True Crime Campfire - Show Girl: Bad Bitch Marjorie Orbin

Episode Date: October 21, 2022

There’s a phenomenon in psychology called decentering. Basically, it means understanding that you’re viewing the world through your own little perceptual filters, and beginning to wrap your head around the fact that you are not, in fact, the center of the universe—the main character in the movie of the world. This is important stuff. Without it, people tend to be, at best, selfish a-holes, and at worst—well, we’re about to find out. Join us for the story of one of Arizona’s most disturbing murder mysteries—a tale of greed, glamour, and a woman, Marjorie Orbin, who was incapable of seeing herself as anything else but a star. Sources:Book, "Dancing With Death” by Shanna HoganCBS's 48 Hours: Hard Evidence, Episode “Diary of a Showgirl”Oxygen's Snapped, Season 12 Episode 10, “Marjorie Orbin”Investigation Discovery's Scorned: Love Kills, Season 1 Episode 6, “The Showgirl and The Salesman”Follow us, campers!Patreon (join to get all episodes ad-free, at least a day early, an extra episode a month, and a free sticker!): https://patreon.com/TrueCrimeCampfireFacebook: True Crime CampfireInstagram: https://gramha.net/profile/truecrimecampfire/19093397079Twitter: @TCCampfire https://twitter.com/TCCampfireEmail: [e-mail]! https://true-crime-campfire.myspreadshop.com/Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/true-crime-campfire--4251960/support.

Hello, campers. Grab your marshmallows and gather around the true crime campfire. We're your camp counselors. I'm Katie. And I'm Whitney. And we're here to tell you a true story that is way stranger than fiction. We're roasting murderers and marshmallows around the true crime campfire. There's a phenomenon in psychology called decentering. Basically, it means understanding that you're viewing the world through your own little perceptual filters and beginning to wrap your head around the fact that you are not in fact the center of the universe, the main character in the movie of the world. This is important

stuff. Without it, people tend to be at best selfish a-holes and at worst, well, we're about to find out. Join us for the story of one of Arizona's most disturbing murder mysteries, a tale of greed, glamour, and a woman incapable of seeing herself as anything else but a star. This is showgirl, Bad Bitch Marjorie Orban So campers, for this one, we're in Scottsdale, Arizona, September 28, 2004. Marjorie Orban and her boyfriend, Larry, were enjoying a quiet night in at her house, a nice, big place in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Despite the age difference between them, Marjorie was 43 and Larry was 60, they seemed like a pretty well-matched couple. Both good-looking, both tall and athletic.

They'd met at the gym, in fact. They both went there every day, rain or shine, to lift weights. Anyway, Marjorie and Larry were just hanging out in the living room that night when suddenly all hell broke loose. The front door exploded in, and then it was all black SWAT team uniforms and guns and people yelling, police, get down on the ground. Marjorie screamed, which is understandable, and got down. down. But Larry, who apparently hadn't quite gotten his brain in gear yet, charged at the swat guys yelling, get the fuck out of here. Now, I don't know what Lair expected to be the end result there, but surprise, surprise, they tased him and he dropped like a sack of bricks. One of the swat guys

rolled Larry over and cuffed him and bless his heart, Larry just kept on yelling and trying to kick the guy's heart as he could, like Larry, I'm a dude. So of course he got tased again, and as he was kicking and swearing and God knows what else, and Marjorie was just in the background screaming her head off, just chaos continued to erupt for a few terrifying seconds. So what had happened to precipitate all this, a dramatic police invasion of Marjorie Orban's quiet suburban life? Well, to answer that, we need to know just who Marjorie was, because while she seemed to fit comfortably into the role of suburban soccer mom, that was definitely a new direction in her life. Marjorie Ann Crow was born in 1961 and grew up in Altamonte,

Springs, Florida, a small town just to the north of Orlando. She wanted something more, though, even from a young age, she was drawn to the idea of bright lights big city. And this feeling that the grass was always greener somewhere else was something Marjorie took into her dating life, too. We've all known somebody like this, right? They dive headfirst into a new romance, fully convincing themselves that this great honeymoon phase is going to last forever, and then when it doesn't, when they find themselves in, you know, a normal human relationship, they get bored and frustrated and start looking for the next big thing. Although, in Marjorie's case, there was often some overlap between the next big thing

and the previous big thing. She usually didn't leave one guy unless she already had another poor bastard lined up. She absolutely could not stand, being single. And Marjorie never had trouble finding volunteers to be her leading man. She was tall and gorgeous and had a dancer's athletic build, and she had learned early on how to get and hold male attention. Dance was a huge part of Marjorie's life. She'd dance since she was six, with dreams of performing on Broadway or joining a ballet company.

She didn't get that, but she did find regular work as a waitress and dancer in Orlando's club scene, mainly the kind of dancing where a chorus line at pretty girls with big smiles do lots of high kicks and whatnot. As well as being easy on the eyes, Marjorie was hardworking and talented and often wound up head choreographer for the dance troops that she worked with. Her working life was a lot more steady and regular than her romantic life, which saw Marjorie always important. impulsive and driven by her passions careening from one guy to another, and she soon started racking up a truly impressive tally of ex-husbands. Well, impressive in number, not in quality. Husband, numero uno, was a guy named Mitchell Marquis. He was 10 years older than Marjorie and started dating her when she was still in high school and working as a waitress. Ew, dude. Dazed and

confused is a cautionary tale. Mitchell had a successful motorcycle shop and looked kind of like one of the Bejys. Tall, big hair, short beard. And remember, we're in the mid-70s right now. Add an open shirt and a gold medallion over a hairy chest. And you've pretty much reached the apex of male sexuality. Man, I miss hairy chest. They're all waxing them now. I like a little fuzz on a man. I'm just saying. I don't think they're all waxing that, Whitney. There are definitely hairy men out there, I promise. Also, you're married. Not, thank God. You're married. Shut up. So they got married when Marjorie was 19, but it didn't last long. I mean, Marjorie was a teenager.

She wanted to go out partying and clubbing and stuff. But Mitchell, a 30-year-old man, wanted more of a normal work-home kind of life. Yeah, who could have possibly predicted this scenario? Yeah, it's like, my dude, if you marry a 19-year-old nightclub dancer and expect to get a Stepford wife, I think that's on you. They divorced within a couple of years, but Marjorie would often go back to using Mitchell's last name professionally. And you can see why. Marjorie Marquis sounds pretty cool. It really does.

