The Boys Are Back In Town

(Part 1) (This week's "As the Pegasus Flies.") We call that picture "The Boys Are Back In Town." That's me there, over on the right. From the left you have William, Horace, Joey the Pinhead, and me, Tommy Four Eyes. We all worked in publishing, and were creative people. But when it came to nicknames, we pretty much stuck to the facts: I wore glasses and Joey had a small head. William was clumsy and Horace was klutzy, so sometimes we called them that. But it didn't really ever stick, because we could never remember who was klutzy and who was clumsy. I believe this here photo was taken in the Reader's Digest Guest House round about 1954. It was from a meet n' greet, so RD readers could meet the people behind the magazine. The Wallaces had a lot of money to burn back then, so we were always having parties and outings after they were done handing out unexpected bonuses. Forgive me if my memory is a little sketchy; I'm 83 years old now, and I ain't gettin' any younger, so I may as well tell the story now, fast, before I forget any more details. The four of us had gone away for a week out in the Hamptons--Joey's uncle had a house he let us borrow--and it was just a boys trip. We left the women home. We were going to blow off some steam, party hardy, then get back in time for the company dinner party. Help ease us back into a work frame of mind. But we almost didn't make it back...

(Part 2) If we look relieved in this photo, it's because we were. Glad to be alive. Look at Joey the Pinhead being silly. The Grim Reaper chased us all separately that week, and we all outran the sucker. In fact, Ol' G.R. hasn't caught any of us yet. But just sitting here, living off my generous RD pension (that wasn't affected by the recent Chapter 11 filing), and I'm still running. Joey the Pinhead was the first one to look death in the eye that week. He was out on a surfboard, hoping for some good waves, but there weren't any. So he was just paddling around on his stomach, catching some rays and working on his tan. We weren't afraid of the sun back then, like folks are today. We splashed baby oil on ourselves by the gallon, and came back from vacation looking good. Anyway, he's out there enjoying himself, when all of a sudden he notices the dorsal fin of a shark, lazily circling the surfboard. Joey, he starts paddling frantically, kicking his legs, calling attention to himself, trying to get back to shore as quickly as possible. But Sharky had other ideas. He could smell Joey's fear, sense his panic. Joey may have even lost control of his bladder at this point (though to this day he won't admit to it). Sharky was drawn to Joey by instinct; he had no choice, he was relentless. Despite Joey's wild thrashings, he was actually making progress toward shore. I was on the beach with one of them tinfoil fold-outs we used to draw even more sun onto our face. I heard Joey screeching like a little schoolgirl. The look of sheer, unadulterated terror on his face! It's funny now, but then it was the scariest thing I had ever seen. Heroically, I stopped tanning and ran out into the surf, hoping to grab him by the arm. Joey's moving at top speed now, the shark is closing in, and I'm running as fast as I can in the lapping water and sucking sand. I grabbed Joey by the hand--right at the same time Sharky bit down on Joey's left leg. Thankfully he got more of the surfboard than the leg, but he still got a nice chunk. The rest of the boys and I loaded Joey into the back of Horace's convertible Chevy and got him to the ER ASAP. The leg was saved, though he's had a dent in his flesh ever since. We started calling him "Joey the Pinhead Shark Bait" after that, and we still do to this day. Next on the Grim Reaper's list was William. Poor old, recently married William. Let me tell you how it happened...

(Part 3) William, if you recall, got together with Hilda at the Playland company outing. They eloped not long after, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to leave his new bride for a week away with the boys. In the end, we used the time-honored method of humiliation and peer pressure to persuade him to come. There were a few new bicycles at the Hamptons house, and every morning William would pedal into town, call Hilda long-distance at her office at Reader's Digest, and make kissy sounds over the phone to her. It was nauseating to witness, a grown man kissing a phone. I know, because one day I went with him so I could buy some Brylcreem for my hair. The beach wind was wreaking havoc with my 'do. Men of my era never left the house without a perfectly sculpted head of hair and a wool suit. Nowadays, men shave their heads. Imagine that! In the 60s and 70s they wore their hair long, like women. I'm an old man, and I digress. Anyway, Brylcreem's slogan was "A little dab will do ya," but on this day it could have been "A little dab will do ya in." As soon as I got the tube of cream outside, I squeezed some into my palm and began to apply it rigorously to my hair. I looked in the side mirror of a milk truck as I whipped my hair into shape. William finally emerged from the store looking lonely, but he perked up when he saw what I was doing. "Hey, let me get some of that," he said. I gave him a dollop. He rubbed his hands together furiously, then ran the cream through his hair. We both looked good, and admired ourselves in the truck's mirror, until the driver came out of the store and said, "Why don't you pretty boys run along now?" So we did. Problem was, our hands were still greasy and we didn't want to rub them on our nice wool slacks. The other problem was these here bikes had fancy new hand brakes instead of the good old-fashioned foot brakes. I say if something ain't broke, you don't go fixing it. Anyway, William and I got to horsing around, riding circles round each other, being silly. Then a horn blared and we saw the milk truck bearing down on us. William was heading straight for it, and when he pulled on the brake lever, his hand slid right off. "A little dab will do ya." He hit the truck head on, flipped over the handlebars, and landed on his back, his eyes staring vacantly at the clear blue Hamptons sky. Milk flowed freely from several broken bottles. But there was no time to cry over spilt milk; the driver and I loaded William and the bikes into the rear of the truck, and got him to the ER ASAP. Luckily, he just had a concussion and had to take it easy the rest of the week. For the next few days I had to go into town and call Hilda, give her an update on William's condition. But I refused William's request to make kissy sounds. Man's got to have principles.



(Part 4) [The stunning conclusion of this week's "As the Pegasus Flies."] The Grim Reaper was frustrated after the William debacle. He set his eyes next on Horace and me, figuring he'd try to kill two birds with one stone. The two of us were cruising in Horace's Chevy convertible, the wind trying to blow though our Brylcreemed hair, the radio playing Sinatra. We were young, on vacation, and carefree. Except for the fact that we were on our way to visit Joey Shark Bait in the hospital, and our other pal William was laid up back at the house with a concussion. For some reason, it didn't even occur to us that bad luck might befall us next. We were young and invincible! Idiots. I'm well into my eighth decade now, and when I think of my younger self, I just shake my head. Reminds me of the old saying, Youth is wasted on the young. Damn kids, get off my lawn! Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, Horace and me in the convertible. It was the summer, and rainstorms come upon you suddenly, especially when you're out by the shore. Thunder was rumbling and lightning was cracking, and we pulled over just as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. We were struggling to get the top up quickly. "Hurry, my hair is getting wet!" I yelled. "Pull the top this way," Horace said, "it's almost there! And don't worry--your hair looks great!" We were just latching the top to the windshield when the big one struck. I felt it go through me, then it traveled over to Horace and got him too. Knocked us both out.

We awoke to flashing lights and the local Sheriff trying to rouse us. Let me tell you, I had a splitting headache, and my shirt was in shreds. I sat up, confused and rubbing my head. Then Horace woke up too, got to his feet, and took off running. "What's with him?" the Sheriff asked. "He's a little jumpy because the police once thought he was a bank robber," I said. "Phil, go catch that fool," the Sheriff said to his deputy. Once Horace was retrieved, they loaded us into the police cruiser and took us to the ER ASAP. Now three of us were at the hospital, and the other was bedridden at the Hamptons house. The docs checked Horace and me out, found us good to go (providing us with a bottle of aspirin), so we signed out Joey Shark Bait and made our way back to the house. We loaded up the Chevy quickly, like we were on the lam, and got back to Pleasantville in time for that night's RD meet n' greet. That was the last time any of us ever ventured out to the Hamptons. I know the Grim Reaper is just waiting out there for us, wanting to finish the job. Course, he'll get tired of waiting sooner or later, and come looking for us again. But that's a story for another day...

Mink Stole Suzy

(Part 1) This week's "As the Pegasus Flies." Mink Stole Suzy was the name everyone knew her by. She'd been modeling for several years, with her eyes set on Hollywood--and breaking into films as an actress. The brunette Marilyn Monroe. But sometimes the dream seemed WAY out of reach. This was one of those days. Maybe she actually had to, you know, GO to Hollywood, she thought. That would be a good start. Instead she was at the 1953 Magazine Trade Show at the NY Coliseum, modeling for Reader's Digest, showing off the new hi-tech vending machine that allows readers to buy the current issue anywhere, anytime. RD was a little conservative for her taste, but a paying gig was a paying gig. One day she'd save enough money for air fare to California so she could be where the real action was. She was taking a cigarette break at the side of the booth when a dashing young man approached her. "Hello," he said, "my name is Hugh." "Hey, Hugh," Suzy said, "my friends call me Mink Stole Suzy." "Well, Mink Stole Suzy, I like your look," he said, handing her a business card. She read the card, saw his name with the title Publisher underneath. There was a line art squiggle of a rabbit's head on top. "I'm launching a new magazine. Maybe you'd be interested in modeling for it." "Well, I don't know. Maybe," Suzy said. "We're based in California," Hugh added. "When did you say the magazine was coming out?" she asked.


