Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

long gone. In 1970, the Beatles broke up, Janis Joplin OD'd, and four students were killed at Kent State. Everything the sixties stood for was coming apart. Something dark was loose in America. I could see it even at the office where I worked.''

``I thought you ran the Coronado,'' Helen said.

``I had a husband,'' Margery said. ``He ran the Coronado. I had to get out of the house.''

Margery never talked about her husband. Helen didn't know if he was dead or divorced. She'd never seen his picture displayed in her landlady's home.

``Never mind where I worked in Fort Lauderdale,'' Mar- gery said. ``We pushed paper, like most offices. Young women can't understand what offices were like then. Wom- en's rights were still something people debated, and they weren't sure we should have them. Strong-minded women were condemned as libbers and bra burners.

``It's also hard to picture the daily office routine. There was no FedEx. Fax machines weren't common, so impor- tant documents were sent across town by cab or messenger. Computers were the size of Toyotas. Office workers didn't have PCs or e-mail.'' Margery said.

``People used typewriters, big clunky metal things in bat- tleship gray. Men used to brag that they couldn't type. It was women's work. It was definitely my work. I could type seventy words a minute. Most typists still used carbon paper. I carboned the back of a letter or two in my time.

``This was so long ago, I was still a brunette,'' Margery said. ``I always will be, no matter how gray I get. Brunette is an attitude, too.''

Helen did a quick calculation. Margery must have been forty in 1970, two years younger than Helen was now. She tried to imagine her landlady at that age and couldn't. Then she remembered a photo she'd seen of Margery from that period. She was wearing a purple miniskirt and white Dal- KILLER BLONDE 97 las cheerleader boots. What did they call them? Go-go boots. Margery's hair had been a rich brown, and her face was nearly unlined. Helen thought she'd looked young and sassy.

``Let me tell you about the boss,'' Margery said. ``Vicki ran our department back in the days when women bosses were rare. She didn't know much about business, but she understood office politics. Some said she got her promotion because she had a special friendship with Mr. Hammonds, the CEO. They always said that about successful women then, but in Vicki's case, it might have been true.

``Vicki was one of those blondes you love to hate. She was a snippy size two. She wore spiked heels that turned her walk into a pattering little sway. She liked pink and ruffles.''

Margery blew out a cloud of smoke, and Helen could almost see Vicki in the swirling wisps.

``Men thought Vicki was cute. She knew how to flatter them. She didn't waste soft words on the women at work. She certainly didn't waste any on me. I was the department manager. But I could stand up for myself, and I knew where all the bodies were buried. Vicki was a little afraid of me, and I liked it that way. I trusted that woman as far as I could throw her.''

Helen thought her landlady was capable of lobbing Vicki across the pool. She was a strong woman, in all senses of the word.

``The one I felt sorry for was Minnie. The poor girl was a mouse. Even her name belonged to a mouse. Minnie was short for Minfreda, which she said was a family name, but she couldn't get anyone to call her anything but Minnie. She was not a forceful person.

``Minnie's hair was mousy brown. I guess that color takes an attitude too, but it wasn't one I wanted. The rest of her was mouselike. She had a small, pointed chin and a sharp nose that looked like it was twitching for cheese.

``Vicki loved to pick on Minnie. I swear she used to spend her nights dreaming up ways to torment her. It wasn't fair. Minnie worked harder than anyone else in that office. She was the best qualified, too. She had two degrees and ten years' experience. She was more than book smart. 98 Elaine Viets Minnie understood the business better than any of us. She should have had Vicki's job. Heck, she should have had Mr. Hammonds's, except she'd need a sex change to get it.

``I was always giving her pep talks,'' Margery said. `` `You have to stand up to her, Minnie,' I'd tell her.'That Vicki is nothing but a bully. It's the only way to get her off your back.'

`` `You're right, Margery,' Minnie would say in her wispy little voice.

``I'd see her standing at the entrance to Vicki's office, trying to summon the courage to tell her off. I'd silently root for her, but she never stood her ground. Minnie would start to knock on Vicki's door. Her mouth would open and shut like a goldfish's. Then the bold words would dry up in Minnie's throat and she'd scurry away.

``Poor Minnie would work harder, desperate to please Vicki,'' Margery said. ``We knew that was hopeless. Hard work didn't impress this boss. Vicki favored some of the worst goof-offs in the office. I wanted to take Minnie and shake her. She was a doormat. Vicki wiped her feet on Minnie.''

Margery might pity Minnie, but she would have no pa- tience with her, Helen thought. The fearless cannot under- stand what it's like to be afraid. But Helen knew. She was afraid her ex would find her, afraid she'd have to go back to St. Louis, afraid she'd once more be standing in front of the bald, wizened judge who'd ruined her life.

``Minnie was as colorless as our office,'' Margery said. ``Now, when I tell you this story, you're going to wonder how I know some of these things. I ran the