Our girl wasn't single long, as usual. Husband number two came along just eight months after her divorce from Mitchell. This was a dude named Larry Tweed, a big corn-fed good old boy from a wealthy South Carolina family, and Larry was her age. Finally, someone she could go out and party with. But this one hit the skids pretty fast, too. Marjorie would later claim that she got too serious for Larry. He still wanted to go out drinking with his buddies all the time while she was getting new management responsibilities at the club where she worked.

But coincidentally, things started really going south with Larry when Marjorie met Luke Forrest, a hot nightclub singer in his 30s. Barely a year after tying the knot with Larry, Marjorie was divorced again and living in Luke's apartment. He might have been sexy, but Luke Forrest was also a complete tool. He insisted on handling both their finances. Every week, Marjorie had to hand over her paycheck. He'd pay the bills and give her an allowance.

Oh, fuck that. Yeah. And when Marjorie's cute, sporty little Nissan was towed from her work, she found out that Luke hadn't so much been paying the bills as gambling all her money on Hiale. She left him. He came crawling back and begging for forgiveness the way little worms like him always do. And she took him back. He'd change, right? No chance he'd do exactly the same thing again. Right? In 1985, Luke said some friends of his had a lucrative job lined up for him in Las Vegas and talked Marjorie into going out there with him. Because the best place for a guy with a gambling problem, is definitely Vegas, right? What could possibly go wrong?

They sold everything they had, pocketing about $8,000 of savings, and drove out west. They got a tiny little studio apartment and Marjorie started working as a showgirl. The whole Vegas thing, tall feathers, sequined bikinis, super glam, but not very high-paying work.

It was all they had, though. Luke's friends and their job offer didn't seem to be materializing. I know. Y'all are shocked to hear. it. Luke, champ that he was, started pressuring Marjorie to strip to make more money. Oh, and also, maybe he could have another girlfriend, too? She didn't mind sharing, right? Come on, babe, don't be all weird on me. It's just sex. You're the one I really love.

That's my impression of Luke. Marjorie was starting to regret ever coming out West, and she was getting increasingly skeeved out by Luke. That skeeved outedness turned to rage when after three months in Vegas, she went to the bank and found that every blessed penny of their $8,000 savings had vanished. Luke, of course, had gambled it all away. What? He made no material changes to his behavior or mindset and nothing changed? I'm shocked, Whitney.

Appalled. Yeah, it pretty much looked like that was the whole reason he brought her out there in the first place. He'd probably convinced himself that with that much money, he was bound to make a big score. Come on, Luke, you know, what actually stays in Vegas is all your money. That's literally what Vegas is for. So Marjorie split. She threw her clothes in the car and started driving back to Florida. But she'd only gotten as far as Phoenix, Arizona, before the car crept out on her. She barely made it to a mechanic who told her the repairs would cost nearly $1,000 and would need a part that took 10 days to order. I think we can all agree that this would suck out loud,

stranded in a strange city with no money and a bill for $1,000 hanging over her head. Marjorie didn't have any friends she could just call and ask to borrow $1,000 from at that point, and besides, she was feeling like an idiot about Trust in Luke again. She'd have been too embarrassed to tell anybody anyway. So she got the mechanic to give her directions to the closest hotel and started walking, thinking she'd find some kind of short-term work, just enough to get her back on the road. And I don't think she would have had too much trouble finding a gink somewhere. I mean, she had years of hospitality experience from waitress all the way up to management.

But Marjorie never made it to the hotel. On the way there, she passed a strip club. Bourbon Street Circus, and decided to try her hand at making money a little more quickly. She'd never stripped before. Luke never managed to talk her into it back in Vegas, but she wasn't really a stranger to the scene. Back in Florida, there was a lot of crossover between the strip clubs and the places Marjorie danced, both among the dancers themselves and the people who ran the clubs. She'd been good friends with the guy who ran most of the strip clubs in Orlando, a business he cheerfully referred to as topless Disneyland. Tiddyland.

She wasn't exactly a wide-eyed newbie when she started stripping at Bourbon Street Circus, and with her looks and professional dance background, it took her about five minutes to become one of their star performers. And it took even less time from Marjorie to realize that she really liked the job. She liked the attention, she liked the men leston after her, and she really liked the money. She was making about $600 a night, and that's in 80s money, which translates to around $1,500 a night now. Just, damn, like, I've had some pretty sweet gigs, but I ain't never made $1,500. a night doing anything. Marjorie just kind of fallen sideways into this new career, but life is like that sometimes. You never know when a little twist of fate like this is going to change your life forever.

And one of the regular customers at Bourbon Street Circus was a 26-year-old jewelry salesman named Jay Orban, and from the minute he laid eyes on her, Jay was completely smitten with Marjorie. It was like hard eyes, hearts and flowers, choir of angels, like that's how he felt the first time he saw her. After watching her dance, he gave her a $100 tip and bought her a drink. The attraction was very much not mutual. Marjorie liked tall, built dudes who looked like they could moonlight as Chippendales dancers, and Jay was, you know, a normal guy. He was kind of stocky and balding, and he dressed like a Southwest cliche. As Marjorie would later tell author Shanna Hogan,

he thought he was pretty suave. He had diamond pinky rings, cowboy boots, and the tight jeans, and the big old rodeo belt buckle. He looked like a used car salesman. But still, Marjorie kind of enjoyed her drink with Jay. There was a reason he was such a good salesman. He was funny and friendly and good at putting people at ease with his endless repertoire of the kind of dad jokes you couldn't help but laugh at. Soon he was coming to Bourbon Street Circus six nights a week, and every time he would pay Marjorie and buy her a drink. Over the next couple of months, they got pretty friendly. Marjorie learned from other dancers at the club that Jay had helped some of them out,

giving them money or a place to stay for a few days if they were on a tight spot. So when Jay suggested Marjorie move into a spare room for a while so she could save money, it didn't seem too weird. Even if Jay did keep pressing for something more romantic than only friendship. And after she'd been there for a few days, he treated her to an evening of drinks and dancing, and at the end of the night, they ended up in Jay's bedroom. And apparently, it didn't go so well. Or at least, it didn't go so well for Marjorie.