(Part 2) Next thing Suzy knew, she was on a jumbo jet, heading toward the land of dreams--California. She had never been out of New York state, and felt a little green. Or maybe it was just air sickness. Hugh picked her up at LA airport, driving a white convertible Chevy Corvette. They went to his small two bedroom apartment in West Hollywood, where he and his wife and their young baby lived. "One day I'm going to have a big mansion, with a pool!" he said. "Cool!" she said. He handed her an iced tea and said, "You know, it's too hot out here for a mink stole. We're going to have to think of a new name for you." "How about Suzy Sunshine?" she said. "I like it!" he said, "Though I was thinking more along the lines of Miss December." The doorbell rang. "That's probably my photographer, Rudy. He's bringing over some test slides." The photographer came inside and plugged in a small light table, and began to line up slides. Hugh stuck an unlit pipe in his mouth and looked at the pictures, nodding his head, saying "Mmm, good, yes, nice, not bad." He turned to Suzy and said, "Come take a look at these." Suzy joined them at the light table. She couldn't believe what she was looking at! The moment stretched out as if in slow motion. Hugh and Rudy half-turned toward her, their smiles holding steady at the corner of their mouths. Suddenly, Suzy missed RD, wished she was back at that boring trade show booth. An image of the Pegasus came to her then, strong and powerful, trying to flap her clamped wings. Mr. Wallace had brought her to see Peggy once, so Suzy would understand what she would be out in the world representing. Suzy had reached out tentatively, petted the Pegasus, thought she felt something pass between them, but decided later on it was just her imagination. She knew now what she had to do...

(Part 3) "I came to Hollywood to be a star! Not to pose like that!" Suzy said. "Honey, you'll be a bigger star than any actress." Hugh said. "But, it's just a STAG magazine!" "No, it's legit. Marilyn Monroe herself is going to be in the first issue." "Really, Marilyn?" "Sure. Rudy, show her that calendar shot." Rudy produced the print from his portfolio. Hugh said, "Classy, right?" Suzy said, "NO, I can't do it!" She ran out of the apartment, but didn't know where to go. So she sat down on the steps to collect herself. Just then a black limo pulled to a stop. The back door opened and Joe DiMaggio and Frank Sinatra stepped out. The passed her on the steps, said "Excuse me, miss," and stopped on the porch to read the names on the doorbells. Hugh opened the door and they pushed their way in, closing the door behind them. Suzy heard some muted, shouted threats, then a few minutes later the door opened and they came back out. They stood straightening their suit jackets and nodding to each other. On their way back past Suzy, Sinatra said, "Can we give you a ride? You shouldn't hang around with this punk." "Well," Suzy said, "I need to go back to New York." "Great, that's where we're heading. Come with us," Sinatra said. Suzy climbed into the back of the limo with them. DiMaggio sat staring out the window, quietly seething, as the limo driver pulled the car into traffic. Sinatra said, "Stay away from this Hugh guy." DiMaggio turned to Suzy and said, "His type is only out to use people like you." Then he went back to staring out the window. Sinatra said to the driver, "Take us to the airport!"

(Part 4) [The conclusion of this (shutdown) week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Sinatra's limo arrived at L.A. airport and stopped in front of his private jet. They got out and made their way to the plane. Sinatra said to DiMaggio, "Marilyn should already be on board." As if on cue, Marilyn appeared in the open door of the plane, smiling and waving down at them. "Joe!" she called. DiMaggio bounded up the stairs and took her in his arms. Suzy stopped walking and just stood there, amazed. "Come on, kid, let's go," Sinatra said, taking her by the hand. Once inside, Sinatra introduced Suzy to Marilyn, then poured everyone a hard one. "To Joe and Marilyn, soon to be married!" he said. They all downed their shot of liquor. Then Sinatra poured himself another one. Marilyn sat down next to Suzy. "Joe told me what happened. We girls have to look out for each other," she said. "Though it's good to have these guys on your side once in a while, too," she said, winking at DiMaggio. DiMaggio smiled. He was more at ease now, relaxed, happy to be back with Marilyn. Suzy was still mute. Marilyn continued, "I did that calendar years ago, when I was broke and needed the money. Hugh just got his hands on it now, it's not like I went in and posed for him. My studio is trying to figure out what to do if he prints it." Sinatra said, "We scared him good. He ain't gonna print it." Marilyn said to Suzy, "Just don't do something you can't take back. It's all about who you know in this business, and you know us now. I'll call my agent, he'll get you some good modeling jobs." "Thanks so much, Miss Monroe," Suzy managed to say. "Please, call me Marilyn." Hours later, as they were approaching Westchester County Airport, Suzy looked out the window, saw the RD campus below. She wondered where the Pegasus was now, where she was secreted away. Wherever she was, Suzy felt her presence, felt the luck of her touch that had stretched across three thousand miles to help her out, and to bring her back home safely. The limo dropped her off at home and she said goodbye to her new friends, whom she never saw again. But she did get in touch with that agent.

Edna

(Part 1) This week's edition of "As the Pegasus Flies." Another year and another batch of kids. They're always the same, Edna Wilkins thought. The troublemaker, the princess, the teacher's pet, the brown noser, the know-it-all, etc. Only the parents change from year to year. Hell, even they're the same. Sometimes she'd think how these very students will be running the world in thirty years. What a depressing thought. Maybe a few good ones would emerge, she told herself, like little Johnny who was a science whiz. Imagine how different the world will be then! So futuristic! Vacations on the moon, flying cars, gigantic computers that the government would use for the good of mankind. She was tired today after staying up late with her boyfriend Lorenzo last night. Strange how he only wanted to get together after midnight; he said he worked the late shift at Reader's Digest, but do they even HAVE a late shift? They're a publisher, not a factory. She was getting suspicious. Maybe he was married. He brought her a box full of RD magazines, and she was thankful for that because now the kids could quietly read while she dozed. These children might not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but they were so eager to learn! They were never happier than when they had something to read. At least that would never change. Kids loved to read! What could replace that? Maybe there was hope for them after all. She made it through the day, but while she was waiting for Lorenzo to show up that night, she fell asleep on her sofa. When she awoke, it was 2010...

(Part 2) Edna woke to the radio playing. The newscaster was talking about weird things—like cell phones possibly causing brain tumors, www something or other, and the space shuttle landing. She didn't understand a word of it. Lorenzo never showed last night, and she must have fallen asleep waiting. She got out of bed and frankly didn't know where she was. She ventured outside and it was like she was in another world. All of these tiny little cars with strange Japanese names. But then there were also these huge trucks with American names. Where was she? This was all Lorenzo's fault! She walked down the street, heading toward town. A man in a suit passed her, talking aloud to himself like it was the most normal thing in the world. A woman with white wires in her ears walked by in the other direction. A teenage boy shuffled past with his pants pulled low, exposing his boxer shorts. (That can't be very comfortable.) She hailed a taxi cab, climbed into the back seat, and gave the address of her school. When they got there, it was no longer a school but an apartment building. "Take me to Reader's Digest!" Edna said. The meter already read $6, so she asked, "Do you take checks?" "No check, CASH!!" the driver bellowed. She only had a twenty and hoped it was enough. Fifteen minutes later the cab pulled to a stop in front of the Rotunda. The fare was $19 and she gave the driver the twenty, who almost didn't take the weird 1950 series bill. She had been to the RD building before, but it looked so different now. It was covered in vines! And there was an annex built onto it. It was so big now, RD must be thriving! 2,000 people must work here! She went in and asked the woman behind the desk about Lorenzo. "Who?" the woman said, eyeballing Edna's strange, out-of-date clothes. "No one by that name works here." Edna saw a Reader's Digest America 2010 calendar on the woman's desk and got dizzy, falling faint to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

(Part 3) A cold glass of water to the face revived Edna. She looked around and realized it hadn't been a dream, she really WAS in 2010! What the? Was she a modern, female version of Rip Van Winkle? Rip Van WILKINS, she thought. "Miss, miss, are you okay?" a male voice asked. He was an older man with a full head of white hair. Strangely, he looked sort of familiar. Edna tried to sit up, got as far as resting on her elbows. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just confused I guess." "Here, let me help you over to this chair. My name is Johnny." He helped her up. When she was settled in the chair, he said, "You have an uncanny resemblance to my fifth grade teacher, Miss Wilkins. It's incredible!" Edna felt faint again. "Here drink some water!" Johnny said. After taking a drink, she said, "You're not Johnny the science whiz, are you?" He blushed a little. "I haven't been called that in years. Hey wait--how do you know about that?" "Because," she said, "I AM your fifth grade teacher--Miss Wilkins!" Three minutes later, a cold glass of water to the face revived Johnny. "Who the?" he said, shaking off the water like a dog getting out of a lake. "What do you mean? How can that be?" "You're the science whiz, you tell me. Maybe it was that bottle of Dutch wine I drank with the ghosts of Henry Hudson's crew last night," she said. "Are you serious?," Johnny asked. "No, it's from Rip Van Winkle. Didn't I teach you anything?" She helped him up. "You may be on to something," he said. "I have an idea! Let's go to Sleepy Hollow and the grave of Washington Irving!"

