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

She was so smug and self-satisfied, I shiv- ered. She shouldn't seem so calm after being snubbed by Mr. Hammonds. Vicki was plotting something.

I called Francine and tried to meet her for coffee, but she couldn't get away. I asked her point-blank if Mr. Ham- monds was going to make Vicki a veep, but she refused to discuss it over the phone. Francine was so proper, I think she starched her bras.

Every so often I'd look over at Minfreda's desk and see her hunched over her typewriter keys, like the Artur Ru- binstein of the Underwood. Her golden hair was a beacon. KILLER BLONDE 133 Her cameo face glowed with determination. That young woman was typing her heart out, so sure she was that she'd succeed.

Vicki pattered out on her pink heels at six o'clock. I waited another fifteen minutes, just in case she came back. Then I searched her office. There wasn't much to look through: a few stacks of papers on her desk, some private files in a cabinet I had the key to. Still, I was careful and thorough. I spent nearly forty-five minutes searching.

But Vicki had learned from her encounters with Jennifer and me. Whatever she was planning, she didn't put it in writing.

It was nearly seven o'clock when I packed up my things to go home. The office was empty, except for Minfreda. Suddenly I didn't hear the click of the typewriter keys. Minfreda had taken a break. I suspected she was making another pilgrimage to the construction area. I followed her to the future site of the partners desk. Minfreda was so sure this would be her new corner office. She visited it at least once a day.

The work was progressing. The old gray carpet had been ripped up and left in the back hall. The sun-faded curtains were in a heap there, too, along with piles of broken plaster and ceiling tiles.

Most of the room's rickety furnishings and a ripped-out wall had already gone down the chute into the construction Dumpster. The new walls were being painted burnt orange. Hey, this was the seventies. If you wanted good taste, go to a restaurant.

Minfreda stood at the doorway, a dreamy look on her face. I could tell she was measuring herself for a leather chair behind the partners desk.

I hoped nothing would go wrong, but I knew it would.

After her visit to her future office, Minfreda shook her silky blond hair like the woman in the Breck commercial, then sat back down at the typewriter. It didn't make any difference how pretty Mr. Rick made her, Minfreda still believed in hard work.

I put a chocolate bar on her desk. I knew she would be working late into the night and she wouldn't stop to eat. It was the least I could do. I went down in the elevator, sure that I had failed her. 134 Elaine Viets

It was two thirty in the morning when Minfreda finished her report. Her name was typed on a separate cover sheet, and the whole thing went into a black folder. Minfreda filed the carbons in her desk as usual.

As she read through the report one final time, she was proud of her work. With ideas like these, Mr. Hammonds was sure to promote her. Minfreda left the report on Vicki's desk under the heavy WORLD'S BEST BOSS coffee mug.

The next morning, Minfreda didn't come in until nine thirty, which was late for her. She looked pale and tired. Vicki had arrived early for a change, even beating me into the office. She thanked Minfreda for her report, but said no more.

We all waited. We all wanted rid of Vicki.

The announcement came two days later. Mr. Hammonds sent out a memo to everyone in the company. We found it on our desks at nine that morning. I read it with grow- ing excitement:

It is unprecedented to promote someone this young to di- vision manager, the memo began. Another precedent has been broken: This is our first upper-level female executive.

Yes! I cheered quietly. Yes!

But I was deeply impressed with the far-reaching sugges- tions in this report. Consolidating the Miami Springs and Hallandale offices is a bold cost-cutting move. Reorganizing the shipping department is sadly overdue. The changes in our accounting and billing systems are brilliant.

I kept reading. These ideas are so innovative, so important to our company's progress, I have no choice but to promote . . .

The words blurred before my eyes. Surely I read them wrong.

But then I heard an agonized cry: ``That miserable bitch!''

Minfreda was shaking violently. She pointed to Mr. Ham- monds's memo and said, ``Those are my ideas. Every one of them. Vicki stole my report.''

Her face was pale as candle wax, but her eyes flared with anger. She was so furious, I thought she would ignite.

I'd never seen Minfreda like that, but I was glad. She was burning with healthy rage. KILLER BLONDE 135

Okay, I thought. This is bad for us, but good for her. She'll give Jennifer a call over at Bradsco. Won't her old friend be surprised to see how Minfreda has changed? I was sorry to lose Minfreda, but maybe it was for the best.

Minfreda pawed through her desk, looking for her car- bons, so she could prove that Vicki had swiped her ideas. She spent the whole day tearing apart her desk, but the file was gone. Without it, she couldn't go to Mr. Hammonds. She'd look like a lunatic.

``Thief,'' Minfreda muttered, mostly to herself. ``She steals everything. She stole her first office. Now she's taken this one from me. She won't get away with it this time.''

Vicki sat in her purloined office, looked insufferably pert in pink. I figured she'd stolen Minfreda's ideas and retyped the report's cover page with her name. I wondered if she'd made up another report