Jay was thrilled, said it was great, but for Marjorie, it was just kind of awkward. The next morning, Jay told Marjorie he loved her. She told him, she had to get back to Florida, and then she packed up her stuff and left. Oof. Yeah, that's got to be a hard kick-up the ego right there. You finally spend the night with your big crush, you tell her you love her, and her response is to leave the state. Ouch. I don't think you can recover from that.

The money Marjorie had made stripping was too good to give up, and back in Florida, she started working at the dollhouse in Fort Lauderdale, pulling in twice what she'd made in Phoenix. But just as she was starting to get her feet under her again, the bad penny turned up. Luke, Forrest, back from Vegas, and begging Marjorie to take him back. Are you kidding me, the gambling asshole? You stole all her money and then tried to talk her into letting me have another girlfriend? One and the same, Whitney. Wow, okay. it was that this asshole had, Marjorie couldn't resist it. Hilarious jokes, Sterling personality, Dick made of gold. Who knows? In May 1986, they got married on the beach with Marjorie thinking, this is a mistake,

even as she walked across the sand. She was right, of course. Three months and three days after the wedding, they finalized their divorce. Just in time for Marjorie's fourth wedding. No, my God. Mm-hmm. Give it up for Bachelor. number four, Joe Canizaro, a macho tile contractor from New York City who picked her up at the dollhouse.

Marjorie told him he was husband number two. And as you're going to find out, as we get further along in the story, when telling the truth made her look bad, Marjorie wanted no part of it. Right around this time, Marjorie's career really started taking off. Her boss at the dollhouse put together a touring burlesque troop, the platinum dolls, and put Marjorie in charge. The gimmick was that all the dancers, the dolls, would look alike and dress alike. To fit in, Marjorie bleached her hair platinum blonde, got hair extensions and breast implants, and became a regular at the tanning salon. The platinum dolls were a hit, first touring Florida, and then the world, with Marjorie

handling the hiring, choreography, and costuming. In 1987, she and some of the other dollhouse dancers appeared in the video for Motley cruise single, Girls, Girls, Girls, which they shot at the club. That's awesome. Unsurprisingly, this was a party-heavy lifestyle. Turns out, having one half of a new marriage out on the road having fun all the time isn't great for the relationship. Marjorie and Joe divorced in 1988 after just two years together.

But don't worry. Because our girl, Margie, already had husband number five lined up. You're right. Yes, that is a basketball team worth of ex-husbands. In 1989, she married Ronald McMahon. By now, Marjorie was 28. Her new hubs, Ronald was 56, exactly twice her age. He was also seriously wealthy with a big excavating business in New Jersey, huge houses in Florida and Jersey, and a fleet of luxury cars. He swept Marjorie off her feet with the high life,

designer clothes, fancy restaurants, and five-star vacations. When Marjorie moved into his New Jersey estate, Ronald even signed his excavating company over to her name, which she thought was a sweet gesture of commitment, until she discovered that there was some shady shit going on in Ronald's company, including a failure to pay taxes. Because the company was now in Marjorie's name, she found out she was now laden with $50,000 worth of tax debt. After a furious fight with Ronald, she ran back to Florida and the Platinum Dolls,

and filed for divorce. She thought that would resolve the debt issue when the company went back to Ronald, which seems to me like the kind of thing you'd probably want to double check on. But hey, you know, maybe it'll just all work out. Stunningly, Marjorie then managed to go nearly two whole years without getting married. Dating her friend and dollhouse owner Michael J. Peter, a relationship which hit the rocks because it turns out, Millionaire strip club owner and Hansy Ledge kind of tend to be synonymous, or at least they were in the case of this dude. Michael was constantly surrounded by naked and nearly naked women and apparently had all the impulse control of a puppy who needs to go pee-pee. Marriage number six for Marjorie was

in 1992 to Milan Radisitz, a good friend and frequent dance partner of hers. And Milan was a handsome Dane, openly gay, and his visa was about to expire. The marriage was entirely a favor to a friend, and once his green card paperwork was done, a divorce quickly followed. Feeling she needed a change of scenery, Marjorie headed back to Las Vegas and again found work in the showgirl scene as both a dancer and choreographer. Most of her fellow dancers were younger than her and all in on the wild party hard lifestyle. Marjorie joined in sometimes, but overall she'd started wanting something else out of life. I guess six marriages will do that to you before you're 30. You know, she was 33 and her chosen career came with an expiration date because, you know, you don't see a whole lot of like 60-year-old

showgirls. I'm sure they're out there, but you know, not a lot. And her long string of relationships and their rapid failures had left her longing for a simpler kind of life in a role as a homemaker. Most of all, she dreamed of capping this imaginary idyllic life off with a baby. But that she knew was almost certainly just fantasy. When she was 17, she'd been diagnosed with severe endometriosis and told she could never have children. It was in the midst of all this wistful longing that Marjorie got a blast from the past. A phone call from Jay Orban, the Phoenix Jones. jewelry salesman. She'd had that short, awkward fling with nine years and four husbands ago.

Now 35, Jay was still a jewelry salesman, but his business, Jayhawk International, had really taken off, and he was pretty much rolling in money. Which, by the way, is the one common thread in all of Marjorie's various train wreck dumpster fire relationships. The dudes always had or were connected to money. Even Luke, the loser, had rich parents up in Cincinnati, which he should have just been stealing their money instead, for God's sakes. But anyway, over the last decade, Jay had never stopped carrying a torch for Marjorie. Poor Kai. That little one-night stand had really made an impression on him. And in his imagination, she became the infamous one that got away. Jay traveled all over the country for his business. And in every city he stopped in,

he'd tried to look her up. And then one night, on a trip to Las Vegas, there she was. On a billboard, no less. Huge and illuminated and smiling. down to him. Just imagine like, you imagine that moment. To Jay Orban, it felt like a sign from the universe. So he got her number from the phone book and called. Surprised, but happy to hear from him. I mean, they'd always been friendly before he confessed his undying love. Marjorie agreed to meet Jay for a drink. And they hit it off again. Jay still had the same funny, friendly nature that helped make him such a good salesman and they kept on meeting up. Eventually, they ended up in bed in Jay's hotel room, an experience that was no more fun for Marjorie

than the first time they'd had sex nine years ago. But Marjorie was in a different place in her life this time. She said, I've had enough sex for 100 people. I don't care about it anymore. Which I bet is just the kind of super sexy pillow talk every dude dreams about hearing after a good sweaty romp.

