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

I decided to put in a good word with Francine to help things along. But I didn't say that to Minnie.

If Minnie had followed my advice, she'd be running that company today. But she couldn't let well enough alone. Minnie was a born overachiever. That was her fatal flaw.

The staff had become used to the new, good-looking Minnie. As part of her promotion strategy, she decided to stir things up and get noticed all over again.

So that Saturday, Minnie sat down in Mr. Rick's chair and said, ``I'm ready. Make me a blonde.''

And Mr. Rick did. He'd been waiting for this moment.

``Your true destiny is to be a blonde,'' he said. ``You have a blonde's eyes and skin coloring. Mother Nature sim- ply slipped up. I'm righting her wrong.''

Mr. Rick restored Minnie to her rightful place. No more half-blond streaks. Mr. Rick mixed and measured until he had the perfect potion to turn straw-colored hair into gold. There are many shades of blond. He gave her a touch of Marilyn Monroe blond for sex appeal, a bit of Twiggy for youthful style, and a dollop of Grace Kelly for class. It was the perfect combination.

When he finished, Minnie's hair was a shimmering gilded KILLER BLONDE 127 wave. It bounced on her shoulders like a Breck shampoo ad. Her hair was so beautiful, it seemed alive. The ceaseless salon chatter stopped. Even the hair dryers were silent. Customers and stylists alike were lost in admiration at his new creation.

Minnie had been pretty before, but now she was dra- matic. She was a drop-dead blonde. She studied herself in front of Mr. Rick's full-length mirror. ``I'm transformed!'' she crowed. When she finished pirouetting, she examined her nice navy suit.

``I'm tired of dressing like a nun, Mr. Rick. I need some suits with style.''

``Sweetie, I'm your fairy godmother,'' he said. ``My last appointment is at four, and then we'll go shopping.''

They made an odd couple, the fey, big-nosed man in the bizarre braided coat, and the cameo blonde in the severe suit. He was proud that he'd spotted her beauty before anyone else.

Mr. Rick said they went on a spree that had Las Olas talking for a week. It was an orgy of high-style purchases-- suits, shoes, purses, jewelry. They would take over each store. Mr. Rick would select suits, dresses, and blouses, send Minnie back to the dressing room, then make her model them.

``Oh, I can't possibly buy this,'' Minnie said, when she appeared in the showroom in a splendid designer suit. ``I've never worn anything this expensive.''

``Exactly why you should have it,'' he said.

Mr. Rick egged her on to more and better extravagances, but he made sure she never crossed from daring to outra- geous. Everything Minnie bought was for an elegant young executive.

``Are you sure this looks good?'' she asked, modeling yet another stunning suit.

``You bet your sweet bippy,'' Mr. Rick said. That was the catchphrase of the day.

The saleswomen stood back and smiled their approval, then discreetly rang up the purchases. Money was no ob- ject, or not much of one. Minnie had squirreled away most of her salary, lived in a modest apartment, and ate frugally. Her blond hair was her one indulgence. 128 Elaine Viets

At last, Mr. Rick declared her new killer blonde ward- robe complete. They ended, sated and weighted with boxes and bags, at a restaurant on Las Olas.

``Dinner is on me, my dear,'' Mr. Rick said. ``You are my most brilliant success. Tonight I will celebrate you.''

He ordered Caesar salads with extra anchovies, mushroom-stuffed chicken, and a chilled bottle of Blue Nun wine to toast Minnie, his subtropical Pygmalion.

``Why is a glamour girl like her hanging around with that fruit?'' snarled a cigar chomper at the next table. His voice carried to Minnie's large ears, now happily hidden under her golden waves.

Minnie kissed Mr. Rick so hard he blushed. The cigar chomper bit his smuggled Havana in two.

``I know I'm not your type,'' she whispered in Mr. Rick's ear. ``But I wanted to show the old creep. You've changed my life.''

``Yes, I have,'' Mr. Rick said when he recovered. ``But I prefer to stay your fairy godmother.''

Minnie, who'd had a little too much Blue Nun, giggled immoderately.

``As your fairy godmother,'' he said, waving his butter knife over her golden hair like a wand, ``I give you blond power. Use it to get what you want. Remember, you de- serve it.''

``I solemnly swear,'' Minnie said, taking another swig of Blue Nun.

Mr. Rick ordered cherries jubilee for dessert. Minnie stared into the alcohol-induced flames and saw only her bright future.

When Minnie walked into the office on Monday, I nearly dropped the Connors file--all eighty-two pages. Minnie had looked good before, but now she was stunning. She wouldn't remind men of a parochial schoolgirl anymore. Minnie was a blond bombshell.

``Va-va-voom,'' I said.

Minnie smiled sweetly, but she didn't blush.

She wore what you'd call a power suit. But this was power on two levels: sex and business. Her suit was a shapely black with a soft periwinkle blouse. It was expen- sive, feminine, and absolutely serious. Her shoes were clas- sic Chanel, and so was her purse. KILLER BLONDE 129

The newly blond Minnie walked in a golden glow. As she made her progress through our department to her desk, typewriters stopped clacking, phones were dropped, and at least one coffee cup hit the floor.

When two of the boys saw her, they sounded like the cast of Laugh-In, the hottest show on TV.

``Sock it to me,'' Bobby said, reverently.

``Verrrrry interesting,'' Irish Johnny said, doing his best Arte Johnson imitation, which wasn't very good.

It got even more interesting when Vicki tip-tapped into

� the office in a hairy pink boucle suit