by Alan Katz
X.
Or a Y.
Or a Z.
Or a Z-minus-minus-minus-minus-minus. (Minus!)
See, Nathan and David had really improved in so many important ways. Ways that thrilled, thrilled, thrilled their parents. But . . .
Nathan and David realized that their mom and dad were too busy to notice (or too happy to care) that Martin wasn’t really taking care of the boys . . . the boys were taking care of him.
Whenever he made a mess, they cleaned it up.
Whenever he broke something, they fixed it.
Whenever he did something wrong, they made it right.
They were only better because he was worse.
Which was never the case with Maria or Maria or Maria or Ibi. Or even Susan.
“I think it’s time that Mom and Dad hear the truth about Martin,” Nathan said. “I mean, he’s a hoot, but he makes us do our own stuff, plus all the stuff it takes to make him look good.”
“Yeah, I think they should know the whole story,” David agreed. “Maybe they can get him to change . . . even a little. . . .”
Nathan and David realized it was the first time they had ever worked together willingly on a single task. It felt good, but it also felt strange. And it lasted only a few seconds, until David said, “What do you think you’ll say to them?”
“Me? Why me?” Nathan wanted to know.
“Okay, us then,” David agreed, not wanting to fight (and wow, did that feel strange too).
The boys worked on what they’d tell their parents.
“We’ll say that Martin has acted one way in front of Mom and Dad, but a whole different way when they aren’t around,” said David.
“We’ll say that Martin has been responsible for one mess after another, including the disgusting nanny dinner,” said Nathan.
“We’ll tell that Mom’s incredible sneezing attack was caused by the mini hyena that Martin smuggled into the house.”
“And we’ll tell that neither one of us was elected school president because of Martin’s ridiculous speeches.”
“And we’ll remind them that Martin has never actually shown them any letters of recommendation,” said David.
“Um, Dave,” Nathan said. “What if we tell Mom and Dad all this and they fire Martin?”
“They wouldn’t do that,” David said. “And don’t call me Dave.”
“They might fire him for real,” Nathan argued. “After all, this is some pretty serious stuff.”
“I don’t think they’d fire him, Nath,” David reassured his brother. “They’d just watch him a little closer, that’s all.”
“Don’t call me Nath. And what happens to us if they watch him closer?” Nathan asked.
David didn’t have an answer to that one.
“And . . . if they fire him and say it’s our fault, we don’t get the ski trip!” Nathan blurted out.
“And then if they hire someone new, it could be someone even worse!” David said.
“Could happen.”
Suddenly the boys were confused. They didn’t know whether to keep things as crazy as they were, or risk losing Martin and the ski trip and maybe end up with an even ninnier nanny.
Neither boy spoke for a while. Then David brightened and said, “Forget all that other anti-Martin stuff. We only have to tell Mom and Dad one thing. . . .”
“What’s that?” Nathan asked.
“That we know for a fact, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin Healey Discount is . . . a spy!”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Of course, thus far, David hadn’t proved that Martin was a spy. He hadn’t proved anything at all, really. So it was with little hope that he pulled out his kit to try another spy-catching mission.
But . . .
When he opened the box, everything in the kit was fully used up. There wasn’t any more fingerprint-lifting stuff. No DNA-checking stuff. No hair sample gunk. And no secret-message-revealing thingies.
“What the heck?” he said aloud. “Now I have to buy another Super-Sleuth Detective Kit to find out who used the rest of my Super-Sleuth Detective Kit!”
“It’s no mystery,” said a squeaky voice.
“Stop that, Nathan,” David said. “You’re scaring me.”
“That wasn’t me,” Nathan said. “The voice was coming from under the couch.”
“H-hello?” David said in a hushed tone.
“H-hello, my friendy friends!” said Martin, sliding out from under the couch with his arms open to greet David and Nathan.
“Martin, did you use my Super-Sleuth Detective Kit?” David demanded.
“Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t,” said Martin, adding a sinister “Nyah-ha-haaaa!”
“Ooh, that was a great sinister laugh,” David said with tremendous admiration. “Can you teach that to me?”
Martin said he’d be glad to. But first, he wanted David to tell him something.
“Sure, Martin, anything,” David said nervously.
“Why were you using this kit?” Martin wanted to know. “Did you think your brother was a spy?”
“Uh, no,” David said.
“Did you think your mother was a spy?”
“Certainly not,” David said.
“Did you think your father was a spy?”
“Not at all,” David said.
“Not your brother. Not your mother. Not your father. So who’s left? Huh? Who? Huh? Huh? Who? Who? Huh? Who?” Martin said as he inched closer and closer and closer to David.
“Who?” David repeated, trying to buy time.
“Yes, who’s left? Huh? Who? Huh? Huh? Who? Who? Huh? Who?”
“Well, the only two other people in the house are me . . . and”—gulp—“you,” David said.
“Well, kid”—Martin glared—“I guess we solved this case after all, huh?”
“What do you mean, Martin?”
“You thought I was a spy, didn’t you? You thought I was here on some kind of secret mission, plotting, scheming, dreaming, and bleaming, didn’t you?”
