Now there were awkward silences when Vicki entered a room and titters when she left. Jimmy did hilarious imita- tions of Vicki mincing into the office on her high heels, swinging her pink-suited behind.
Of course, no one left Vicki nasty little presents. She was still the boss and they feared what she could do to them. The boys flattered her outrageously, but Vicki knew their overdone compliments were just this side of mockery.
She couldn't criticize them, so Vicki tried to take it out on me. She snapped so much I finally had to put Vicki in her place.
The boss had started using me to run errands for her on company time. I didn't mind, as long as I could get my regular work done. If it was a sunny day, I liked getting outdoors. Vicki would leave a little note on my desk with her instructions, and I'd pick up her dry cleaning or take in her shoes for new heels. KILLER BLONDE 123
Then she asked me to buy a present for her sister's birth- day. Vicki wasn't close to Val, but they stayed in touch for birthdays and holidays.
``I don't know what your sister likes,'' I said. ``I've never met her.''
``Just go to the department store and get anything. Val will probably take it back, anyway. I always give her the sales receipt along with the gift. Make sure you spend enough so I don't look cheap."
I bought Val a boxed set of Chanel No. 5 perfume and dusting powder. It looked classy and expensive.
``What a stupid present,'' Vicki said when she pulled it out of the bag. ``My sister is an Avon lady. Take it back right now.''
Vicki practically threw the box in my face, as if I were some foolish ladies' maid.
``Then you should have said so before you sent me,'' I said. ``Maybe you'd like to discuss my duties with Mr. Ham- monds. I have a list of the times, dates, and stores where you've sent me, along with your memos ordering me to run your errands on company time.''
The color drained from Vicki's face. She'd forgotten about those little notes she'd left on my desk. Vicki had made a fatal corporate mistake: She'd put it in writing.
``You'd better go back to work, Margery,'' was all she said.
I think she took the Chanel set back herself. I'd left the receipt in the bag. Vicki never asked me to run errands for her again.
That was her only mistake. Vicki kept most of her tan- trums confined to me and her little pink office. Word of her erratic behavior hadn't leaked out to the important people in the company, like Mr. Hammonds. She was still on the fast track.
Minnie had changed, too. She was still shy and quiet, but it wasn't a sad quiet. She grew more self-assured. As I said before, her crying days were over. Her face never crumpled when Vicki said something mean. Minnie just set her jaw a little, and Vicki would back off.
That's my girl, I thought. You're learning how to deal with a bully.
People make jokes about a yellow streak being the sign 124 Elaine Viets of cowards. But putting some gold in Minnie's hair put steel in her spine. Each month, Minnie was a little blonder--and a little bolder.
She started gently resisting Vicki. She didn't tell the boss off exactly, but Minnie would say, ``I can't possibly do the Watkins report in twenty-four hours. I need at least forty- eight.''
Minnie didn't sound angry, but she was firm.
Of course, Vicki gave her the extra time. She had no choice. She couldn't have written the report if she'd had a month. Now that she'd chased off Jennifer, she really did need Minnie.
The staff had always appreciated the quality and quantity of Minnie's work, but when she stood up to Vicki a bit, she was treated with new respect. Some people said Minnie would replace Vicki when she was promoted. I wasn't sure that would happen, but I looked forward to the day when we were free of Vicki. Minnie would make a much better boss.
I was proud of her, and I told her so. ``Smartest thing you ever did was walk out of this office and into Mr. Rick's salon.''
``He wants me to go all blond,'' she said, ``but I don't have the courage.''
``Why not?'' I said. ``All the changes he's made have been good so far.''
``I'm afraid.'' She looked at me so seriously with that little cameo face. ``I'm afraid it will set something loose.''
``Oh, you don't have to worry about Vicki anymore,'' I said. ``She's thoroughly tamed.''
``I wasn't talking about Vicki,'' Minnie said. ``I meant me.'' Chapter 6
It was another six months before Minnie was ready to go all the way.
I don't know what triggered the final change. Vicki didn't treat her any better, or any worse. But I could feel some- thing unstable in our office. Everyone had the jitters.
We were a week away from our next evaluation time. There were more rumors than usual. There would be changes this time, bigger than the annual chopping of the deadwood.
A special corner office was being built for the new divi- sion manager. Mr. Hammonds had personally picked out the furnishings. Francine, his secretary, showed them to me. I was bowled over. The new office would have an antique partners desk that cost a thousand dollars, luxurious sculpted brown shag carpet, a silver pencil holder that once belonged to John D. Rockefeller, and a leather wastebas- ket. It was a palace compared to the cubicles for us wage slaves.
I knew the staff would kill one another to sit behind that ornate desk. The competition would be vicious.
Minnie wanted a promotion. She was determined to sit at that partners desk someday. But first she had to make department head. She wanted to pump me for information, so she took me out to lunch. I appreciated the gesture. Vicki wouldn't have bothered.