Poor bastard. But I mean, I guess she's being honest, right? But apparently, it was good enough for him because Jay proposed. Marjorie turned him down. She liked Jay, but she didn't love him, and she knew she wouldn't be happy with him. But Jay kept on trying to talk her into it, and he soon discovered Marjorie's deep regret about not being able to have children. So he offered her a deal.

If she'd moved to Phoenix and marry him, he'd do everything possible to give her a child, including expensive fertility treatments, a field that had grown by leaps and bounds since a 17-year-old Marjorie was told she couldn't have children. It was too good to turn down. Marjorie agreed on the condition that if she wasn't pregnant after two years, they'd call it quits and she could walk away. So in July 1995, they got hitched at the little white wedding chapel in Vegas, a place that I swear to God has a feature called the drive-through tunnel of vows. That's a beautiful man.

Honestly, ideal. Like, I don't like attention. Just throw me in a car, I'll drive-through marry you. Oh, you're into it. Okay. Yeah, I love it. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not very, that kind of romantic. I'm romantic, but wedding stress me out.

I'm anxious. I don't like people looking at me. All right. Well, great. You go ahead and use that drive-through tunnel of vows. So this sounds like a super stable and healthy basis for a new marriage, right, campers? Built on a foundation of dealmaking and unbalanced enthusiasm that was about as solid as cooked oatmeal. But Jay stuck to his work.

word, and before long, they were trying in vitro fertilization, an expensive, and for Marjorie, physically uncomfortable and nauseating experience. But several months and 60 grand later, the treatments hadn't worked. During this time, Marjorie got to know Jay's family and friends, who were certainly surprised when he showed up with this new leggy blonde wife in her short skirts and high heels. Jay's parents immediately developed sympathy for her, though, when Marjorie told them about her sad, sad history. She told them all about how her only previous husband Mitchell Markey

had been killed in a car wreck soon after they were married, and that the same accident put Marjorie into a coma for six weeks. She'd only learned about her beloved husband's death when she finally woke up, Marjorie told her in-laws. Wait, y'all don't remember that part?

You don't? Huh. Yeah, that's because it was complete horseshit, of course, just a weird dramatic lie. I mean, you can maybe understand if she didn't want to let her new in-laws know Jay was husband number seven. But all the soap opera details she added were just bizarre. Like, you don't go into a coma for six weeks and wake up fine. That's not how that works. And this wasn't the only strange unnecessary lie.

Marjorie also told Jay's family that she had eight siblings, including a male twin who was a model and jigolo and a pair of sisters who worked as dance. answers with Sigfried and Roy. I guess her one actual sibling didn't fit the glamorous narrative Marjorie wanted to build about herself. Her older sister Colleen was a truck driver in Texas.

In late 1995, the IVF treatment finally took. Marjorie was pregnant. In August, the following year, their son Noah was born. She and Jay were over the moon, and they both completely doted on this kid. He was their miracle baby.

And for a few years, Jay and Marjorie were pretty happy together, even if the physical side of their relationship hadn't really improved and was starting to fade out completely. Jay was still spending about half his time traveling, criss-crossing the country on business, but every day he'd call home and talk to little Noah. Marjorie was an overprotective, even obsessive mother, not trusting anybody else to look after her kid. No sleepovers or babysitters for Noah. She put together little outfits for him, made sure his bloods. blonde hair was always nicely styled, like he was her little doll or something. And when, at four years old, Noah started taking karate classes, Marjorie was all in, helping him train and pushing him to be the best in his class.

Although she was in many ways a loner and had little interest in befriending Jay's blue collar buds, Marjorie had started to build a small circle of friends, mainly women she met at the gym and at Noah's karate classes. In particular, she got close with Sharon Franco, the mom of another kid in the karate class. Sharon was in her 40s, divorced, athletic, pretty. In general, Marjorie only liked to be friends with good-looking people. Barf. And she could be a lot of fun to hang around with. In both the clothed and unclothed halves of Marjorie's dancing career, she learned that dancers had to look out for each other. And for the most part, she took that attitude into her friendships with other women. Sharon was impressed by Marjorie, what with her law and psychology degrees and all the

different languages she spoke, all of which, of course, were just more shovelfuls from Marjorie's big pile of bullshit. Just how insecurity you got to be to invent outrageous lies to impress a new friend. You know, she already likes you. She already wants to hang out with you, dumbass. This is somebody you could actually be yourself with. But no, got to one-up everybody. Got to be the coolest kid in the room. Even if you have to weave a big old elaborate web lies to do it. Yeah, she watched too much days of our lives. Like, it's the most ludicrous lives. She has a twin brother and a law degree and a psych degree and she's a polyglot and she was in a coma for six weeks and survived. Right. That's very days of our lives, the coma thing. And the twin. And the twin. And that's the thing

with these liars, they always make up a twin and I don't get it. Because like, what's special about that? But any one of these lies would have been fine, right? Like, oh, I actually have a psych degree. Oh, you know, I have a twin brother who's a jiggleau and a model, whatever. But all of them? What? Yeah, exactly. She overshot by like a long way. She should have stuck with one or two. So anyway, soon Marjorie and Sharon were close enough that Marjorie started opening up about the major frustrations in her life, which all seemed to revolve around her husband, Jay. While they outwardly still seemed very much the happy, wealthy, suburban couple, Marjorie had a whole list of things to bitch about. She told Sharon that the whole marriage was a sham,

that she'd just agreed to it to make some money. According to her, Jay was the one with the fertility problems, and in order to conceive, his jeans had to be washed, which, she said, meant Noah had very little of his father and him. Yeah, Marge, that's not how that works, honey. That is not how any of that works, but okay. She complained about her unsatisfying sex life, about how controlling Jay was,

and about how she felt trapped because she had no money of her own. Sharon felt sorry for her. That wouldn't last too long, though. By the time he was seven, Marjorie's son Noah was getting pretty good at karate, and Marjorie obsessed over his competitions. So much so that, according to Sharon, Marjorie would sometimes sneak into the locker room and sprinkle itching powder into the other kids' uniforms.