(Part 4) With Johnny driving, he and Edna made the fifteen minute ride to the Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow where Washington Irving was buried. Johnny made a quick stop in Tarrytown to buy a bottle of rum. "I don't know what Dutch wine is, but this should do the trick," he said. Edna was entranced by the GPS during the whole ride. "It tells you where to go? No more asking for directions, or using paper maps? And I was so good at refolding maps!" "That's a lost art now," Johnny said. "The future is SO cool!" Edna said. "Well, it's not the future--it's the present," he said. "True. So, how are my Brooklyn Dodgers doing?" "Uh, they moved to LA over 50 years ago," Johnny said. "WHAT!? Next thing you'll tell me is they knocked down Yankee Stadium." "Well, actually..." "The future is so UNcool!" Edna said. They parked at the cemetery and found their way to Irving's tombstone. It was dusk now and getting dark quick. Johnny uncapped the bottle of rum and poured some on the ground as an offering to the famous author. "Writers are so cool!" Johnny said. "Nothing sexier than watching an author pounding the keys of a typewriter!" Edna said. "Boy, you have a lot of catching up to do," Johnny said. "No more typewriters?" "Nope." "Please tell me there are still books." "There are." "Whew. Okay, so what's your plan?" Johnny lifted the bottle of rum. "We pour this into this bottle of Coke, then we partake of it." "That's your big plan?" she asked. "I figure it like this. Old Rip got drunk with the ghosts of Dutch sailors and woke up 20 years later, right?" "Right..." "Well, there aren't any ghosts of Dutch sailors around, but every other name in this cemetery is Dutch. Maybe that'll do. Maybe it will work in reverse." "Okay," Edna said, "I'm game. What's the worst that can happen?"

(Part 5) The conclusion of this week's "As the Pegasus Flies." Edna asked, "But what about you? Won't you get sent back to 1953 too?" Johnny shrugged. "It's the only shot we have," he said. "You're so heroic!" she said. He opened the bottle and took a swig, then passed it to her. They sat down next to each other, leaning against Irving's headstone. "You're not trying to seduce me, are you? I'm old enough to be your mother." He laughed. "Not anymore--I'm old enough to be your father." She thought about that. "That's weird. Pass me the bottle." "Don't worry, I'm not trying to seduce you. But if it doesn't work, you can stay with me, just like Rip's daughter took him in." "Thanks, Johnny." A full moon rose up, casting an eerie light over the graveyard as the two of them polished off the bottle of rum. Johnny told her about her students, what became of them over the years. By midnight they had both passed out drunk. The next morning, Johnny awoke to the caretaker of the grounds kicking his foot. "Hey, mister, you can't sleep here!" Johnny looked around and realized he was alone. He called out Edna's name but got no response. Rubbing his eyes, he walked to his car and drove home. Once there, he got online and Googled Edna's name. He found her obituary. She had lived to the ripe old age of 88, passing away in 2001. She was listed as one of the inventors of the GPS system. When he reached the end, he saw an interesting tidbit: She was buried in the Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow. Johnny smiled. It worked! He took a shower, poured a cup of coffee into a travel mug, and headed back out to the cemetery, stopping first to buy some flowers for Edna's grave.

Lola

(Part 1) This week's edition of "As The Pegasus Flies." Lola knew it wasn't going to be easy. As a spy for The Ladies' Home Journal, she couldn't slip up even once. The last person who took this assignment never made it back. Something about a wooden cart fatally hitting her on the head. Lola had to get in there, entrench herself, learn as much as she could and report back to her higher-ups as soon as possible. What did Reader's Digest have planned for their upcoming issues? What were their secrets? How were they making money hand over fist? Did they really give out free turkeys to their employees at Thanksgiving? Did they actually have their hands on a living Pegasus? Lola had to find out the answers to these questions. Besides Lila Wallace, the editorial staff was all male. That's why The Ladies' Home Journal had chosen Lola to infiltrate the Digest, hoping her womanly charms would loosen the tongues of her male co-workers. RD assigned her to the elite class of editors known as the "Pleasantville 12." She replaced a man named Martin, who had left the company after inheriting a lot of money. The men of RD were all nice, and friendly to her, but she had to really earn their trust, get close and personal with them, get them comfortable enough to spill their ideas. They were a little wary of having a woman in their presence. It changed the whole dynamic. It was no longer a boys' club. Their masculine banter had to be tempered. Their frank discussions of women's looks had to be discontinued. There were pluses, though. Namely, each one of them secretly had a crush on Lola—even the married ones. Maybe this assignment would be easier than she originally thought...

(Part 2) Sometimes living the double live of a mole got to Lola. She felt alone, isolated, nervous that she wouldn't be able to keep her lies straight. RD was a different world, it had its own culture. In moments of doubt, Lola wasn't sure she could keep it all moving forward. How much should she blend in? 100%? Should she sign up for a garden plot, join the tennis team—or the opposite, keep a low profile? Maybe somewhere in-between. Jake was the first one to ask her out to lunch, just the two of them. Once seated at the restaurant, he lit up a cigarette, blew out a smoke ring. "Care for one?" he asked. "Yes! Smoking is so cool," Lola said, even though she didn't smoke. When in Rome, right? "So, I have something to tell you," Jake said. Uh oh, here comes the pass, Lola thought. The first of eleven. But she was wrong. "My girlfriend works in the secretary pool for the Ladies' Home Journal. She said someone who works there has the same name as you..." "Wow, what are the odds?" Lola said, "My name isn't very common." "Wait, it gets better," Jake said. "When I described you, you even look exactly the same." Lola laughed nervously, coughed out some cigarette smoke. Jake continued, "I'm on to you, Lola. And I just want to say, whatever you're up to—I WANT IN!" Lola smiled. Having a partner sure would help. But could she trust him? She knew she had no choice but to trust him, since he already knew her secret. And how could you not trust someone who smokes? "Okay," she said, you're in."

(Part 3) Over lunch, Lola told Jake of her assignment. He nodded and listened. Then she said, "What's in it for you? Why do you want to help?" Jake said, "I've been passed over one too many times for a promotion. My girlfriend and I plan to marry. If I can't join 'em, then I'll beat 'em. We can bring this place down from the inside! Or in the very least, you can get me a job at the Ladies' Home Journal. I hear the grass is much greener there!" "It is," she confirmed. "First things first, though," Lola said. "I have to report back to my boss with something. Does RD really have a living, breathing pegasus?" Jake smiled. "I can't tell you that." Lola asked, "Can't or won't?" "Let me put it this way: I'm not high up enough. It's like only the President knows if the U.S. government has their hands on a crashed UFO. Same thing here." "Want to help me look for it?" "Yes!" Later that evening after everyone was gone, Lola and Jake wandered the halls of the building. There was a courtyard near the Rotunda that they couldn't access. They looked through the glass of the locked door. "I think I see something!" Lola said. Jake shaded his eyes and looked. "You're right! That's pegasus scat!" "Well, where is it now?" Lola said. "They must have moved him," Jake said. "That's right we moved her," a man's voice said. Lola and Jake turned around to see Mr. Wallace standing there pointing a gun at them. "The Pegasus must be protected at all costs. She is the secret to our success. She is our strength, like Samson's hair is to him. I can only imagine what would happen to this company if she died." "Put the gun down," Jake said. "No! Stay where you are!" Jake made a grab for the gun then, but Wallace had an itchy trigger finger. The gun went off, the blast hitting Lola in the chest...

(Part 4) Lila Wallace had the captives in her secret office, two levels below ground. Lola's experimental bullet proof vest had saved her life, but it still hurt! Lila said, "You fools, you could have brought the whole company down! Don't you realize we have been grooming you two?" "Grooming us for what?" Lola asked, rubbing her sore chest. "You're with the Pleasantville 12," Lila said. "It's an elite group that protects the Pegasus. What, did you think they were just editors? Normal editors don't have such expensive suits." Jake looked down at his own suit, which was very stylish, he had to admit. Lila continued, "Peggy, as I call her, is the last pegasus alive. We've been searching for a mate for her, but there is none. We MUST keep her alive as long as possible. She's magical. When she dies, so does this company." "Hey," Jake said. "I just signed up to be an editor, not some sort of zoologist. I'm not paid enough!" "You fool!" Lila spat, "Without the company, you wouldn't have a job, and wouldn't be earning ANY salary. If the company goes under, so do you." "She's got you there," Lola said. "That's why I have now implemented a new plan to keep Peggy safe," Lila said. "The Pegasus Action to Cease Extinction--PACE PLAN for short." "Ooh, I love acronyms!" Lola said. "I do too," Lila said. "I believe acronyms are the wave of the future." Lola said, "I agree. Okay we're on board. Let's save the Pegasus!"

(Part 5) The Wallaces allowed Lola and Jake to leave, convinced that they now had them on their side--the side of all that is right and good, the side of the Pegasus. They could now go through the hazing ritual that would finalize their placement in the Pleasantville 12. Sort of like the Supreme Court's ritual, but not so bloody. "You believe that crazy story?" Jake asked. "I believe that THEY believe it," Lola said. "But one thing I can't stand is a caged animal." "Oh, boy, why do I think you have an idea?" "Because I have an idea," Lola said. "We're going to release the Pegasus back into the wild!" "I was afraid you'd say that." Lola said, "We have to be quick, before they move Peggy again." It was dark now, and the two set out to search the rolling grounds of the RD campus. The wind kicked up, and they thought they heard a wail on the wind. "Don't be scared, that's just the echo of the Ultimate Wedgie someone named Martin got a while back." "Okaaaaaaay...," Lola said, then, "Let's check those far woods out back." They crept up a rise and entered the dark woods, the only light the bright moon above. Soon they heard animal-like heavy snorting. They passed a thick stand of trees to see a magnificent winged creature, straining against a leash tethered to a tree. It was stamping one foot, its wings were clamped but not clipped. "There she is!" Lola and Jake said in unison. "What now?" Jake said. Lola cocked an eyebrow at Jake. "You know what we have to do," she said. Jake nodded his head.