Minnie didn't get me cheap chicken salad at Renee's Tea Cozy, either. She sprang for steak at Harper's and a decent red wine.
``You know everything and everyone at the company, Margery,'' she said. That was pure flattery, but I liked it
125 126 Elaine Viets just the same. ``I want to be department head. What do you think of my chances? I do most of the work. I should be able to run it.''
I chomped a juicy hunk of cow and considered her pitch. This was before we knew about cholesterol. Sirloin steak was almost a health food. With a scoop of cottage cheese on the side, it was a diet dinner. But I wasn't on any diet. I had a baked potato slathered with sour cream and chives.
``I think you have a good shot, as long as Vicki gets promoted to division head,'' I told her. ``If you get pro- moted over Vicki, there will be hell to pay. You'll spend so much time putting out the fires started by Vicki, you won't be able to get your work done.''
I took another bite of sirloin, chewed, and thought some more. ``Vicki's your only real opposition. You have a lot of friends in and out of the department. Mr. Hammonds sees himself as forward thinking, so he wouldn't object to another woman department head. You're definitely being noticed. Just keep doing what you're doing.''
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 lik
e 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 and hooker heels.
Vicki was blond, but compared to Minnie, her hair was brassy. I noticed she had a lot of split ends and her roots needed a touch up. Vicki didn't have Mr. Rick to work his magic.
Vicki knew that she was outclassed. She seemed to shrink into herself and look for an escape. But she brightened when her favorite boy, Jimmy, walked into the department. He stopped dead and his eyes nearly popped out of his head like a cartoon character. Then he gave a long, low wolf whistle.
Vicki smiled and simpered.
The smile slid off Vicki's face when he said, ``Minnie, you look like a million bucks.''
``Thank you, Jimmy,'' she said sweetly. ``But my name is Minfreda.'' Chapter 7
Word of the transformed Minnie--excuse me, Minfreda-- spread through the building. Even Mr. Hammonds, our sour-faced CEO, found an excuse to check her out. Natu- rally, the great man wanted to keep track of one the few females with executive potential. Or maybe he wanted to take Vicki down a notch.
The whole department trembled when he walked in. Mr. Hammonds was a balding, mean-mouthed man who looked like he wouldn't give his grandmother a dollar if she were begging on the street. But he had a glow of his own, the kind created by money and power.
Vicki smiled and wrung her hands like a kitchen maid summoned to meet the master. Mr. Hammonds walked past her as if she didn't exist, and Vicki's face turned to stone.
He kept on going straight to Minfreda's desk, and spent nearly ten minutes talking to her. I sailed by once to get some carbon paper and happened to hear some of their conversation.
``Unusually cool winter weather we're having,'' Mr. Ham- monds said.
``Why, yes,'' Minfreda agreed. Everyone always agreed with Mr. Hammonds.
After a few more scintillating exchanges, Mr. Hammonds left. Minfreda appeared slightly dazed, as if she were a peasant girl who'd been visited by the prince.
After Mr. Hammonds's visit, it seemed like everyone in the office had to find an excuse to see Minfreda. Some claimed they needed sales figures. Others wanted to know if she was coming to the company softball game or had
130 KILLER BLONDE 131 signed up for the midwinter picnic. A few women congratu- lated Minfreda on her new look and asked for the name of her hairstylist. They got points in my book for being straightforward.
Absolutely no work was getting done that day. Even the extremely proper Francine came back to our department, suddenly in need of a Social Security number I was quite sure she had.
``Maybe I should sell tickets to the show,'' I said, when Francine left.
Minfreda giggled. It was an engaging sound. I was en- joying this day way too much. I should have known that Minfreda would pay for her triumph.
Vicki sat alone in her pink chamber, taking no notice of the commotion, saying nothing to Minfreda. She was quiet. Too quiet, as the sheriff said in those Westerns before the cattle rustlers attacked the ranch.
About four o'clock that afternoon, Vicki called Minfreda into her office. She was all business.
``Well, you've certainly impressed Mr. Hammonds,'' Vicki said. ``The CEO has asked for long-range planning ideas for 1971, and he is particularly interested in what you think about our company's future. Your next promotion could depend on this report.
``If your ideas are good enough, you could move straight up to division manager. No slaving away as a lowly depart- ment head, like I did.'' Vicki gave a little self-deprecating laugh.
``Mr. Hammonds believes leadership is ab
out ideas, and he definitely wants yours. But you haven't much time. I need your report by nine o'clock tomorrow morning. He'll announce his decision in two days."
Minfreda nearly skipped down the hall to tell me her news.
``I have a shortcut to that corner office, Margery,'' she said. ``Vicki wants me to prepare a long-range planning report. If I do a good job, I'll be the next division head.''
``It's a trick,'' I told her. ``Remember what Vicki did to you last time? This makes no sense. If you're the new divi- sion head, what happens to her? Vicki won't help you leap- frog over her to a better job.''
Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Page 14