Which I think we can all agree is bat-shit crazy. And when one of the instructors praised another boy, Marjorie started spreading ugly rumors about the kid's mom and would call and hang up on this poor woman again and again, apparently not realizing that the lady had caller ID. Your name is right there, Marge. And it gets worse. Marjorie painted graffiti on the walls of this poor kid's school,

insulting him, and then printed 200 copies of a letter, slandering his mom, which she went and put under the windshield wipers of every single car in the karate studio parking lot. Holy shit. So it's clear, Ms. Marjorie had a vindictive side, to say the least, when I'm sure she justified to herself as being a mama bear looking out for her precious baby. What a microcosm of Marge's entire personality. Like, to her, success isn't about what you do and being good at what you do. It's about how you look. Like, her son might have been great at karate on his own, but why would she trust his skill when she can fix the game? game. Yeah, thinking back to that episode we did about sports parents, right, who went too far? Yeah.

How far down that road was she willing to go? Well, once when she was grilling her friend Sharon about how she got custody of her kids, Marjorie said, Jay will never take custody of Noah. If he ever tries, I'll take care of him. She then explained what humongous life insurance policies Jay had and that if anything ever happened to him, Marjorie would be quite the merry widow. Now, of course, as people usually do, Sharon left all this off. Her friend was just joking around, surely, right?

And it's kind of understandable, I guess. I mean, Marjorie was 10 pounds of bullshit in a five-pound bag, and a lot of what she said was over the top. But fantasizing about Jay dying became a favorite subject of hers. Someone asked to cut that fucker's break sooner or later, she said one time. And no one will ever take Noah from me. I'd kill them. They'd find themselves without a head or wrapped in a blanket in the desert.

Yeah, that one is going to be real interesting to y'all here in a few minutes. As Marjorie grew more comfortable with Sharon, she started to let slip some things she really probably shouldn't have. And Sharon started to realize that her new friend was weirder and wilder than she ever could have guessed. For example, Marjorie was hitting the gym real hard about this time determined to build up her strength and lose some weight, and she told Sharon that to help lose weight, sometimes she'd crush up and snort little Noah's Ritalin. But she said she'd rather have cocaine. Could Sharon get some for her? Now, I'm sure that there are soccer moms out there snorting the old Colombian nose candy.

But that's just not something most of us would bring up in casual conversation. Oh, hey, I really like your new curtains. Can you find me some blow? And this is going to make you want to fire this bitch into the sun. Sometimes, if she needed a break from Noah, she'd just dose him up on Ritalin until he fell asleep. And as if that wasn't horrifying enough, Noah wasn't the only family man. remember Marjorie was comfortable poisoning. She didn't like Jay hanging out with his friends too much. So before he went out with them, Marjorie would sometimes dose his drink with medication

that would make him throw up and get diarrhea. Jay would come home early, of course, and after a while, he didn't really feel like hanging out with those friends anymore. Something kept making him sick at their house. Weird, right? And Sharon continued to get an earful about Jay. Even if Marjorie couldn't seem to make up her mind what she was. pissed off about. On one hand, she said she wasn't attracted to him, but she was also mad that he wasn't showing much interest in sex anymore. I guess she didn't want to have sex with Jay,

but it irked her to think he didn't want her either. Marjorie did want to get some. Apparently having, quote, enough sex for 100 women wasn't enough for her. In 2004, she had at least two affairs. There were almost certainly more before then, but only Marjorie knows the truth about that. One of the instructors at Noah's karate studio was a 19-year-old kid named Josiah Rookert. He also happened to be Sharon Franco's boyfriend. Obviously, this caused some gossipy scandal. Sharon was almost twice her teenage boyfriend's age, but they weren't sneaking around or cheating or anything, just dating, and had been for a couple of months. Marjorie was jealous.

She told Sharon she wish she had a young lover like that. So she decided on the obvious solution. she'd have the same young lover. One day, she asked Josiah over so she could alter his karate uniform, and more or less just dragged him into the bedroom. For the next couple of months, every time Jay went out of town, Marjorie would call Josiah, and he'd come running, all behind Sharon Franco's back, his girlfriend and allegedly Marjorie's bestie.

Thing was, though, Josiah was actually falling for Sharon, whereas Marjorie was just a fling to him, a fling that was starting to get a little too heavy for his taste. She told Josiah she wanted to leave Jay and be with him. Josiah did not like that idea one little bit, and he started pulling back. When Marjorie sensed that, she made a Hail Mary pass. Why don't we spice things up a little, she said. Let's have a threesome with Sharon. Now, you might assume that a 19 year old guy would be all over this, but not so much. Instead of typing out his dear penthouse letter, Josiah was just freaked out. This was getting weird. Marjorie was weird. He just wanted Sharon, so he took a deep breath and broke it off with Marjorie. So from what we know so far, I figure

Marjorie's going to take this in stride, right? No, no, not exactly. She told Josiah as Sharon had been cheating on him. A lie, and when he told Sharon about it, Sharon cut off all communication with Marjorie. Marjorie bombarded her with phone calls, 10 or 20 every day, sometimes leaving a silent message, sometimes bragging about banging Josiah. It was creepy and scary, so much so that Sharon installed a new security system. So Marjorie's cougar fling had crashed and burned, and she had burned bridges with her best friend. 2004 was off to a great start, and it would only be getting better.

In the summer at her gym, Marjorie met Larry Weisberg, a good-looking, divorced 60-year-old, who kept himself in excellent shape with the winning combination of hard work and shit tons of steroids. Marjorie flirted with him, but when she handed him her phone number on a scrap of paper, Larry noticed her wedding ring. Oh, she wasn't married, Marjorie told him. She just wore that to put off the ravenous hordes of men who were always trying to hit on her. After a couple of dates, things got physical, and Marjorie was all in. she wrote Larry long love letters calling him her one true love and her soul

wharf remember she'd only known this guy a few weeks in fact she didn't know him well at all it really seems like she had decided she wanted a new man and so just poured all the qualities she wanted into Larry regardless of who Larry actually was and Larry was pretty smitten too although he was a much more practical and less impulsive person than Marjorie but he'd been single a long time and having this attractive younger woman pursue him was flattering and exciting. When the new man in Marjorie's life asked about the old man, Jay, Marjorie told him they were divorced and just friends now. Jay slept at his business and occasionally on the couch at the house. He was moving out soon, and when he did, Larry could

move in. All of which would have been a total surprise to Jay Orban. He was oblivious to Marjorie's affairs. He certainly had no plans to move out. As far as he knew, he and Marjorie were doing fine. If the physical side of their relationship had pretty much evaporated, well, it had never been that hot and heavy to start with. Everything seemed pretty normal to him. In late August, Jay set off on a business trip, driving out to the East Coast to sell jewelry. I love you, he said to Marjorie as he left. You too, she said. He went to work, loaded up his white cargo truck with jewelry cases and headed east. Marjorie called Larry to come over as soon as Jay was out the door. On the road, Jay always kept in frequent touch with his family, talking often to his

