Karin Slaughter - Martin Misunderstood

He had thought about the massage the entire drive back to the house, drowning out Evie's complaints about 'that bitch who runs the gardening club like she's the head Nazi at Dachau.'

This is what he imagined: an earthy young woman with a ring in her nose and bare feet would meet him at the front door. Maybe there would be some nice hot tea and cookies. Chimes would tinkle, perhaps the burbling of a small fountain would fill the air. Was there such a thing as a healing touch? Martin had read about a study in one of his magazines where rabbits were being used to test cholesterol medication. One of the rabbit groups showed amazing results, and it was later learned that the keeper of the group had been stroking their backs when she fed them. Could the same thing happen for Martin? Could the loving strokes of another human being change some intrinsic part of him into a happy being?

'I'll be back later,' Martin had told his mother, pulling away from the curb in front of the house as soon as Evie was out of the car.

'What the fuck-' she said, just before the forward motion jerked the car door closed.

As he drove, Martin felt himself relax just thinking about the massage. He even sped, pushing the Cadillac five miles over the posted speed limit. He was picturing this new, reckless side of himself. What would Unique say tomorrow when he managed to slip into the conversation that he had gotten a massage? Would he be some kind of metrosexual because of this? Would he start using scented shaving cream for his weekly shave? Would he get pedicures like Unique? Ha! Wouldn't she think that was funny? Wouldn't she be jealous!

He pulled up in front of Madam Glitter's and parked right outside the front door. As soon as he got out of the car, his feelings of elation started to leave him. Heavy drapes covered the windows. The front door had a large handicap sticker on it, the words, 'We specialize in special needs' underneath. Worse, there was a fast-food restaurant next door, so that when Martin entered Madam Glitter's, he was overwhelmed by the scent of fried chicken.

'You want a massage?' the woman behind the desk demanded. She was large, possibly one of the largest people he had ever seen (and that was saying a lot – there were some beefy women on Evie's side of the family).

'I was… uh…' Martin felt his feet start to move backward.

'Fifty dollars. I don't take credit cards.' The woman nodded toward a closed door. 'Go in there, take off your clothes and I'll be there in a second.'

Martin stood where he was, frozen in place.

'Move,' she barked, so Martin did.

The chicken smell was even more overpowering in the small massage room. There was a table in the center with a single hand towel at the place where Martin supposed his lower half would rest. He unclipped his tie and hung it on a hook jutting out of the wall. His hands shook as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, and he felt silly for it, because, after all, this was a therapeutic massage, not a date , for goodness' sake.

Still, how long had it been since he had been naked in front of a woman? He tried to think back. There had been a girl in high school, a sweet young lady who wore a back brace to correct her scoliosis. Wendy. Martin smiled at the thought of her, the way her curved spine had felt against his palm. If only she hadn't transferred to a magnet school for smart kids in Atlanta. Then there was Marcia, the woman who worked at the convenience store down the street from Martin's house. That had been something of a misunderstanding, though. Unfortunately, Martin had not realized until he was fully naked that Marcia was, in fact, still fully clothed and walking out the door.

The door opened and he grabbed the towel, covering his nakedness.

'I gotta make this fast,' the woman said, picking up his pants off the floor. She pulled out his wallet as she talked. 'My kid's got the 'flu. I thought he was lying to get out of school, but his sister called and said he has a fever.'

Martin watched her count out fifty dollars and return the wallet to his pants. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'

She reached her hand into an open tub of lotion. 'Lie back on the table.'

Martin got on the table, trying to keep the hand towel over his intimate areas.

'You got kids?' she asked, rubbing the lotion into her hands.

Martin's mouth opened to answer just as her hand went under the towel and her fingers wrapped around his member. 'Good Lord!' he yelped.

'Sorry my hands are cold.' She was staring at the wall, a bored look in her eyes as her shoulder jerked back and forth with her hand. 'I tell you what, sometimes I wonder if the government's telling us the truth.'

'Huh-huh.' Martin was panting so hard he could barely speak.

'I mean, lookit this 'flu thing that's going around.' Jerk, jerk, jerk. 'Everybody I know who gets it, they're, like, laid up for a week, then they get a little better, but two months later, they're still feeling rundown.'

Martin gripped the sides of the table, trying not to fall off.

'Can you really trust the CDC? Aren't they supposed to be tracking this shit?'

'Huh-huh-huh…'

'And the FDA – one minute they're telling us drugs are safe, the next minute they're taking them off the shelves.'

'Oh-oh-oh…'

'It's like we can't trust a thing they tell us anymore.'

Martin closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of the fat on the back of Madam Glitter's arm swaying as her hand moved. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, trying to think about Angelina Jolie, Rebecca Romijn… it wasn't until his mind conjured the image of Diane Sawyer in a lilac cashmere sweater that he felt himself starting to let go.

It was the dulcet tones of Diane he heard instead of Madam Glitter's harsh voice when she asked, 'You want me to squeeze your balls?'

'Gah! Gah! Gah!' He came like an oscillating lawn sprinkler with a kink in the hose.

Madam Glitter wiped her hands on the towel. 'Sorry to rush you, but I need to get back to my kid.'

Martin stared up at the ceiling, still panting. There was a brown water stain directly over the table. How had he not noticed that before?

She patted his thigh. 'Come on, sport. Up you go.'

Martin struggled to sit up. The vinyl squeaked as he moved. He was sweating. His chest was still heaving.

The last thing she had said to him as she rushed him out the door was, 'You really should have that mole looked at.'

And this was what Martin was supposed to tell Anther, that he had been getting his member massaged while Sandy was being killed? What kind of alibi was that? What kind of person paid for sex? He would rather be convicted as a murderer than have his mother find out what he had done. Did she have any inkling as to where Martin had really been? Evie was in bed when he returned from the massage parlor. Fortunately, Dancing With the Stars was on his TiVo season pass manager. He had watched Mr T doing the rumba with Joan Crawford and thought, Is this what my life has come to? I actually paid a mother of two for sex? Or was it really sex? Did a handjob count as intercourse? Martin assumed you had to enter someone – or was that a different 'inter' that they were talking about? Internal? He scowled. That didn't sound sexy at all.

Martin put the Cadillac into reverse and drove away from the scene of his real crime. The parking gate was up at Southern Toilet Supply, which was a direct violation of company rules. Of course, Martin didn't belong to the company anymore, so he shouldn't have given a fig. The problem was that he did give a fig. Anyone could break into this place. Maybe these new people who hadn't had to pick 2300 from the machinery didn't appreciate what mayhem vandals could bring to a place like this, but Martin knew first hand.

He pulled the Cadillac into its usual space, surprised to see that the only other car in the lot belonged to Unique. She certainly wasn't one to work extra hours, but maybe her conscience had won her over. Martin had every intention of completing his receivables from the workday he had missed. He may have been fired, but that was certainly no reason to shirk his responsibilities.