The Boy Next Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

you-know-what in Vegas. Remember? Spring break, our senior year? I’ve never seen anybody drink as many pitchers of margaritas as you did that night. I’m telling you, man, you’d be paying alimony right now if it weren’t for me. I SAVED you. And you swore to me the next day (by the pool, remember?) that if there was ever anything you could do for me, you’d do it.
    Well, today’s the day. I’m calling it in. The favor.
    Crap, they’re making me put away my electronic devices for takeoff. Write back, man.
    Max

To: Jason Trent
    From: John Trent
    Subject: Max Friedlander
    I knew it was coming. I knew it was coming, and just now it arrived: A dispatch from Max Friedlander, demanding payback for a favor he did me our senior year in college.
    My God, that was ten years ago. The man has a mind like a sieve. He can’t remember his own Social Security number, but this “favor” I owe him he remembers. What did I ever do to deserve this?
    You remember Max, don’t you, Jase? He was my roommatesenior year, the one I got my first apartment with when I moved to the city after college. That dive in Hell’s Kitchen, where the guy got stabbed in the back the first night we were there—remember? It was in the papers the next day…I think that’s what led to my deciding to become a crime reporter, as a matter of fact.
    Remember how Mim offered to get me out of the lease so I could move in with her and live, to quote Mim, “like a human being”? God, after two months of living with Max, I almost took her up on it. It’s like the guy still thought we were in college—half of Manhattan used to show up in our living room for Monday night football every week.
    No hard feelings when I moved out, though. He still calls me every few months to catch up.
    And now this.
    God only knows what Max wants me to do for him. Rescue a raftful of refugee Cuban ballerinas, I suppose. Or house the Australian rugby team. Or loan him the $50,000 he owes to the Russian mob.
    I am seriously considering leaving the country, Jase. Do you think Mim would let me have the Lear for the weekend?
    John

To: John Trent
    From: Jason Trent
    Subject: Max Friedlander
    I hesitate to ask, of course, but as your big brother I feel I have a right to know:
    What, precisely, did Max Friedlander do for you that left you owing him this enormous debt?
    Jason
    P.S. Stacy says when are you coming to visit? The kids have been asking about you. Brittany’s riding post, and Haley won best jumper at last week’s exhibit.
    P.P.S. No go on the Lear. Julia’s using it.

To: Jason Trent
    From: John Trent
    Subject: Max Friedlander
    Her name was Heidi. She was a showgirl. She had feathers in her hair, and a dress cut down there.
    Okay, not really. But her name was Heidi, and she was a showgirl. And apparently I was determined to make her the first Mrs. John Trent.
    You wouldn’t understand, of course, having never done anything even slightly disreputable in all of your thirty-five years, but try, Jason, to put yourself in my shoes:
    It was spring break. I was twenty-two. I was in love.
    I’d had way too many margaritas.
    Max dragged me out of the wedding chapel, sent Heidi home, took away my keys so I couldn’t follow her, sobered me up, and put me to bed.
    I still think of her sometimes. She had red hair, and was slightly bucktoothed. She was adorable.
    But not worth THIS.
    John
    P.S.: Congratulate Haley and Brittany for me. Are you going out to the Vineyard this weekend? I could meet you all there.
    Depending on whatever this favor of Max’s turns out to be.

To: John Trent
    From: Jason Trent
    Subject: Max Friedlander
    Ah. It is all become clear now. I know how you are when it comes to redheads.
    So just what IS the favor he