve decided to call it even at $1480 by pretending that our furniture is worth $520.
And no matter how deeply you and Steve are in love, you still can’t be misty-eyed enough to believe that the crap in our apartment is worth anywhere near that much. If the sagging bed and the leaking sofa and all that garbage are worth $520, then the Salvation Army store on Thompson Street has assets greater than General Motors. Let’s face facts, honey. I would have to pay someone to haul this dreck out of here. If I stuck it out on the sidewalk, everybody would walk right past it.
You owe me money, Fran(ces). We both know this, and at least one of us knows that sooner or later you are going to make it good.
I have faith in you.
10
From the desk of Clayton Finch, President
Mr. Laurence Clarke
74 Bleecker Street
New York 10012
Dear Mr. Clarke:
You may recall that I once described you as having stowed away on a corporation. It would now appear that you are attempting to hang onto the hull of Whitestone Publications, Inc., with the tenacity of a barnacle. It is my sad duty to pry you loose and cast you adrift, hoping that you will escape the waves of poverty and reach the shores of gainful employment.
For some reason you seem disinclined to return our unintentional overpayment in the amount of $75.63. While I find your attitude deplorable, I cannot deny that I find it equally unsurprising. On the chance that your affairs were in litigation of some sort, I did direct a brief letter in this regard to the attorney you mentioned in your letter to my secretary. He replied over the telephone and I must admit I was quite incapable of making out what he was getting at. Either you are up to one of your intricate little pranks or you are desperately in need of a better-qualified legal counselor. The man was either terribly confused or a raving maniac.
But the overpayment is minor. While our legal staff would no doubt caution me against saying as much, we would be heartily glad to forget the $75.63 if it were equally possible to forget you in the bargain.
I refer, of course, to your continued unauthorized use of our Xerox machine.
You might be astonished, Mr. Clarke, to know quite how many memoranda your conduct has inspired. The most annoying aspect of all about your behavior is that you seem inclined to make an extra copy of everything you Xerox, which you then leave in the vicinity of the machine. These bits of Kilroy Was Here nonsense have been passed around several offices, particularly in the sales and editorial departments, and have occasioned slight amusement in certain quarters and considerable embarrassment for certain other parties. They also constitute a thorn in the side of the personnel responsible for supervising the Xerox machine. It would seem that you are to them as Robin Hood was to the Sheriff of Nottingham. Any number of traps have been laid for you, Mr. Clarke, but you seem to walk right through them. The situation is further complicated by the fact that no one seems to remember what you look like, due to the reclusive nature of your stay here and the lack of interaction between you and other employees. While your features are ineradicably engraved upon my own memory, I have better things to do than stand around all day watching the Xerox machine.
As you can no doubt appreciate, I am not able to view all of this without a certain degree of humor. My sense of humor is your life preserver, Mr. Clarke. A more humorless man would no doubt have you arrested.
I, on the other hand, merely wish to issue an order. At no time are you to make use of the Whitestone Publication, Inc., Xerox machine. At no time are you to enter the premises of Whitestone Publications, Inc. At no time are you to utilize any Whitestone letterhead, or to in any way identify yourself as editor of Ronald Rabbit’s Magazine for Boys and Girls.
Nor are you at any time to direct any obscene and insulting communications to my secretary, or any communications, obscene or otherwise, to me.
CF/rg
11
Mr. Clayton Finch,
Pres. Whitestone Publications, Inc.
67 West 44th St.
New York 10036
Dear Mr. Finch:
First of all, let me say that I hope you have no objections to my making use of my remaining stock of Ronald Rabbit’s stationery. I took it along only because you suggested that I clean out my desk, and a stack of letterheads and envelopes was all I could find. I felt that the letterhead of a defunct magazine bearing the name of an editor no longer in your employ would be of small use to anyone at Whitestone. I know that such material is occasionally put to use as scrap paper. It seemed to me at the time, however, that Whitestone was in little danger of a scrap-paper shortage, what with the constant stream of executives seeking new employment and the sad parade of magazines and whole divisions folding up and vanishing into limbo.
In any case, I resolved at the time to use the Ronald Rabbit’s letterhead only for correspondence directly relating to the welfare of Whitestone. While I am no longer a member of the Whitestone crew, I still cannot help feeling a vested interest in the ship’s sailing a clearly charted course.
It is in this spirit that this present letter is offered, and I can only hope that it will prove valuable, to everyone from yourself as Captain of the Ship down to the lowliest member of the crew, and indeed to the whole entity that is Whitestone.
I have several suggestions, so let me take them one at a time:
(1) It seems to me that, while an incident well known to both of us (and to half the world) may have been responsible for the commercial failure of Ronald Rabbit’s, the magazine may have had a strike against it to begin with. I refer, of course, to the charge of male chauvinism which was ofttimes leveled at us. Could we not revive the magazine, in essentially the same format — though slightly updated, needless to say — but with a change of title? Reborn as Rachel Rabbit’s Magazine for Girls and Boys, it would seem that we would be au courant in a rather exciting way. I had first considered the title Rozanne Rabbit’s Magazine for Girls and Boys but rejected it for the time being on the grounds that it might provoke any number of “inside gags” in the publishing industry concerning an executive secretary with that first name who is possessed, if you will, of an insatiable appetite for carrots. This would not be a problem with Rachel, or, come to think of it, with Rosalie, Rhonda, Ruth or Rita.