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...