(Part 6) The thrilling conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies." "Okay, let's do it," Jake said. They approached Peggy, Lola patting her on the back soothingly. Lola slipped off the clamps from its wings. The pegasus immediately stretched out her wings high above her, flapped them a few times to get the kinks out. Lola then went to the tree and cut the leash, using a knife she had tucked inside her bullet proof vest. Peggy turned toward them and gave a whinny of appreciation. Then she took off running, darting between the trees until she reached the parking lot. She flapped her massive wings, creating a loud whooshing sound. Soon she was airborne, flying with the full moon in front of her. Lola and Jake held hands, not romantically, but just sharing the special, magical moment. They watched Peggy get smaller and smaller as she headed south, toward White Plains. "I hope we did the right thing," Jake said. "Time will tell," Lola said. August 2009: It had been over 50 years since Peggy left her captivity, and she still had not found a mate. She was alone, old, tired of hiding, ready to give up. Back in Pleasantville, RD felt her weakness--the company filed for bankruptcy. But then months later, something happened. A male pegasus, Peter, found Peggy. She wasn't the last pegasus after all! Peter, too, had thought it was the end of the line for him. After they mated, he lit up a Camel cigarette, blew out two perfect smoke rings from his flared nostrils. "Want a puff?" he asked Peggy in Pegasusese. "No thanks," she said, patting her stomach. "I'm with child now." Peter smiled, proud of his studliness. The next day RD emerged from bankruptcy.

Horace and William

(Part 1) The Wallaces had given everyone the day off for the annual company outing. The buses had all arrived, and the workers were heading out for a day of fun at Rye Playland. Brenda and Hilda had been preparing for weeks, trying (somewhat successfully) to get into bikini shape, since there was also a beach besides rides at Playland. They had their eyes on Horace and William, respectively; hopefully those two fellas could pull themselves away from their job responsibilities long enough to join in on the fun. When Brenda and Hilda climbed on board their bus, BFFs Martin and Lorenzo were sitting up front. "Hello, ladies," Martin said. "Buon giorno," Lorenzo said. "Oh boy," Brenda whispered to Hilda, "this could be a long day." Meanwhile, commercial artists Horace and William were scrambling to meet their deadline, having come in at 7 a.m. just to get the mechanicals out to the printer via car service. Horace had his eye on Hilda, and William had his on Brenda, which, naturally, was the opposite of the women's interests. But they were making good progress in their work, and would make the bus in time; this knowledge made them slightly giddy. Klutzy Horace picked up his t-square and pretended it was an electric guitar. "Look, I'm Chuck Berry!" he said, and duck-walked backwards until he stumbled into his drafting table. "Look out!" Clumsy William shouted, as everything came crashing down: triangles, metal rulers, a bottle of rubber cement, ruling pens, pencils, erasers, and his X-Acto blade, which lodged itself into his thigh. William ran over to help and his foot hit the round rubber cement bottle, sending him flying backward, his head hitting the light table.

(Part 2) Horace grimaced as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. There was a spot of blood on his pants where the X-Acto blade had entered. "Here," he said, tossing the keys to William, "we'll take my car. You drive!" "Sweet!" William said. They got to the car--a convertible 1950 Chevy Bel Air, canary yellow--and hopped in without opening the doors, since the top was already down. "You know the way?" William asked. "Holy Pegasus! No! Do you?" Just then Andrew and Barbara pulled up alongside the Chevy on Andrew's motorcycle. "Follow me!" Andrew said. "Okay!" William said, putting the car in gear. "That guy is such a rebel," Horace said. Horace and William were slightly geeky, besides being clumsy. "Rebels always get the girls," William said. "Then we should do something rebellious," Horace said. Andrew sped off with a loud roar, William trying to keep up. Meanwhile on the bus, Brenda and Hilda sat in the back, and were looking out the rear window. "Maybe they'll still come," Brenda said. "Look, it's Andrew!" Hilda shouted. Andrew and Barbara zoomed by, Andrew giving the thumbs up on the way past. Back in the Chevy, William said, "Andrew drives too fast! He lost us!" Horace said, "Drive faster!" William said, Okay!" William gunned it, opening up all eight cylinders with a roar of pure internal combustion power, burning through that 21¢ gallon gasoline. Two minutes later a police cruiser pulled them over for speeding. "Is this rebellious enough for you?" William asked, sweating nervously as the cop approached. "I have an idea," Horace said...

(Part 3) Horace began to moan in pain. "What are you doing?" William asked. Horace said, "I'm playing up my injury. We can say we were rushing to the hospital." "Ahh!!" William screamed, freaked out that the cop was currently standing next to the car, gun drawn. "Out of the car now!" he yelled. "Hands on your head!" Horace and William did as they were told. Turns out Chevrolet sold a lot of canary yellow Bel Air convertibles in 1950, and one of them was used by two gentlemen to rob a bank in Bronxville, NY earlier that day. One of the robbers had been shot in the leg by a security guard before they made their getaway. The cop handcuffed Horace and William roughly, read them their rights, then held their heads down as he put them in the back of the cruiser. Horace still bumped his head. The cop got behind the steering wheel and looked at them in the mirror. "You boys are going to the big house for a LONG time." "What?!" William said. "We didn't mean to do it," Horace said. The cop continued, "Punks like you need to learn a hard lesson. You shoulda thought twice before breaking the law." William was nearly in tears now. "It was my fault, officer. Let Horace go!" "Tell it to the judge, punk." The cop flicked on the lights and siren and sped off, speaking to headquarters on his radio as he drove. "I got the two pukes. ETA three minutes. Get the cell ready. Call the feds." "THE FEDS?!" Horace and William shouted in unison. The officer made eye contact with them in the mirror again. "You pukes have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it." I should have never pretended to be Chuck Berry, Horace thought. We'd be on the bus with the girls right now...

(Part 4) While Horace and William were brought downtown, booked and fingerprinted, Lorenzo and Martin went to the back of the bus to say hello to the girls. Lorenzo was solo today, his wife much too pregnant with their son Hank (who would one day grow up to hide ten thousand dollars within the walls of RD) to attend. "Hello my little bracioles," Lorenzo said. Martin asked, "Mind if we join you back here?" The girls rolled their eyes. Meanwhile at the police station, the cops had separated Horace and William, and were grilling them, hoping one of them would break and confess. "Whose idea was it to rob the bank?" an FBI agent asked. Horace said, "Rob a bank? We're not bank robbers, we're commercial artists!" "Yeah, sure. How'd your leg get injured?" "I got cut by an X-Acto blade!" "Okay," the fed said, "That's how you want to play it? Maybe I'll have more luck with your buddy." The fed went into the next room, shone a bright light into William's eyes. "Your puke friend just gave you up. Said the whole thing was your idea." "He did?" "That's right. You were the mastermind. He's ready to cut a deal. You're looking at 20 to life." "What?! For speeding?" The fed said, "Speeding? I don't care how fast you drive. This is for armed robbery, fella." "What the...?" William said, before fainting. Back in the other room, Horace was at his breaking point. He hadn't had food or water for nearly four hours, and he couldn't take the torture anymore. He was ready to confess, just so he could eat and use the toilet again. He was stupid for believing he could be a rebel like Andrew. When the fed came back in, he blurted out, "I confess. I did it! We're guilty!" He was on the floor groveling. "You can't send us to prison, I heard what goes on there!" Just then the arresting officer walked in. "Get off the ground, boy, we found the real criminals. Sorry for the inconvenience. I'll drive you back to your car."


(Part 5) On the Dragon Coaster at Playland, Brenda sat next to Martin, and Hilda was next to Lorenzo. The roller coaster ride had just begun, and they were on the slow climb to the top before the big drop. Martin took this opportunity to use the time-honored yawn trick to drape his arm over Brenda's shoulders. Brenda used the time-honored slap across the face to get him to remove his arm. Lorenzo was too terrified of the ride to do anything but pray silently. Back in the Chevy, Horace was driving now instead of William. The cop, feeling bad for arresting them, said they could follow him to Playland, since they didn't know the way. Horace kept his speed below the speed limit, driving like an old lady going to church on a Sunday morning with a carton of eggs on the passenger seat. The cop had to keep slowing down and waiting for them to catch up. Finally they arrived at their destination. From the top of the Dragon Coaster, the girls saw Horace and William arrive with a police escort. A moment later, the ride plunged into its drop, but Brenda's heart was racing because of Horace, not the ride. What were they doing with the police? She just LOVED bad boys! Horace had always seemed so nice. Maybe he had a wild streak in him after all. When the ride was over, Brenda grabbed Hilda by the hand. "Let's go," she said, "the boys are here!" They ditched Martin and Lorenzo and ran to where Horace and William were standing. The cop had just left. At the sight of Brenda waving and smiling at him, Horace immediately changed his allegiance. He now liked Brenda. She was SO hot! William took a good look at Hilda and realized she was probably more his type. Brenda said to Horace, "What happened to you two? We were afraid you wouldn't make it." Horace said, "Rebels like us, you know, the cops have their eye out for us. We're trouble and they know it." William said, "Spending time in the joint just goes with the territory." Brenda noticed Horace's bloody leg. "Oh, no, are you okay?" Horace looked down. "Oh, that? The cops got a little rough. You know how it is." "Actually, I don't," Brenda said, moving closer to Horace. William said, "My bruises are more mental. They try to break you psychologically too, you know." Hilda moved closer to William. Just then, real bad boy Andrew walked by with his arm around Barbara. Andrew's ducktail looked magnificent. He gave Horace and William the thumbs up, validating their bad boy persona in the eyes of Brenda and Hilda. "Come on, I have four tickets to the Tunnel of Love," Brenda said. "Great!" Horace said, but let's eat first. I'm starving!"

