Drop Dead Gorgeous by Jamie Allen
NOTE: This story has appeared in Thirteen Magazine, May 2004, and in my 2010 book, Pictures.
She swept the last of the bones under the beautiful Chinese rug. Was that husband fifteen? No, no, of course, she'd forgotten Henry. How could she forget Henry? Yes, David was husband sixteen; the third David she'd married. Some would blame the men for falling into her clutches. She had said in the Lonely Hearts columns that she was a real man-eater.
David didn't taste as good as he looked. He needed a lot of ketchup.
Bella-Donna Metzger wiped the gravy from her new blouse, slipped on an overcoat, and reapplied her crimson lipstick. She washed up the Wedgwood, and placed David's head in the second drawer down of the filing-cabinet in her bedroom, where she'd cleared a vacancy between Cuthbert and one of the other Davids. She'd pickle it later; too many chores. Cuthbert had become a little pungent recently; she would have to buy some more vinegar.
She closed the door and locked it as one can never be too careful with all these nasty people about.
She slid into her latest late husband's Porsche and switched on the CD-player. The track was Bright Eyes . She liked this song, and tapped a highly-polished talon against the steering-wheel in rhythmic approval. By the time she'd arrived at the post-office, the mysterious lady was already prowling for fresh prey. Her twitchy eyes finally rested on a nervous-looking young man. He was holding a Royal Mail Overseas Postage Costs leaflet with shaking hands, and seemed absorbed in it.
He looked up when she approached him.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling. ‘When you've finished, can I look at that leaflet?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, rather shyly. ‘I've finished with it now.’ He handed the document to the stunning lady.
‘My name's Josie Murdoch,’ said Bella-Donna Metzger.
‘I'm Victor,’ said the man. "Victor Morley.’
‘Oooh...’ The widow's eyes lit up; there was a gap in her room between Ulrick and Walter. She said, slowly: ‘I hope I'm not being too presumptuous, but I've really taken to you, and I know you have to me.’
‘I have.’ He was watching Josie Murdoch, as she continued:
‘There is a special place in my life that I feel was made for you.’
Victor looked suddenly excited. ‘Where in your life?’
She murmured significantly: ‘In my bedroom...’
A few weeks later (when David's remains had been safely disposed of), Josie Murdoch and Victor Morley were married in secret. The honeymoon was not remarkable. She'd had better.
‘Wow, Victor,’ she had remarked coming home, ‘you're quite a lady-killer.’
Husband number seventeen strolled into the lounge, and sat down on the settee.
‘I thought we'd have something special for dinner tonight, darling,’ his wife called to him from the kitchen.
‘Ah, that reminds me,’ Victor said, rising, ‘I thought we might invite my parents round. They're looking forward to meeting you.’
Bella-Donna hissed. ‘I thought we'd agreed not to tell anyone about us.’
‘Well, yes, but if you can't trust your parents, who can you trust?’ He noticed the almost inhuman fire in his new wife's eyes. It was a rage he had never known in her before.
‘You-’ She cut herself short, and recomposed herself. ‘Of course they can come,’ she said at last with a grimace, ‘I was just worried that there weren't enough cutleries to go around.’
‘Don't worry about that, I always carry a knife and fork around with me for emergencies.
Josie Morley's ambiguous reply was: ‘So do I. You never know when there might be somebody nice for dinner.’ She coughed. ‘When are they coming?’
‘I haven't asked them yet,’ Victor explained. ‘I'll go and call them now. If that's alright, my sweet?’
‘Of course.’
Bella-Donna Metzger watched her new husband disappear into the study. She heard him pick up the phone, dial a number, and say: ‘Hello, mum... I'd like you to come and meet Josie ... That's right ... The address is ... ’
It was at that moment that she picked up the somewhat battered, over-used frying-pan. She also entered the study.
Mrs Morley savoured the last mouthful. She and her husband agreed that Josie could make an exquisite dinner.
‘Where did you say she was again, Victor, dear?’ she asked, sipping her wine.
‘I really don't know,’ replied Victor Morley, spitting the blonde hair he had found in his soup into a napkin. He topped off his mother's glass. ‘But it feels like she's with us now,’ he continued through mouthfuls. ‘You can just feel her presence at the table. She has that effect. Was the meat a bit coarse, Dad?’
‘Of course not, son. By the way, what did you say this was?’ He gesticulated with his fork, shining pointed, and almost dazzling.
‘It Jodie's special recipe.’
‘I thought you said she was called Josie.’
‘That's what I meant. Josie's unique meal.’
Once the parents had left, Victor went into the hall. The rug was getting a bit lumpy now. He picked up the spotless frying-pan, and the blood-stained telephone, and dropped them both into an open manhole on the street outside. He gathered together Josie's remains. Poor woman. Still, she really was going to fill that void.
