"The TV host's former assistant, Stephanie Birkitt, is believed to have conducted a relationship with Letterman as well -- allegedly, her letters and diaries were the source of suspect Robert Halderman's alleged blackmail attempts." - Access Hollywood
The following is a dramatic recreation of what might have been contained inside those personal correspondences.
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From: Dave
To: Vicki
Date: Fri, 4 Jul 2008 03:09:44 +0000
Dearest Vicki,
You are peachy and I hope you really understand that. You are swell and spiffy and vitamin-fortified in a whole host of ways that are worth a much longer bit than this. To be continued ... Have been having a few email problems as I'm on the ranch where the internet doesn't reach, plus you know how much I hate computers, so I'm just dictating this to Caryn, my new fifth assistant, who we've just promoted from intern. She reminds me a bit of you, especially when she puts on the varsity jacket. Listen to me. Jesus to Betsy, I'm a boob. Like you want to hear about the new girl in the office. Caryn, strike that last sentence from this e-mail.
Another super day outside. Hope you are equally super. Know that I miss you. How's that goatee-faced goofball of a boyfriend doing? Still hanging out in chatrooms with pedophiles? OK OK I know he works for 48 Hours not Dateline NBC. Same difference. In any case, you can do better. I was looking at your Christmas card again last night, and all I could think was John Travolta in that gay motorcycle movie -- Hungry Hogs or some such. Oh, and before I forget, send your mailing address as I want to send you an insignificant something next week when I am back in civilization that I think you might find interesting given our recent conversation about your love of the Cabin Boy soundtrack.
There is no off position to the love switch, D
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From: Dave
To: Smitty
Subject: RE:
Date: Tue, 8 Jul 2008 01:42:46 -0400
Got back to Connecticut after a much-needed break from reality down at the ranch. Found a voicemail waiting for me from Paul, which struck me as extremely odd since as you well know we haven't spoken to one another off camera since '94. I'll have Caryn call him a little later, but god help him if this is about another raise or that charity fundraiser thing with Stevie Nicks he's been yammering on about this week.
I think I'm going to tell Lorenzo the limo guy to take a day off tomorrow. To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to the WNBC news team playing on those little TV screens in the back of a cab, air conditioner running, the pungent smell of acrid, spicy B.O. permeating the back seat, the tranquility that comes with scooting up 6th Ave. as a homeless man urinates on the passenger side window at a stoplight, the day breaking and those plexiglass bagel stands on wheels coming alive. Enough about my love of Manhattan in the morning.
While I was slaving through another Will It Float rehearsal, you were no doubt sweating away at your spinning classes at the Equinox in Darien. You are aware that the lonely housewives in those bicycle stirrups are mentally infirm and have crippling eating disorders, are you not? (I'm just yanking your chain, Smitty.)
I think I'm finally ready to get some shut eye. It's 4 a.m. and Caryn's been nodding off over here by my office nightstand. I'll more fully flesh out my thoughts and feelings about you tomorrow or Wednesday. Remember the time I made Tony write out that Valentine's Day love letter to you on cue cards and I read the whole thing to you in front of a packed audience and mailed you the videotape? That was pretty ballsy, in retrospective.
P.S. I don't want to get your hopes too high, but when I say something insignificant is on its way I'm a man of my word! It wont (sic) be worthy of wearing around your wrist on a tennis court ... though keep your eyes peeled under the staff Christmas tree for a small package with your name on it .... but I was just going to find the movie Cabin Boy as we had spoken of it last Thursday. Its music was pleasant and made me think of you -- its mood and the notion of a wealthy heir mistakenly going out to sea on a yacht called the Filthy Whore certainly fit ... (not that I'm suggesting you're a Filthy Whore or yacht-sized, but more that we are setting out on exciting hijinx together, destination unknown)
That's all folks. Good night for now...
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From: Mr. Carney
To: Gunter
Subject: RE:
Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2008 00:24:54 -0400
My worldwide hotpants:
So I was going through the McDonald's drive-thru today [pause for laughter]...Sorry, I had a couple of pre-love letter cocktails. This is a first-draft, isn't it? [Pause for more laughter.] And ten thoughts were nagging away at me, but I'll focus on the top three nagging thoughts. One the taping schedule is about to get real busy (and this distresses me for the way it may well make it more difficult to pull Caryn away from her show-logging duties to take dictation), two unfortunately all the feelings you describe are mutual, and three where do we go from here, what with me sort of being tied down these days and you living with gay biker John Travolta.
We taped a segment with Richard Simmons today, and something about Caryn disinfecting the chair with Pledge upholstery cleaner reminded me of the first time I made you do that. Then I ran into the Grinder Girl backstage after an Is This Anything segment and she asked about you and I told her you'd finished somewhere not in the lower half of your law class and that I was trying to convince you to come back as the show's lawyer. It turns out the Grinder Girl actually has a degree in copyright law, in addition to her talent for making sparks off her metal corset! So you better hurry up and decide, Gunter!
Two, mutual feelings. I have been specializing for some time now in giving folks at home an hour of quality entertainment five times a week -- and you have my quintuple-bypassed heart. Do you really comprehend how beautiful your smile is when you perform your college boyfriend's fratboy dance? Have you been told lately how warm your eyes are and how they softly glow with the special nature of your soul. Since our first meeting in that somewhat open air lunch spot selling a variety of tubed meats on the corner of 54th and Broadway, I sensed your profound inner and outer beauties to the core of my Midwestern being. As the battle scars of life and aging and the late show wars have carried on this has become a real need of mine. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle deskside backrubs, or that I love the impressions your ill-fitting bras leave in your back, or that I love the way you look in a musty old NBC page jacket and nothing else, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent cuts of ham) in the faded glow of the marquee light -- but hey, that would be going into the sexual details we spoke of at the Hello Deli at dinner -- and unlike you I would never do that!
Lastly I also suspect I feel a little vulnerable because this is all very new and alien to me. I don't think we have a permit for the things I'm feeling.
PS. I will make it a point to drop by the Virgin Megastore and get you that movie I promised ... I am encouraged to know you will not keep it beside the bed lest we have tangible evidence of being the only two boob-headed heels on the planet goofy enough in love to own DVD copies of Cabin Boy.
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