Barbara

(Part 1) Barbara couldn't wait to get home and let her hair down—literally. This job was really cramping her style. She was young and single and tired of sitting in her well-furnished office all day long, tired of staring at the original Matisse on the wall, tired of the boring 10% raises every year. Yawn! It was Friday, and she wanted to get out of her rut and do something exciting! Her boss Phyllis was a real slave-driver, even making her wear her hair in the same spinster-style bun. Well, she was no spinster like Phyllis! Andrew from the typesetting department was coming by her house tonight on his motorcycle, and they were going to take a long ride up to Bear Mountain together. He was going to explain the book making process to her, and she was going to pretend to be interested. If all went well, they would camp out under the stars. But first, she had to ward off the advances of that lothario Martin, who was waiting in her office when she got back. Not to mention that Italian guy Lorenzo, who called her his little "braciole," whatever that meant. Another negative about the hair bun: for some reason older men found it irresistibly attractive. Funny, it didn't work that way for Phyllis.

(Part 2) Martin was staring at the Matisse painting when Barbara entered her office. "How much do you think that's worth?" he asked. She shrugged. "Doesn't matter, they'll never sell it anyway." "I should invest in some art," he said. Then, "You look beautiful with your hair up." "Thanks," Barbara said, "Maybe you can get your wife to put her hair up too." "Ooh, I love your sassiness!" "What do you want, Martin?" He moved toward her. "I want you!" he said, taking her in his arms, trying to plant a kiss on her lips. She grabbed a Reader's Digest condensed book from her desk and clonked him on the head. He fell to the floor, dazed. "Be glad it was condensed and not unabridged!" she said. "And my boyfriend might have something to say about this, too!" "You mean that turkey from typesetting? I can buy and sell that guy." "What does that even mean?" Just then, Andrew walked in. Martin was slightly frightened of Andrew, with his motorcycle, tattoos, ducktail haircut, and bad boy reputation—exactly everything that Barbara found attractive. Andrew saw Martin on the floor and asked, "What's going on here?" Andrew knew all about Martin—the affairs, the money his wife inherited, the suspicious death of his father-in-law. Andrew was slightly frightened of Martin. Martin hopped to his feet and said, "After work, the Rotunda, five o'clock. You and me, we're going to fight for the hand of this beautiful woman! Be there!" With that, he ran from the room. Andrew looked at Barbara. "Something I should know?" he asked. "Yeah, he's crazy. Pick me up at seven for that ride to Bear Mountain." "Okay," Andrew said, smiling. That would leave him time to settle this business with Martin, whatever the business actually was...

(Part 3) 5 o'clock high. Andrew walked Barbara to her car, then went over, alone, to the Rotunda, with butterflies in his stomach. He stood there and waited, arms crossed across his chest. Martin, though the fight was his idea, was running late due to an extra steamy tryst with Ethel in the library. Workers began to stream from the building, another successful day of publishing in the books. Andrew checked his watch. At 5:10, Martin came skulking out. He stopped in front of Andrew and struck an old-time boxer's pose, fists held high in front of him. Andrew put up his dukes, too. "I can buy and sell you!" Martin shouted. "I can kick your butt!" Andrew yelled. The exiting workers paused to watch what was happening. Some primal blood lust was aroused in the normally bookworm-ish, educated people. They began to chant, "Fight, fight, FIGHT!!" Martin, though his hands were high, kicked out a leg, trying for a crotch shot. Andrew barely got out of the way in time, then countered with a left to Martin's stomach. The wind was knocked out of him, and his cheeks puffed out. With Martin bent over, clutching his stomach, Andrew went in for the kill. He grabbed Martin in a headlock, spun him around, and gave him what has come to be known as the "Ultimate Wedgie." Local legend has it that—if all the atmospheric conditions are right—you can still hear Martin's wail on the RD grounds. Andrew dusted off his hands, slicked back his ducktail, and said, "You've just been bought AND sold, sucker!" With that he walked off, hopped on his motorcycle, and got ready to pick up Barbara for their big date. In his pocket was an engagement ring, and he was planning on popping the question that night...

(Part 4) Barbara let down her hair and fluffed it up to get that nice, big look. She reapplied her lipstick—Passion Red—and made kissy faces in the mirror. She couldn't wait till her bad boy, rebel of a boyfriend got there. He had four tattoos, but she had only seen three. The fourth one she would see on their wedding night, he promised. Not that they were engaged or anything yet. At seven o'clock on the dot, she heard an engine revving outside. She looked out her window and saw Andrew sitting on his motorcycle. He waved to her and she said goodbye to her cat, Peggy (short for Pegasus), and ran outside. She hopped on the back of his bike, and they zoomed away, wind in their hair. Andrew hoped NY would never pass that helmet law like some people were campaigning for. She held on tight as he rode up the long, winding, scenic road that led to the top of Bear Mountain. He stopped and they got off the bike, at a point where they could see the skyline of Manhattan off in the distance. "I have a surprise," he said. He went behind a tree and came out dragging a cooler and camping supplies that he had hid earlier. Then they set up the tent away from the road for privacy, and because it was illegal to camp on Bear Mountain. When it got dark, Andrew started a small campfire—he eschewed all rules— and they cooked burgers and had some beer. When the moment was right, he got down on one knee, pulled the ring from his pocket, and...Martin popped out of the bushes, wielding a—

(Part 5) —torn piece of elastic, ripped from his underwear earlier, during the "Ultimate Wedgie" incident. Martin held the elastic tight, and moved toward Andrew—walking somewhat bow-legged—as if to strangle him. Andrew jumped up. "Drop that weapon!" he shouted. "Never! I seek my revenge, and the hand of Barbara in marriage!" Barbara said, "Who are you again?" Martin sprang, and got the elastic band around Andrew's neck. Andrew wrestled him to the ground, and they began to roll dangerously toward the cliff's edge. Just then, Lorenzo jumped out of a different bush. "I'll save you, my little braciole!" he shouted to Barbara. "Uh, he's the one being attacked," Barbara said, pointing to her rebellious boyfriend, who she just knew would be triumphant. "Well then, I will defend your honor!" Lorenzo shouted, and threw himself into the fray. Barbara rolled her eyes and thought, What is it with these guys? All three men were rolling around in the dark, out of the glow of the campfire. Barbara waited anxiously, but then suddenly Andrew was standing beside her. "Hello. I figured I'd just let THEM fight it out. They don't even know I'm gone." Barbara and Andrew heard scraping, muffled curses, then finally a yelp and a crash, as the two struggling men slid over the edge of the mountain and disappeared into the night. Then all was silent. "So," Barbara said, "weren't you about to ask me something before we were interrupted?"

(Part 6) Dawn broke to the sound of Thwap thwap thwap!, awakening the newly engaged couple. A helicopter lifted dramatically over the edge of the cliff side. Stu and his new bride Jessica were in his Copter #3, circling over Barbara and Andrew. Lorenzo and Martin were hanging from the runners. Not only had they survived the night clinging to the same tree branch, but they had bonded, telling each other all their hopes and dreams, really getting in touch with their innermost feelings. All Martin ever wanted was for someone to understand him. The only thing Martin left out was the afternoon trysts he had been having with Lorenzo's wife, Ethel. Those, he decided, would have to come to an end, now that he and Lorenzo were BFFs. Andrew and Barbara turned and watched the copter fly south toward RD. Something had fluttered down from the copter, and Andrew went over to see what it was. "Look," he said, holding it up, "it's the elastic from his underwear. The would-be murder weapon!" "Ew, gross," Barbara said. Andrew took this as a sign of apology, that everything was now copacetic between him and Martin. When the copter was totally out of sight, Andrew said, "Come on, my fiance, let's go get some breakfast! We'll come back and pack up camp later." "Okay, I'm famished!" Barbara said, who didn't know it yet, but was now eating for two. Yes, she had seen the fourth tattoo. It was a ——. They hopped onto the motorcycle and sped away to the Peekskill Diner. Barbara held on tight. It was daybreak on Saturday, the whole weekend still ahead of her—RD, Phyllis, and work the farthest thing from her mind.