mom and brother as well as Marjorie and Noah. By September 8th, his birthday, Jay was nearly home. At 8.30 a.m., his mom called to wish him happy birthday. Jay told her he was just outside Tucson and heading home. It was the last time his mom would ever hear his voice. The next day, Marjorie went to Target and spent nearly $500 on cleaning supplies, plus a Game Boy advance for Noah. The day after that, she went to Lowe and dropped another $200 on hardware supplies. She'd always had a knack for home improvement and spent the next few days epoxy coating and painting the garage, as well as patching a small hole in the door. Over the next week, she spent over $6,000 on home improvement supplies as well as clothing and lingerie with all the purchases going on to Jay's

credit cards. Larry started staying over more often, even bringing over some clothes and underwear to keep in a drawer. And as for Jay, well, no one had heard from him since his birthday. Marjorie said he'd never come home. He'd decided at the spur of the moment to extend his business trip to try and make more sales. He'd be back in a week or so. Noah wanted to know where his dad was. Whenever he traveled, Jay always called to talk to his son before school, and those calls had stopped. Oh, that hurts my heart. By mid-September, Jay's friends, family, and business associates were all worried. He was a sociable, communicative dude, but none of them had heard from him in days. Marjorie's phone was ringing off the hook.

When she bothered to answer, her reaction was mainly irritation. She'd spoken to Jay just a couple days ago, she said. He'd be back on the 20th. But the 20th came and still no sight or sound of Jay Orban. Noah was getting increasingly upset, always asking about his dad. Marjorie sat him down and told him his dad might not be coming home. Something horrible must have happened to your dad, she said. He could have been hurt by some very bad people.

Noah, of course, burst into tears. It's okay, Marjorie said. We have Larry to take care of us. Just, I just, what is wrong with this woman? Oh, my God. Jay's family had been pressing Marjorie to report him missing. On September 22nd, she finally, very grudgingly, did so. As y'all already know, adult missing persons cases aren't usually treated with red-hot urgency,

unless the investigators start to notice something squirrely. It didn't take long for the detective. looking to Jay Orban to get that squirly feeling. For one thing, Marjorie was calm, almost chilly, which was definitely not the norm for a spouse with a partner who'd been missing for days. In response to a standard question about their marriage, Marjorie said it was more of a friendship and that Jay had no sex drive. He couldn't perform sexually at all.

That's some weird oversharing under the circumstances, and the detective started to get suspicious right away, which, I'm sorry, I have to go on a side. They always do this. They always say something humiliating about their spouse. It's baffling. They can't help themselves. They're justifying it.

It's like it's not quite leakage, but it feels like leakage. You know what I'm saying? Oh, I think it is leakage. Absolutely. Like they got to say something to dirty up the victim in the cop's minds. Like they don't even realize what they're doing. Like they think maybe the detective will just stop giving a shit. Like, oh, he was impotent.

Okay. Well, never mind then. Jay's brother, Jake Jr., was also noticing some odd things. Marjorie had said Jay had driven out on business, but his white cargo van was parked at the Jayhawk International Warehouse. She said he'd taken their old Ford Bronco instead, which was just strange. It was too small to carry much and not secure like the cargo truck. And at Marjorie's house, Jake Jr. saw a pile of life insurance documents on the table. Why would Marjorie already be looking into life insurance? He's just missing.

Using credit card receipts and gas station surveillance footage, investigators were able to determine that Jay arrived in Phoenix on September 8th in the cargo truck in the morning. In the afternoon, driving the Ford Bronco, he stopped for gas a couple miles away from home. So it looked like he'd driven the truck to the warehouse, spent the day working there, and apparently headed home. But Marjorie said Jay never came home that day. They also learned that Marjorie had been withdrawing $500 in cash every day from the ATM. the most she could, and stuffing the cash into an envelope. And the lavish spending that had started straight after Jay's birthday continued. A license plate check showed that Jay's Bronco had been reported as an abandoned vehicle twice,

just a couple of miles from the house. Two separate local residents described the driver as a thin woman with long platinum blonde hair, which sounded a lot like Marjorie Orban. Investigators were becoming increasingly sure that Jay Orban was dead. During one call, a detective asked Marjorie if she'd be willing to take a polygraph. Outraged, Marjorie told someone, she wants me to take a polygraph. In the background, the detective heard a male voice say, tell her to go fuck herself.

Who's that, the detective asked. Not of your fucking business, Marjorie yelled back. A little later, she dropped a bombshell. Look, she said, Jay and I aren't even married. And this, as it turns out, was true. True. Remember how husband number five, the shady New Jersey millionaire, had saddled Marjorie with $50,000 of tax debt? Well, it turns out that clicking your heels together and wishing doesn't actually get the IRS off your back.

I know, right? We keep trying. New plan, new plan. Soon after she married Jay, while she was pregnant with Noah, Marjorie had been embarrassed to have her bank card declined. She soon learned that the account had been seized, a tax lien had been placed against her. And as their married finances were now joined, Jay was on the hook too. He had a solution. They'd divorce, but on paper only. That way the IRS couldn't get out his money. He'd give Marjorie $500 every week to do whatever she wanted with. If she wanted to spend more, she just had to ask. At the time, this seemed like a good solution to Marjorie's problems, but to the detective investigating Jay's disappearance, it spelled trouble. It meant Marjorie was

completely reliant on Jay, the kind of thing that could really start to grate after a while. And it did, judging by all Marjorie's complaints about Jay's supposedly controlling nature. But more seriously, it meant Marjorie was more or less trapped. She couldn't divorce Jay because they weren't married. She could just walk out, but then she'd likely get nothing other than child support. And as for custody of Noah, which Marjorie was not willing to share, well, Jay was the one with the job and the money. But Jay did have a life insurance policy of nearly a million dollars with Marjorie as the sole beneficiary, and his business had about $2 million worth of merchandise in the warehouse. If he should die, Marjorie would be free and live in large. I guess she blurted

this out to the detective to try and explain why she seemed so unconcerned about Jay's disappearance to try and ease any suspicions that attitude had caused, but of course it had the opposite effect. She'd just handed over a treasure chest full of motive, and the detective started to arranging a search warrant for the Orban's house. Marjorie'd had a busy day. She'd bought a new cell phone, then a new DVD player in stereo, and then, on a whim, she bought a $10,000 grand piano and had it delivered same day. It all went on to Jay's credit card, which somehow hadn't burst into flames by now.