There was an empty space between Ingrid and Katy.
She swept the last of the bones under the beautiful Chinese rug. Was that husband fifteen? No, no, of course, she'd forgotten Henry. How could she forget Henry? Yes, David was husband sixteen; the third David she'd married. Some would blame the men for falling into her clutches. She had said in the Lonely Hearts columns that she was a real man-eater.
David didn't taste as good as he looked. He needed a lot of ketchup.
Bella-Donna Metzger wiped the gravy from her new blouse, slipped on an overcoat, and reapplied her crimson lipstick. She washed up the Wedgwood, and placed David's head in the second drawer down of the filing-cabinet in her bedroom, where she'd cleared a vacancy between Cuthbert and one of the other Davids. She'd pickle it later; too many chores. Cuthbert had become a little pungent recently; she would have to buy some more vinegar.
She closed the door and locked it as one can never be too careful with all these nasty people about.
She slid into her latest late husband's Porsche and switched on the CD-player. The track was Bright Eyes . She liked this song, and tapped a highly-polished talon against the steering-wheel in rhythmic approval. By the time she'd arrived at the post-office, the mysterious lady was already prowling for fresh prey. Her twitchy eyes finally rested on a nervous-looking young man. He was holding a Royal Mail Overseas Postage Costs leaflet with shaking hands, and seemed absorbed in it.
He looked up when she approached him.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling. ‘When you've finished, can I look at that leaflet?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, rather shyly. ‘I've finished with it now.’ He handed the document to the stunning lady.
‘My name's Josie Murdoch,’ said Bella-Donna Metzger.
‘I'm Victor,’ said the man. "Victor Morley.’
‘Oooh...’ The widow's eyes lit up; there was a gap in her room between Ulrick and Walter. She said, slowly: ‘I hope I'm not being too presumptuous, but I've really taken to you, and I know you have to me.’
‘I have.’ He was watching Josie Murdoch, as she continued:
‘There is a special place in my life that I feel was made for you.’
Victor looked suddenly excited. ‘Where in your life?’
She murmured significantly: ‘In my bedroom...’
A few weeks later (when David's remains had been safely disposed of), Josie Murdoch and Victor Morley were married in secret. The honeymoon was not remarkable. She'd had better.
‘Wow, Victor,’ she had remarked coming home, ‘you're quite a lady-killer.’
Husband number seventeen strolled into the lounge, and sat down on the settee.
‘I thought we'd have something special for dinner tonight, darling,’ his wife called to him from the kitchen.
‘Ah, that reminds me,’ Victor said, rising, ‘I thought we might invite my parents round. They're looking forward to meeting you.’
Bella-Donna hissed. ‘I thought we'd agreed not to tell anyone about us.’
‘Well, yes, but if you can't trust your parents, who can you trust?’ He noticed the almost inhuman fire in his new wife's eyes. It was a rage he had never known in her before.
‘You-’ She cut herself short, and recomposed herself. ‘Of course they can come,’ she said at last with a grimace, ‘I was just worried that there weren't enough cutleries to go around.’
‘Don't worry about that, I always carry a knife and fork around with me for emergencies.
Josie Morley's ambiguous reply was: ‘So do I. You never know when there might be somebody nice for dinner.’ She coughed. ‘When are they coming?’
‘I haven't asked them yet,’ Victor explained. ‘I'll go and call them now. If that's alright, my sweet?’
‘Of course.’
Bella-Donna Metzger watched her new husband disappear into the study. She heard him pick up the phone, dial a number, and say: ‘Hello, mum... I'd like you to come and meet Josie ... That's right ... The address is ... ’
It was at that moment that she picked up the somewhat battered, over-used frying-pan. She also entered the study.
Mrs Morley savoured the last mouthful. She and her husband agreed that Josie could make an exquisite dinner.
‘Where did you say she was again, Victor, dear?’ she asked, sipping her wine.
‘I really don't know,’ replied Victor Morley, spitting the blonde hair he had found in his soup into a napkin. He topped off his mother's glass. ‘But it feels like she's with us now,’ he continued through mouthfuls. ‘You can just feel her presence at the table. She has that effect. Was the meat a bit coarse, Dad?’
‘Of course not, son. By the way, what did you say this was?’ He gesticulated with his fork, shining pointed, and almost dazzling.
‘It Jodie's special recipe.’
‘I thought you said she was called Josie.’
‘That's what I meant. Josie's unique meal.’
Once the parents had left, Victor went into the hall. The rug was getting a bit lumpy now. He picked up the spotless frying-pan, and the blood-stained telephone, and dropped them both into an open manhole on the street outside. He gathered together Josie's remains. Poor woman. Still, she really was going to fill that void.
There was an empty space between Ingrid and Katy.