Lenny

(Part 1) Lenny had spent most of his off-time the past year (and even some of his work time—shhh, don't tell his boss) designing and building his dream vehicle. Now his dream had finally become reality. It was part helicopter, part automobile, and all sex appeal. And best of all, it ran on used cooking oil. The RD cafeteria was a gold mine for this, the cook (Claude) behind the grill who picks his teeth gave him vats of the dirty stuff, and all he wanted in return was a ride in the machine once it was safe and tested. Claude wanted to fly over Gladys's house, impress her, hop out of the hovering copter with a bouquet of roses and ask her to the upcoming Chappaqua Crossing Square Dance and Pig Roast. So Lenny made the deal, even though the copter only sat one (they'd cross that bridge when they came to it). Lenny fired up the engine now. It sputtered, farted out a smell of overcooked cheeseburgers and onion rings, then evened out into a nice, smooth little growl. Claude watched from the cafeteria window. Lenny's heart beat almost as loud as the copter blades as he eased the shifter into first gear. As a car, his machine could get up to 45 miles per hour, But once he engaged the blades, the car elevated. Stu ran after the car as it set off on its first trip. They were like the Wright brothers, but you know, not really. And they weren't brothers. At 45 MPH, Lenny pulled back on the lever. With a lurch, the vehicle rose; Lenny watch Stu recede as the copter got higher and higher. Claude's excited face was pressed up against the cafeteria window. But then, the smell of well-done fries ceased, and Lenny realized the engine had stalled...

(Part 2) Lenny frantically tried to re-start the engine. He pulled the choke and tried once more. The engine caught momentarily (Lenny getting a quick whiff of fried chicken cutlet), then it quit. The copter had hit its zenith, and he felt it hitch as it began its descent. His stomach lurched as if he were on a roller coaster. But this was no roller coaster--this was life and death. Or, more specifically--death. Lenny thought of his wife Jessica then, and his two kids. He looked down as saw Stu frantically waving his arms. The copter went down fast and crashed on the railroad tracks, disrupting train service for the rest of the day. Stu reached the crash site and knew there was no hope. He fell on his knees and screamed, shook his fist at the sky, and cursed the fates above. With tears streaming from his eyes, he vowed then and there to continue his best friend's work, to rebuild the copter better than Lenny had ever dreamed. But he also thought of Jessica, and her sudden single status...

(Part 3) Two weeks after Lenny's funeral, Stu was nearly done with version two of the RD Copter. Claude would come down to the garage every day after he closed up the grill to help out. Stu was Lenny's assistant, and now Stu had Claude. So he was still able to get the used cooking oil from the cafeteria to power the engine. "This is going to fly soon!" Stu said. "Yes, and now it is a two-seater, so I can get a ride, go visit Gladys," Claude said. "Yeah, sure," Stu said. Stu couldn't wait to take Jessica for a ride, show her the fruits of his labor. He wondered how long she had to mourn before he could start courting her. But this was a dangerous undertaking—he knew the first test flight could be his last. He wanted the thing to fly, but he didn't want to die trying. What he needed was one of those space monkeys NASA sent into space to gauge the effects of space travel. If it blew up or crashed again, so be it. As Stu tinkered with the engine, Claude climbed into the pilot's seat and began to make helicopter sounds with his mouth: Thwap thwap thwap thwap!! Hmmm, Stu thought. Maybe I already have that monkey...

(Part 4) Claude was all strapped in and ready to go. Stu, standing ten feet away, gave him the thumbs up. Claude was excited, and honored to be allowed to take the first flight in the new copter. It almost brought a tear to his eye, that Stu would think so highly of him. So he felt kind of bad that he was going to abscond with the copter and fly over to Gladys's house. But all's fair in love and war. The Chappaqua Crossing Square Dance, Pig Roast and Lenny Memorial was coming up quick, and Claude needed a date. He started the engine. "I smell French fries!" he said excitedly. Stu just nodded; he hadn't heard a word Claude said. Claude pulled back on the lever, and the copter lifted into the air. Thwap thwap thwap! He bagan to fly, fast, and he could see Stu running after him down below. But soon Claude had flown over the building, and was now heading south over the newly completed Saw Mill River Parkway. Man, he thought, seeing the river alongside the new blacktop, I bet that thing is going to flood when it rains. The copter was flying nice and smooth, no stalling or stuttering like poor Lenny had. He'd be at Gladys's in no time, and get back to RD before Stu was too worried. Unfortunately for Claude, American citizens—not to mention the government—were still a little jumpy about UFOs, especially after the Roswell Incident. Local citizens called the police, and the police called Camp Smith in Peekskill. Fighter jets were scrambled, and within minutes, copter #2 was on the ground in the left lane of the southbound Saw Mill River Parkway, a fiery ball of metal and Claude. It smelled like deep-fried chicken wings. Traffic on the parkway was snarled for three hours. Stu stood with hands on hips, watching the plume of smoke rise from down south. Without a word, he turned back to the garage and went back to the drawing board. Literally. He picked up his t-square, and said to the photo of Jessica taped to the wall, "Third time is a charm, Jess."

(Part 5) Stu was pulling fourteen hour days to finish Copter #3 in time for the Chappaqua Crossing Square Dance, Pig Roast, and Lenny and Claude Memorial. Lorenzo stopped by the garage to deliver Stu's mail, and to console him about the second crash. "The new copter looks good," Lorenzo said, sticking his head into the cockpit. "You should have put in a back seat though, if you know what I mean." Stu laughed. Lorenzo said, "I can help you, if you need me. I'm moving from the mailroom to the grill, so I can get the used cooking oil for you again." "That's great!" Stu said. "I can really use the help." "Great! Except the copter, she is going to smell different now—like eggplant parmigiana, fried meatballs, stuffed artichoke." Stu's stomach rumbled, and he realized he had missed lunch. Lorenzo heard it and said, "I'll run up to the cafeteria and get you lunch. They're trying one of my recipes today." "Thanks," Stu said, then went back to work. Meanwhile, Jessica was shopping for a new dress for Lenny's upcoming memorial at RD. Something black and conservative. But not TOO conservative. Stu was picking her up and taking her there, and she wanted to look attractive. He was cute and all, but what she really wanted to get her hands on were the helicopter blueprints. After all, that was Lenny's baby. It was rightfully hers...

(Part 6) After the service, Stu and Jessica walked back to Stu's garage. The pig roast had started, but Jessica didn't feel it was appropriate to party right after the memorial. And anyway, Stu had a surprise to show her. Hopefully she could poke around and find the blueprints. Stu made her close her eyes, then he lifted the garage door and said, "Ta da!" She opened her eyes and saw Copter #3 sitting there like some exotic, overgrown fly, ready to take flight at a moment's notice. The windows were tinted, making it look even more like an insect. "What the..." she said. "When did you...?" "I've been working on it day and night, just for you!" Stu said. "For me?" "Yes, for you!" Stu couldn't help himself. He was drunk with love, as well as the five screwdrivers he had at the square dance. This caused him to blurt out--quite unexpectantly--"I LOVE you Jessica!" Jessica was taken aback. Maybe it was the loneliness talking, or maybe the four Manhattans she had at the square dance, but she replied, "I love you TOO, my little Stu coo ca choo!*" (*Not to be confused with the Beatles lyric Goo goo g' joob, which came over a dozen years later.) "Let's go for a ride!" Stu said. "Is it safe?" "Sure, Lorenzo tested it earlier today." They climbed onto the running board, and when Stu flung open the pilot-side door, they saw Martin and Ethel inside, locked in a passionate, libidinous, scantily-clad embrace...

(Part 7) "Milton, how dare you! And with my assistant's wife, no less!" Stu yelled. "It's Martin, you idiot, not Milton." "Milton, Martin, whatever, get out of my cockpit!" "I can buy and sell you," Martin sneered, climbing down. "What is that supposed to mean?" Stu said. "It means, I can build my own helicopter, better than this one! Doesn't even have a backseat! And it smells like pepperoni in there!" Ethel had climbed down too, and was looking around nervously as she buttoned up her blouse. "Don't worry, we just left your husband Lorenzo back at the pig roast," Stu said. "Oh, Enzo!" Ethel cried, and bolted off into the night. "Get out of my garage!" Stu said. Martin calmly put his tie back on, tightened the knot. "This is war now, you know," he said, then turned and left. "Well, that was weird," Jessica said. "This whole place is turning into a soap opera, I swear," Stu said. "As the Pegasus Flies," Jessica said, and they both began to giggle. Stu helped Jessica up into Copter #3, and then he hopped in after her. "Wow," she said. "It's so much bigger than Lenny's!" "I took his plans and doubled them, so I could fit a passenger seat." Stu fired up the engine; it smelled like chicken cacciatore. He worked the levers smoothly, and soon they were in the air, hovering over the RD campus, the raucous pig roast below them. Jessica reached over and held Stu's hand. If the copter was going to crash, this would be a good way to die, he thought. He'd worry about Martin another time.