“Bleaming?” David asked. “What’s bleaming?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Martin said. “Now admit it, you thought I was a spy.”
David felt himself about to panic. Maybe even about to cry.
“Yes, Martin, I did,” David said. “After all, you have to admit that you have rather unusual ways of doing things.”
“I am one of a kind, to be sure. But is there anything wrong with that?” Martin said.
“Uh, no,” David told him.
“Uh, no,” Nathan agreed.
“My ways may be different, but they are effective,” Martin told them. “After all, some spell a name ‘J-E-A-N,’ others spell it ‘J-E-A-N-N-E,’ and still others spell it ‘G-E-N-E.’ If that was my name, I’d spell it ‘F-R-E-D.’ Does that make me a bad person? I think not.”
“Of course not,” said David, who wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about.
“And answer me this: out of all the nannies who came before me, did any of them help you and your brother stop fighting with each other and start being better students and more responsible kids?”
David thought about it and said, “No, Martin, just you.”
“Indeed,” said Martin. “Did any of them help you work harder and dream bigger?”
Nathan thought about it and said, “No, Martin, just you.”
“Indeed,” said Martin. “Did any of them help you discover the joys of new foods?”
David and Nathan thought about it and said, “No, Martin, just you.”
“Indeed,” said Martin. “Did any of them take you on a mini safari in Africa to find new species of elephants?”
David and Nathan thought about it and said, “No, Martin, but you didn’t either.”
“Well, I was planning to,” Martin said. “I most certainly was planning to. But I did help you with all those other things, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Martin,” David said.
“Didn’t I?”
“Yes, Martin,” Nathan said.
“And for that I get suspected as a spy?”
“I’m sorry, Martin,” David said. “Really, really sorry.”
“Forget it, kid,” Martin said. “I forgive you.”
“Thanks, Martin.” David brightened. “Thanks a lot.”
Martin patted David on the back and turned to leave the room.
“Oh, one more thing,” Martin called to David.
“Yes, Martin?”
“I am a spy. And according to that kit, your mother is too. And so’s your father. Nyah-ha-haaaa!”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
On the six-month anniversary of the day Martin first arrived at the Wohlfardts’ door, he threw himself a half-year, half-day party. Half a cake. Half a scoop of ice cream. Even half a balloon.
And it was on that day that Martin invited the boys into his room for the first time. They had always been very curious about what was in there—but Martin had fourteen locks, three alarm systems, five security cameras, two remote-controlled guards, and a recording of a snarling German shepherd to keep them out.
Today, however, was different.
They entered the room that their nanny referred to as the Martin Lounge. The boys were captivated by his giant ice sculpture of a parrot, and his very own soda machine that sold only orange soda. And they were mesmerized by the motorized carousel in his room.
It was an exciting, enchanting place to visit, to be sure. David was very excited and a little enchanted to be there. Nathan was very enchanted and a little excited to be there. But their excitement and enchantment stopped when Martin said in a very serious tone, “Sit down, boys.”
“Uh-oh,” said David.
“Uh-oh,” said Nathan.
“Why the ‘uh-ohs,’ gents?” Martin asked.
“Because every time a babysitter has told us to sit down, it was always followed by an ‘I’m leaving,’ ” David said.
Nathan nodded in agreement.
“Well, guys,” Martin said, “I’m leaving.”
“That’s not funny, Martin,” Nathan said. “Not funny at all.”
“Wasn’t meant to be funny,” Martin said. “The fact is, I am leaving. I’m heading out on the midnight train to . . . to . . .”
“Georgia?” David asked.
“Nope,” said Martin. “Name’s Martin. Haven’t you remembered that by now?”
With that, Martin handed the boys a scroll and told them to run and show it to their parents. They did, though they didn’t run, because as they’d learned during Martin’s recent In-House Kentucky Derby exercise program, it’s not a good idea to run in the house.
Nathan and David found their parents in the master bedroom. And when Mr. Wohlfardt opened the scroll and read it aloud, both he and Mrs. Wohlfardt began to cry. The scroll read:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt,
When I arrived at your home six months ago, I looked around and said to myself, “This is a place I could stay for five months. Or maybe five months and twenty-nine days.” But I never, never, never expected to stay as long as six months.
During my time here, you have changed me. And I suspect I have changed you as well. And when I’ve changed you, you’ve found new ways to change me. And then I found other new ways to change you as well, and as a result, you changed me in even more ways. Which is to say we’ve changed each other, which is a good thing, because I believe we’ve all changed for the better, except for the time I thought I heard you ask me to boil your antique china plates in shampoo but you were really just saying, “Good morning, Martin, have a nice day” and I did the boiling thing and it was a disaster but I never told you, so I’m not going to tell you now.
When I arrived at your home, the boys were, well, immature poo-poo heads. They fought with each other. They were sloppy. They ate garbage. And they didn’t care about schoolwork.
But guess what, Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt: I’m a bigger immature poo-poo head. I, too, fight with my twin brother, though I may not have one yet. I’m very sloppy as well. I eat garbage. And I can’t do 50 percent of the work your boys do in school (though I might be pretty good at the other 70 percent).