Larry came over for dinner, and afterwards they settled down in the living room. Just after 8.45, there was an incredibly loud crashing thud at the front door, and a moment later, police officers swarmed in, weapons drawn, bringing us back to where we started this story. Detectives and evidence technicians arrived about half an hour after the SWAT team to search the premises and interview the documents, which I don't know why they used the damn SWAT team in the first place. As I was reading the book, I'm like, really? But I guess they just figured, like, I think they were thinking Larry was the main one involved at this point, and he was like this big dude on steroids. And I don't know, maybe they expected trouble. And to be fair,

Larry did try to charge out of this. So, I mean, I don't know, but it did seem a bit much because like Noah was in the house, for God's sake, you know? Right. There's a child in there. Just for crying out loud. Anyway, I thought it was a bit much. Marjorie freely admitted that she and Larry were romantically involved and that, unsurprisingly, focused their attention on him. You've got a love triangle. One corner is missing and another is a big dude who's aggressive and reckless enough to charge at a swat guy. Larry was a suspect, right away. Marjorie told the detectives a version of what she had told Larry, that she and Jay were just friends and only kept up the pretense of their marriage so he could save face.

Jay'd be moving out soon, she said, leaving Marjorie with primary custody of Noah. Now this was obvious horseshit. Really, Jay's going to give up the big house he owns and is paying for so Marjorie can live there with her new boyfriend? And he's not going to contest custody for this kid that he adores? Nonsense. Larry said he knew nothing about where Jay might be. He said, he be, didn't even know what the guy looked like, which might have been true. Marjorie had taken down every single picture of Jay in the house. The search of the house found no smoking gun, but not a whole lot to ease the investigator's suspicions either. The garage, in particular, caught their attention. It was spotless, scrubbed clean with fresh paint and a new coat of epoxy. Cardboard

covered the windows, and there was a patch on both the inside and outside of the door. Huh. In Marjorie's bedroom, they discovered a drawer full of men's underwear that was much too small for Jay. They'd fit Larry Weisberg just fine, though. Larry liked bikini briefs, if you're curious. Old choice for a 60-year-old fellow, but good for him. Jay's clothes had been boxed up and put in the closet. Which, again, you just don't do that. I mean, he's missing, you know?

Like, if she's telling the truth, he's missing. He's not dead. Why would she box up all his clothes and take down all his pictures? Just that makes sense. Right. The investigators were confident by now that Jay Orban was dead, but they had no physical evidence to prove it. Most notably, of course, they had no body, and they knew he might never be found. He could be out there in the wilderness and a shallow grave.

Arizona has a hell of a lot of empty spaces. Over the next few weeks, the case lost forward momentum. And then came Saturday, October 23rd. Out on the edges of Phoenix, the land between housing developments is still pretty much just desert. In the early afternoon, a construction worker walked from his trailer to a gas station to pick up a six-pack. Headed home, he decided to take a shortcut across the desert. He saw an old mattress propped up against something and decided to sit down for a beer and a smoke. I like this guy.

Then, curious about what that something was, he looked under the mattress and discovered a large rubber-made tub, sealed with tape and wrapped in carpet. Curious and probably hoping he'd found something valuable, he cut the tape and he cut the tape and, and opened the tub. Inside were piled up plastic sheeting and black trash bags. He started pulling out the sheeting and tearing open the trash bags. And when he did, an ungodly smell hit him in the face like a fistful of brass knuckles. Underneath the trash bags, he just torn apart was a human torso. He could see the blood-stained remnants of a pair of jeans, a belt buckle, and a hairy belly. The corpse had been cut through just above the belly button and just below the knee. There was no sign of any other part of it. Horrified, the construction worker stumbled

back, then ran back to the gas station and called the police. This was obviously murder and a gruesome one. The type of person who can dismember a body is dangerous. Most killers could never do that. It's hard work and messy. The whole tub, torso inside, was taken to the medical examiner's office for the autopsy, during which a spent 38 caliber bullet was found in the bottom of the tub. In the victim's pockets, they found about $450 in cash and a sizable key ring with 11 keys. There was no quick way to identify the person, no ID or bank card, and no head or hands to speed up the process. Uneven decomposition suggested that the victim's body had been frozen for some time, then thawed and cut into pieces. The presence of bone dust suggested an electric saw had been used.

Post-autopsy, and with the torso removed, the rubber-made tides. and other evidence was released to the lead detective, who took it to the room used to dry out wet evidence. But it all stink so bad that a supervisor told him to dry it out in the basement by the impound lot. Down there, he bumped into another detective who was understandably curious and asked about the victim. There wasn't much to tell. A white male, overweight, most likely in his 40s? The second detective, who worked missing persons, said he'd been helping on a case involving someone who fit that description. It came to mind because earlier that same day,

they'd brought in the guys Ford Bronco. It had been abandoned in a parking lot just a couple of miles from where the rubber made tub had been found. He pointed, the Bronco was just a few yards away. There were two car keys on the key ring taken in the victim's pocket. Could it really be that easy?

They tried the key in the ignition, and lo and behold, the Bronco started up. The dismembered torso was Jay Orban's. That evening, investigators started going through credit card statements. Marjorie's $500 target spree on September 9th caught their attention, both because she'd bought a bunch of stuff that could be used to clean up a crime scene and because Jay had used that same card on the morning of September 8th to pay for his hotel room in Tucson. There was only one card for that account.

Marjorie had said Jay hadn't come home that day, so how had she gotten her hands on the card? The obvious explanation was that she was lying. God, that was a dumb lie. Wow. Mm-hmm. On October 28th, police executed search warrants at Larry's house, Marjorie's house, and the warehouse for Jay's company, Jayhawk International. Larry's place didn't turn up much,

although a hidden stash of syringes and steroids helped explain his impressive physique and possibly his short temper. And he wasn't the only one using chemical to help with the shape of his body. In Marjorie's closet, there was a small wooden case holding four neat piles of white powder on a piece of glass, plus a razor blade. Testing would reveal this to be methamphetamine. Oh, wow. At the warehouse, investigators found traces of blood on several doorways,

plus an open packet of skill jigsaw blades. Two of the blades were missing, and later tests would show that the two missing blades designed for fast metal cutting were the only blades in the pack that could reliably cut through bone. A broad theory of Jay's murder was starting to evolve. He had been killed at home, most likely shot in the garage, maybe as soon as he walked through the door. A stray bullet might have gone through the garage door, causing Marjorie to patch it.