Martin

(Part 1) Martin didn't want the visitors to leave. Now he was left alone with "the B&B women," as he thought of them, blonde Bridget and brunette Beatrice--man eaters both. He should have never gotten involved with them, should have remained faithful to his wife of twenty-one years. But he got the itch around year eighteen, then again last year. Itches need to be scratched. Now Christmas was upon them again, and he'd have to figure out a way to juggle all three, while trying to keep each a secret from the others. Not to mention buying all of them an expensive gift--probably something from Tiffany's--and all on an editor's salary. Well, he thought, I guess things could be worse--he could have a designer's salary. This brought a smile to his face--there is always a sucker worse off than he is. Bridget turned and entered the RD building first, and Beatrice, the sassy brunette, took the opportunity to goose Martin, which immediately made him turn red, and not just from embarrassment. He was angered, and knew something had to give, and soon. He couldn't risk his wife finding out the truth, not with her million dollar inheritance not too far off. He just had to put in a little more time before her old man finally bought the farm, and he could get his hands on that family money. But, back to the B&B women. Murder is an unpleasant business, but sometimes a man has no choice, has to get his hands dirty and clean up his own mess. Now the question was, which one should he knock off first?

(Part 2) Let me compare the two, Martin thought. Beatrice was younger and sexier, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Bridget was smarter (ironically, she didn't fit the cliche of a dumb blonde), but might not be so easy to get rid of. But she was really getting on his nerves of late; just one look at her face will tell you everything you need to know: She wasn't pleasant to be around. If she ever actually smiled, her face would probably crack. It was hard for Martin to even remember what it was that he found attractive about her. Oh, yeah, the itch that needed scratching! But now she was starting to turn the screws on him, wanting him to dump his wife Martha for her. Yes, Bridget would have to be the first to go. If he was lucky, her "disappearance" would whip Beatrice into line, and he wouldn't have to bump her off too. He decided to sign up for his garden plot again this Spring; you never knew when a little extra real estate might come in handy. He was copy editing an article on the just-announced World's Fair to be held in New York City in 1964, when Bridget came into his office and sat in the armchair across from his desk. "Don't even think what you're thinking," she said. Martin began to sweat. "What?" Bridget said, "Beatrice, really? One mistress is already more than you can handle, believe me." Martin relaxed. Was that all she was worried about? "Don't worry, honey," he said, "You're the only one in my sights." She stood up abruptly and smoothed her skirt with her hand. "Good. Don't make me take matters into my own hands. I swear, I'll kill her!" She turned and stormed out of the room. Hmmm, Martin thought, maybe if I play my cards right, I can get Bridget to do my dirty work for me...

(Part 3) Not five minutes later, Beatrice flounced in and plopped down in the same armchair. "Hi, Milty baby! Whatcha doing?" "Trying to work on this World's Fair article." "The World's Fair! I wonder what magnificent things we'll see. Flying cars, toasters that fit bagels, picture phones so we can see each other when we talk." "That could come in handy," Martin said, and thought, so I can see which of my women I'm talking to. "You're SO cute, Marty! I'd love to be able to see you when we chat! Think of the possibilities," she said, and winked at him. Yes, she was the sexier one. Okay, Bridget would have to be the one knocked off. He'd stick with sexy Beatrice. Though Bridget was willing to kill for him. Hmmm, decisions, decisions. Beatrice stood and said, "Well, I'll let you get back to your work. See you in the library later?" "Four o'clock, as usual," Martin said. They were in the habit of "bumping" into each other in the RD library, then if no one was around, they'd sneak up the narrow spiral staircase to the small storage room upstairs where the back issues of RD Magazine were kept. Martin smiled and picked up his red pen, intending to resume copy editing. But suddenly, Bridget was in his doorway. Uh oh. "I'LL KILL HER!" she said, and ran off. How much had she heard? Oh, well, can't do anything about it now. He got back to work and actually finished the article. At five minutes to four he got up and headed to the library...

(Part 4) Bridget had heard of the planned four o'clock rendezvous. She wanted to see for herself what was going on. She knew the perfect spot to hide, too, up a narrow spiral staircase to a small storage room above. There she could look down and hear and see everything, see what she was up against. This new development disturbed her. She felt she was making progress, as far as Martin dumping his wife was concerned. Now she had to worry about this nitwit Beatrice? She knew Martin thought of her as a cold fish, but she really wasn't. She was a warm fish! Hot, even. So she made her way up to the small room and waited. Beatrice got there first, humming and bouncing around like a schoolgirl, her pleated skirt swishing from side to side. Bridget had to keep herself from puking. A minute later Martin arrived. "Oh, hello," he said. "Why, Martin, fancy meeting you here!" Everything she said was so chipper, Bridget could practically see the exclamation points at the end of every sentence. Martin made sure no one was around, then pounced. He began to kiss Beatrice's neck, one hand on the small of her back. The Pegasus statue looked on disapprovingly. Bridget's worst fears were confirmed. "Let's go up," Martin said. He led the way to the spiral staircase, Beatrice a step behind. Oh, no. Bridget looked around, but there was nowhere to hide. She watched as Martin ascended the stairs, the top of his head getting closer and closer...

(Part 5) Beatrice followed close behind Martin (not Milton as previously reported). She couldn't believe she was with him. He was so dreamy, like a movie star, with his rugged good looks! Like Burt Lancaster or someone! He started up the spiral staircase, and she looked over her shoulder quickly, to make sure no one had seen them together. The coast was clear. Her heart always began to beat fast right about now, she felt so naughty sneaking off like this to be alone with him. And during work hours, no less! Who would have ever guessed a farm girl like herself would be involved with such an important player in New York publishing? He always said the place couldn't run without him! Suddenly Martin stopped, his body halfway into the upstairs room. Beatrice heard a shriek from up above. A pained, garbled, grief-filled cry. Then Martin said, "No, don't!" Something physical was happening up above, a skirmish, and before Beatrice knew it, Martin was tumbling down, the full bulk of his weight landing right on top of her. Her head bounced off the iron railing, and her last conscious thought in this world was that her head was bleeding!!


(Part 6) Martin rolled off of Beatrice and looked down at her limp, lifeless body. "You killed her!" he said. Bridget, now back downstairs, said, "YOU fell on her!" "Well, YOU pushed me!" "Well, YOU were cheating on me with her!" "Well YOU were beginning to act more like a wife than a mistress!" The heat flared in their eyes, and the next thing they knew, they were locked in a passionate, sloppy kiss. "Let's go upstairs," Martin said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Okay. But what about her?" "She's not going anywhere." They ran up the spiral stairs and Martin made room on the floor by swiping some stacks of old Reader's Digest magazines out of the way with his foot. Afterward, he lit up a cigarette and said, "You're one hot firecracker!" He passed the cigarette to Bridget. She took a long drag and said, "Smoking is so cool!" Their afterglow was interrupted when they heard a bloodcurdling scream from below. Bridget sat up, but Martin shushed her. Someone had discovered the body. It was Ethel. "Oh, no, first Margaret gets killed by her own wooden cart, now this innocent young farm girl slips on the stairs and kills herself!" "Very unfortunate," they heard a man with an Italian accent say. It was Lorenzo, Ethel's husband who had just started to work for RD in the mailroom. Lorenzo and Ethel (aka LorEth) had been planning to sneak up to the storage room themselves for a late afternoon romp. "Let's go upstairs," Ethel said. "What about her?" "She's not going anywhere." Meanwhile, Martin and Bridget struggled back into their clothes just as LorEth arrived upstairs. All four stood there in the little room, looking at each other guiltily. "We can explain!" Martin said. At the same time Lorenzo said, "We found her like that!" "I'm so glad we had this little discussion," Bridget said. "Let's just all leave one by one," Ethel suggested. They all nodded in agreement and proceeded toward the staircase, Bridget leading the way. Hmmm, thought Martin, it would be really convenient right about now if Bridget were to befall the same fate as Beatrice...

(Part 7) Fortunately for Martin, when he cleared the floor earlier, one random issue of RD magazine had landed on the top step. LorEth had stepped over it before, but Bridget's lead foot slipped on it now, and she fell like a sack of potatoes headfirst to her unexpected, sudden demise. The B&B girls were no more, legs and arms akimbo, intertwined in their death. The three survivors' mouths hung open as they stared down at the scene below. "Well, what are the odds of that happening?" Martin said. All three went downstairs and stood gaping at the bodies. "This place, she is cursed," Lorenzo said. "No one's going to believe this," Ethel said. "Let's all leave one by one," Martin said. "Anyone of us can be next," Lorenzo said. "I tell you, this place is cursed! First my money gets stolen, then Margaret dies in a freak accident, now these two…I tell you, someone gave this place the evil eye!" Martin said, "It's not cursed, Lorenzo. Stuff happens, that's all." Lorenzo looked spooked, his eyes bugging out. "No, I tell you, it's the evil eye! Malocchio! Malocchio!" He took off running, out of the library and out of sight. Ethel said, "He'll be alright. Wanna go upstairs?" "What about these two?" Martin asked. "They're not going anywhere." "True enough." He followed Ethel upstairs, happy to have found someone who was married too. Now if only his father-in-law would kick the bucket so he could get his hands on that inheritance. Maybe he needed just a little push…

(Part 8) Martin's father-in-law Horatio was a self-made man. He had grown up poor, his father working sporadically on the Brooklyn docks. As a kid, Horatio was street-wise--though he never did anything illegal--and learned how to make a deal, and how to make connections. As a young man, his business acumen made up for his lack of education, and by the time he was married and a father to Martha, he had made his first million and owned a large house in Scarsdale. He had always been a visionary. Now that he was older, he wasn't in the daily rat race anymore, but could sit back and invest in new technology, emerging companies like Casio. He was really looking forward to the World's Fair scheduled to be in New York. When his only child Martha decided to marry Martin, Horatio welcomed him as the son he never had. Hopefully, they would give him many grandchildren--especially boys. As sharp as Horatio was in the business world, he was dull as a butter knife when it came to Martin. And now at 70 years-old, Horatio wasn't getting any sharper. Sometimes he even called his son-in-law Milton by mistake. He didn't see Martin's philandering side, the wine, women and song that filled his days (or rather, nights. Well, sometimes days too, as in the cases of Bridget, Beatrice, and now Ethel). Horatio actually thought Martin was a good guy. So when Martin asked him to help him patch his roof on his modest house in New Rochelle, Horatio said yes. A little quality time with the son-in-law would be good for the soul. So one Saturday morning, they set up the wooden ladder, and climbed up to replace some shingles. Do I really have to tell you what happened next? A few strategically-placed loose nails, a little sunstroke, and maybe a shove when a pull would have worked better, and Horatio was on the ground, having landed head-first. Martha was at the kitchen sink washing dishes, idly looking out the window, thinking of their neighbor Pete, and how he cuts his grass without a shirt on, when she saw her father fly by. She couldn't compute what she just saw, but part of her brain hoped Martin would follow right behind. When he didn't, she ran out to see what happened...