Here’s my whole deal: I pretended to be an all-star nanny with great experience, but really, I’m just a guy who likes to have fun. I really, really like your kids, and it’s been a blast to be around them, but as you can tell by not reading the recommendation letters I never showed you, I am not a TABASCO, and I am certainly not a world-class nanny.
I am, instead, a world-class fraud.
But (and this is a big “but”) . . . while I made you think I was a certified expert in childcare, the fact is, my laziness, my sloppiness, and my inattention to detail are what made your boys shape up and become solid citizens.
So while my time in your home has been full of madness, it’s been madness with a tremendous lesson attached to it. And that lesson is: Don’t Be Like Martin.
I didn’t need a ton of bricks to fall on my head to realize that. And when the ton of bricks recently fell on my head, it really hurt. So now, I must leave at once.
Please do not try to contact me. Please do not call me or e-mail me or mail me or text me. Please do not wander the streets during the night yelling, “Martin, please come back!” because I won’t be nearby to hear you, and if I am nearby, I won’t come.
Remember that the smell of the joys of knowing me will always remain in the air throughout your home, and I hope you’ll pick up a copy or two of my new book, which I plan to call The Day the Mustache Took Over.
The message had been puzzling, but that last line really confused everyone. They all scratched their heads in wonderment, and Nathan asked, “Hey, how come people scratch their heads when they’re confused?”
Mr. Wohlfardt told him he didn’t know, and anyway, he had to get back to Martin’s message. He continued reading:
Dear Wohlfardts, I will think of you often. Well, at least often for me.
As for my future plans, I have a burning desire to become a used-car salesman in a country that begins with the letter “M.” I won’t tell you which one, but it’s not Mexico or Morocco. Or France.
So long, y’all!
As the final sounds of “y’all” hung in the air, Mr. Wohlfardt looked at Nathan and David and said, “Boys, is this true? Was Martin less than perfect when your mom and I weren’t around?”
David and Nathan told them yes, that was all true. But they took turns pointing out that it was also true that they were better in school, and better to each other, and just better—all because of Martin.
Nathan and David also told their parents that they feared their (well, mostly David’s) “Martin is a spy” suspicions had offended Martin and prompted him to quit. They also said that they’d heard their mom and dad were spies, which Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt quickly denied, but not in a very convincing way. However, that was an issue for another time.
And the boys told their parents that they’d do anything to get Martin to stay. They said they didn’t care about the ski trip—they just wanted Martin Healey Discount to remain their Martin Healey Discount.
Mr. Wohlfardt stomped his foot, thrust his arm in the air, and shouted, “This man is a fake. A fraud. A sham. A phony. But he’s our fake, fraud, sham, and phony, and by golly, we must convince him that he belongs with the Wohlfardts!”
The family ran to Martin’s room, where Mr. Wohlfardt reasoned with Martin. He begged Martin to stay. He pleaded. He offered him an increase in salary. He offered him the master bedroom. He offered him more vacation days. He even tried to bribe him with a car, a boat, and a pony. Martin raised an eyebrow at the mention of the pony.
Martin said, “Pardon me for a moment, won’t you?” Then he backed into his bedroom and closed the door.
“Thinking it over!” Martin said from behind the door.
“Still thinking.”
“Still thinking.”
“Still th
inking.”
And then . . . silence.
The family waited quite a while for the door to open, but it never did.
“Are you still thinking?” Mr. Wohlfardt asked through the door.
“Please be still thinking, Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt added, even though that wasn’t totally grammatically correct.
After another short period of silence, Mr. Wohlfardt knocked on the door, and it swung open. That’s when the family saw . . . the room was empty. One hundred percent empty, except for the Nanny-o-Meter™ lying on the floor. Nathan and David looked for the ice sculpture, soda machine, and carousel. All were gone. So were all of Martin’s things, and even his bed.
Martin had ducked out through the window, and there was no sign that he had ever been there at all.
Nathan and David were instantly sad that their beloved nanny was gone. David picked up a spring from the Nanny-o-Meter™ and lovingly put it into his pocket.
Nathan had been about to grab that same piece, and he thought about screaming at David, but he didn’t. Instead, Nathan just picked up a piece of dandruff Martin had left behind and put it in his own hair.
For dinner that night, Mrs. Wohlfardt tried to make a meat loaf shaped like Martin’s head, and even though it looked oddly more like a mini hyena, the boys cried when they saw it. They refused to take a single bite.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
The next morning, the boys groggily slid out of bed at 7:55, didn’t shower, and shuffled off to school just seconds before the first bell. They had become on-time, top students at school, but their string of successes came to an end with Martin’s departure.
Once the boys had gone to school, the adult Wohlfardts went sadly to work. And that night, a brokenhearted Mrs. Wohlfardt began to iron Mr. Wohlfardt’s tennis racket.
Weeping and desperate, Mrs. Wohlfardt made calls to find a new nanny. But she didn’t find anyone that night, or over the many nights to come. There were few agencies with available nannies, and frankly, several of those who had someone to offer refused to offer them to the Wohlfardts.