Jay's dead body had been frozen at some as-yet-unidentified location, then brought to the warehouse and dismembered, with the plastic sheeting found with his body spread all over the floor and walls. Larry and Marjorie were both hauled in for interviews. Larry was calm and cooperative and still claimed to know nothing about Jay's disappearance. Investigators weren't so sure, but after he provided prints and DNA, Larry was released. When they told Marjorie about Jay's dismembered body turning up in the desert, she put on an interesting little performance. She said, no, no, and started sobbing, but without any actual tears. In fact, she didn't show any real emotion until the end of the interview, when police

told her they'd inform Jay's banks about his death and his accounts had been frozen. Now we get some real tears. Marjorie started wailing that she and Noah. we're going to be kicked out of that nice big house. She is a piece of work, ain't she? Just, wow. For his part, Larry Weisberg had had enough of the drama that came with Dayton Marjorie. The intrusion of the police into his life had turned him from cocky to stressed out and sleepless. He dumped her like radioactive waste.

But at this point, the investigation slowed down. They didn't have enough yet for charges, and the work of trawling through all the financial and phone records was going to take a while. But in the end, it finally brought home the bacon. In early December, a detective following up a September 10th Lowe's purchase on Jay's credit card went to the store to pull up the receipt and see exactly what Marjorie had bought. When he got the receipt, he looked at the store's surveillance footage from that day. And there on the film, two days after Jay's murder was Marjorie Orban,

buying two 55-gallon rubber-made tubs, exactly like the one Jay's torso had been found in. Same size, same color, same barcode on the first. sticker. Later contact with Rubbermaid would reveal that this particular type of container was exclusive to Lowe's. As well as the cleaning supplies, she'd also bought a big roll of plastic and a big box of black trash bags. Yet another job for Murder Clippy. Hardware stores, I am willing to sell you my idea. So this finally was enough to put the habeas gravis on Marjorie, but not on Larry Weisberg. Further investigation and interviews hadn't revealed any evidence connecting Larry to Jay's death. The lead detective thought he was probably involved, though, and wanted to keep

pressing, but the prosecutor thought Larry'd been pretty forthright and honest with the police, despite his hissy fit with the SWAT guys that first night, and the prosecutor's opinion was the only one that mattered now. With Marjorie behind bars waiting for trial, temporary custody of Little Noah was given to Jay's brother, Jake Jr., and his wife. Marjorie wrote her son letters from jail, but after a while Jake Jr. stopped passing him on because they were just really upsetting Noah. Marjorie would write stuff like, if you want to, you can ask anyone that says they love you why they're not helping you get your mommy back. I think daddy would be ashamed of them for not helping. What the hell, woman? And a few weeks after Noah moved in with them, Jake Jr.

and his wife noticed something odd. Noah's blonde hair was growing in dark. Y'all, this child had been born with dark hair like Jays, and this woman had been bleaching. his hair ever since. So he'd look like her and not his father. Who does this? Who bleaches a baby's hair so he won't look so much like his dad? It's just in flip and sane. It's fucking evil.

I went to college with a woman who told me that if her baby was born with red hair, she'd die it dark from the moment they were born. She was like, I'll cover it in Sharpie and shit. Oh, Lord. Well, karma exists because she has two kids now, both. Redheads. Well, I'm a die-job redhead and proud of it, so there. Proud to be a ginger by choice.

So, anywho, Marjorie was refused bond, and she quickly adjusted really well to jail, making friends and girlfriends, telling exaggerated stories about her life as a dancer, and apparently she just couldn't get enough of telling other inmates that she'd killed and chopped up her husband. Good move, Marjorie. I'm sure you can trust all these women with this vital piece of information in your death penalty case. After all, girl jail is just sex in the city with orange jumpsuits, right? We're all besties here. Girl jail. Yeah. Cosmos and Mr. Biggs for everyone. Woody banter about sex

and fashion all around. Marjorie's trial started in January 2009. The prosecution felt they had a solid case, including testimony from several of Marjorie's fellow inmates about her bragging about Jay's murder. I guess they weren't the Charlotte to her Samantha, after all. Her defense team, predictably, tried to pin the whole thing on Larry Weisberg, saying he had killed Jay and then threatened Marjorie and Noah to make sure she kept quiet. There was no evidence to support any of this, though, and it didn't fit with Marjorie's behavior after Jay's death. Her defense also argued that Marjorie, at 135 pounds, could not physically have moved and dismembered Jay's large body, but testimony from people at Marjorie's gym undercut that. She might have been skinny, but she was amazingly strong. It also didn't help that Marjorie had bulked up in jail and loomed over her attorneys.

She looked like a linebacker, one of them said later. After seven hours of deliberation, the jury found Marjorie guilty of the murder of Jay Orban. The death penalty was a possibility, but Jay's family didn't want that. Whatever else, Marjorie was still Noah's mom, and they didn't want her dead, and they got what they wanted. Marjorie was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. She'd continue to profess her innocence from prison, and she's never revealed the whereabouts of the rest of Jay's body, likely shut into the second rubber-made tub somewhere out in the desert.

Noah's uncle and aunt got permanent custody of him. Unsurprisingly, the kid needed years of counseling. A result, Marjorie might have been able to foresee if she'd been able to see beyond the end of her own nose. There's clearly a lot going on in Marjorie Orban, Robin's odd little head, but I think at the core, she's a classic narcissist. All throughout her life, her own impulsive wants and passions were what mattered to her, whether she was chasing after money, attention, or sex.

And for the first few decades of her life, when what she wanted changed, it was easy to fix, get a divorce, move to a new city. She was a world champion at walking away and burning bridges. And if she'd been born a little later, she would have been the queen of ghosting. Yep. And when she felt trapped with Jay Orban, though, there was no limit to the violence and darkness she was willing to release to escape, free to chase after the next big thing and to take Noah with her. We've said it before, campers, be careful of these people who view themselves as the main character in the story of the world. Because they can be dangerous.

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