Ethel

(Part 1) "I have great dreams, Ethel. I'm starting in the mailroom, then I'm going to work my way up—all the way to the top!" "That's nice, Margaret. I once too was full of naive, youthful enthusiasm," Ethel said. "Now I just sit here with this crazy lamp and this GIVE sign, and wait until the moment I can go home and drink brandy before dinner." "Why, you don't look so much older than me," Margaret replied." What happened to break your spirit?" "It didn't so much as break, as slowly erode," Ethel said. "Well, I don't like all this negative talk! Let's be positive!" "Yeah, positive," Ethel said, reaching for her secret flask of happy juice. Just then the phone rang and Ethel picked it up. It was the call she had been waiting twenty years for... (to be continued)

(Part 2) "Ethel," the voice on the phone said, "it's Lorenzo!" She had met Lorenzo when she was an innocent college girl doing a semester in Italy. Now their love child is a college student herself, though Ethel refuses to let her go to Europe, for obvious reasons. Ethel said, "Oh my, I can't believe it's really you! How did you find me after all this time?" "I saw your name listed in the Reader's Digest magazine in my doctor's office." "It's been twenty years! What has your life been like?" "I got married, but my wife has since passed on. I want to return to my first true love--YOU!" "I've been waiting all this time for you, too, Lorenzo." "I'm coming for you! I'm getting on a ship tomorrow. I'll be there in a month." "A month? But the home fires are burning now!" "Okay, I'll take a plane," Lorenzo said. "Oh, I can't wait to tell our daughter all about you." "Our what now?" The line suddenly went dead. "Hello, hello?" Ethel said. Margaret, still there with the mail cart, had overhead Ethel's half of the exchange. "Lorenzo, huh?" she said. "Listen, don't tell anyone about this, okay?" Ethel said. "Don't worry," Margaret said, "I deliver the mail, not the news." An hour later, the whole company knew.

(Part 3) Lorenzo must have passed out. When he came to, he was still holding the phone in his hand. He raised it back to his mouth and said, "Ethel, Ethel!" The line was dead. She was gone. He got the operator back and she tried the number again. No answer. That's it, he thought, tomorrow I leave Italy and make my way to this magical place named Pleasantville. So the next day he packed up his clothes and a few books, sold his furniture to his landlord, and set out on his journey. The plane ride was long and bumpy, and he vomited twice. Once in New York, he took a taxi from Idlewild Airport to the Reader's Digest building, which the driver told him was actually in Chappaqua. The cab entered the grounds of Reader's Digest; the iconic building looked stately and regal. He was let off in front of the rotunda entrance. He struggled with his bags, and once inside he saw a woman with an empty wooden cart. "May I borrow that?" he asked. "Sure." "Do you know where Ethel sits?" "Yes, she is down the hall to the left." "Thank you." Lorenzo loaded his luggage into the cart and pushed it as fast as he could down the hall, one wheel squeaking all the way. When he rounded a corner, he laid eyes on Ethel for the first time in 20 years. She was closing the bottom drawer of her desk, and when she looked up their eyes met...

(Part 4) "Lorenzo, oh my god, is it really you?" Ethel said. Or did I drink too much, she thought. "It's really me!" Lorenzo said, sweeping Ethel into his arms and kissing her deeply. Then, "Tell me all about our daughter." "She looks just like you," Ethel said, "except, you know--she's a girl." "She sounds beautiful," Lorenzo said, somewhat narcissistically. "I've saved myself for you for all these years," Ethel said. "You mean--?" "Yes," she said. "That's exactly what I mean." "Then let's leave right now. Can you take the rest of the day off?" "Oh, yes, I have twenty-five weeks of vacation saved up." "It carries over?" "Of course." "Where can we go? I can't wait another minute!" "Me either, darling. We can go to the Guest House." "You have the keys?" "Lorenzo, I practically run this joint!" They took off running hand in hand toward the Guest House, over the well-manicured, expansive lawn, past the wide-eyed landscapers. Margaret returned to reclaim her cart. She shook her head when she saw all the luggage still inside. "Don't worry about me, I'll just unload it for you." She lifted his heavy suitcase, struggled a bit, and accidentally dropped it, just missing her foot. It popped open, and she couldn't believe what she saw inside...

(Part 5) Money was what Margaret saw, packed in tight, American money. It was Lorenzo's life savings; he had closed his accounts before leaving for America, then exchanged it for US dollars at the airport. In his rush to get amorous with Ethel, he had momentarily forgotten about the fortune. Margaret bent down and picked up a stack, ran her thumb across the bills. She looked over her shoulder; no one was around. Would he even notice if a little went missing? She could just take this stack, stash it somewhere in the building. When the storm blew over--if Lorenzo even noticed it was gone--then she'd retrieve the cash. Heck, Reader's Digest wasn't going anywhere, she could come back years from now and get it. She just had to bide her time. She slipped the stack in her pocket, closed up the suitcase, and put it, along with his other small bags, behind Ethel's desk. Now all she had to do was find a good hiding spot. Back at the Guest House--and after Ethel and Lorenzo had conceived their second child in twenty years--Lorenzo lit a cigarette and took a long drag. He passed it to Ethel, who also took a long drag. "Smoking is so cool!" she said. Suddenly, Lorenzo bolted upright. "Oh crap, my denaro!" He jumped out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and took off running. Ethel trailed a few seconds behind but caught up to Lorenzo halfway across the lawn. When they reached the rotunda, Lorenzo said, "Oh no, my luggage is gone!" Ethel went behind her desk to get the secret flask of happy juice and saw the bags. "No, here they are!" Meanwhile, Margaret found the perfect hiding spot for the stack of bills. She had big plans for that money...

(Part 6) Margaret stashed the cash behind a wall that was in repair. The workers had taken a lunch break, and when they returned she watched them seal up the hole. She would return in time and punch a hole small enough for her hand to slip through. Unfortunately a week later, while pushing her decrepit wooden cart to the cafeteria, she slipped on some water (that Ethel had spilled). The cart landed on her head and ended her life, along with her dreams of running off to Spain with the money she found. No one ever found the money, until... APRIL 6, 2010. Hank, a contractor, took a sledgehammer and slammed it into the wall. It was hard to believe Reader's Digest was leaving its longtime home. It was like if the Yankees left Yankee Stadium. And what would become of those four pegasuses on top of the tower? He felt bad, because his parents--Ethel and Lorenzo--had both worked here. But RD hadn't owned this building now for over five years; the new landlords were getting more tenants in, knocking down walls and reconfiguring workspaces. Hank had his own problems to worry about, though, like the bills that were piling up, the scarcity of work during the recession, the repairs his old clunker needed, and the money he owed his bookie. His partner Jonathan stopped to drink some water. Then he said, "Hey Hank, I heard a woman died here once. A wooden cart fell on top of her or something." "Yeah, I heard that," Hank said, and swung the sledgehammer again. He saw something inside the wall, and bent down for a closer look. It was a stack of money. He looked over his shoulder at Jonathan, who was again absorbed in his own work. Hank reached in and ruffled the money. Must be ten grand, he thought. It would really help with his bills. Or, he could just run off to Mexico with his young mistress, like he really wanted to do. It was five o'clock, and time to knock off for the day. Jonathan was suddenly behind him, so Hank left the money where it was, not wanting to split it with his partner. He'd leave it for tomorrow, but tell his mistress the good news tonight. Unfortunately, on his way to meet his mistress that night, his car crashed into a tree head-on while he was dialing said mistress on his cellphone. Neither Hank, nor the tree survived. The cellphone was okay, and still had over 300 minutes left for the month. Construction work at RD was halted indefinitely, as Jonathan went into a deep state of mourning. Not only did he lose his partner, but he also lost his gambling buddy. So, for now, as of this moment, THE MONEY IS STILL INSIDE THE BUILDING!!!

As the Pegasus Flies archive

Welcome to the "As the Pegasus Flies" archive! Here you will be able to read the complete weekly stories and view the photos. And you'll be able to leave comments! Have fun. The Pegasus thanks you.