``She says Mr. Hammonds will make her a vice presi- 132 Elaine Viets dent.'' Minfreda looked as trusting as a newborn golden retriever puppy.
Open your eyes, I wanted to shout. Instead I said, ``I haven't heard a word about that, and I had lunch with Francine this week. Mark my words: Vicki is up to some- thing. You can't trust her. Don't forget how she had Bobby writing a report the same time as you. He got the inside information and you didn't.''
``Things are different now,'' Minfreda said. ``I checked with all three boys. None of them are working on anything.''
``Vicki's playing another game they don't know about,'' I said.
Minfreda patted my shoulder. ``Relax, Margery. You worry too much. I'll win. I've been thinking about how to improve this company for so long, I have that report al- ready written in my head. My buddy Jimmy swiped the projected production figures for next year from Vicki's desk. I have my own inside information. I'm a different person now.''
She was. But Vicki hadn't changed.
Minfreda didn't believe me. I think she took Mr. Rick's good-fairy wave with the butter knife seriously. She truly believed this was her blond destiny and she had blond power.
I truly believed Vicki was up to no good. I had only a few hours to find out what it was. I waited for Vicki to leave her office so I could search her desk, but she stayed rooted in that chair for the rest of the afternoon. She didn't even take a bathroom break.
When I brought Vicki an interoffice memo, I got a good look at her face. 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 for Minfreda, or simply told Mr. Hammonds that Minfreda couldn't make the deadline. Probably the latter. It would give her rival a double black eye.
Vicki was slick as a greased snake. Now she was going to slither into a cushy office and take the promotion Min- freda should have had.
Minfreda paced back and forth by her desk mumbling something I couldn't make out.
I knew there would be a confrontation when the office cleared out that evening. But I wasn't worried about leav- ing Minfreda alone with Vicki. She was no longer a mouse. She was a tawny blond lioness.
It was her turn to roar. Chapter 8
The miserable day was finally over. Most of our department was already in the bar at Harper's getting plastered.
Believe me, they weren't celebrating Vicki's promotion. They weren't holding a wake, either, although their hopes were dead. This was survival time. The men eyed each other warily, like dogs about to turn on one another. Every man there was drinking so he could do what he had to do--something scummy to keep his job.
Next Monday was the start of evaluation week,
and it would be payback time for Vicki. The now all-powerful executive would wreak revenge on everyone she thought had snubbed her or laughed at her.
The boys remembered the times they'd done Vicki imita- tions, flirted with Minfreda, or taken the cameo blonde to lunch. Vicki was vindictive. The office deadwood could hear the echo of the ax.
As the day crawled on, the boys realized they would have to do some serious puckering to save their jobs. They were a spineless lot. I knew they'd turn on Minfreda. I couldn't completely blame them. They had wives, college-bound children, and thirty-year mortgages.
I had principles, but I could afford them. I didn't care about being promoted. The worst Vicki could do was fire me, and then I'd sit by the pool at the Coronado, drink- ing screwdrivers.
That's what I planned to do tonight. That blasted memo from Mr. Hammonds was going to send me to the vodka bottle. Every time I read it, it got worse. I think it was the third time through that I noticed something new. Vicki was staying on as the head of our department and running the
136 KILLER BLONDE 137 division. There would be no promotion for Minfreda. Vicki would force her out. Minfreda was a reminder of her boss's own treachery.
Minfreda understood this. She knew she had nothing to lose. That's why she was preparing for a showdown with Vicki tonight. If she lost, she wouldn't have a desk, much less a corner office. I watched Minfreda's cameo face freeze into a marble mask. Her hands clenched and unclenched. I could almost see her gripping a sword. She was a warrior princess, preparing for battle.
In a fair fight, Minfreda would win. But Vicki didn't fight fair.
I looked up Jennifer's phone number at Bradsco, and left it on Minfreda's desk. I didn't say anything. I squeezed her shoulder and went back to my desk.
It was after six P.M. when I put the plastic cover on my Underwood, watered my philodendron, and locked my desk. Only Vicki and Minfreda were in our office when I left.
What happened next is guesswork, but I think it's accu- rate, based on the evidence I found the next morning.
When the elevator doors shut on me, Vicki was in her purloined office. She'd stayed late to plan her ascendency to the division throne. No more girlie pink for her. Her new corner office would have power colors, burnt orange and brown. Vicki sat at her desk making little sketches of how she'd arrange the furniture and what she'd put on the walls. I suspected she'd buy herself a new wardrobe to match. Couldn't have her suit clashing with her sculpted shag carpet.
Vicki didn't notice that Minfreda was still in the office, but why should she? Minfreda always worked late.
Minfreda didn't bother knocking on Vicki's office door. She was bolder now. She swept into Vicki's office, blond hair swinging like a battle banner. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury.
Vicki looked up and said in a sugary voice, ``Why, Min- nie, working late again?'' Her pale pink blouse had a pussycat bow. She had canary feathers on her pink lips.
``My name is Minfreda.''
``You'll always be Minnie to me. Underneath that dyed blond hair is a scared little mouse.'' 138 Elaine Viets
``Not anymore.'' Minfreda slammed Vicki's door shut so hard the glass rattled. For the first time, Vicki seemed ner- vous. She glanced around the room.
``Don't bother looking for help,'' Minfreda said. ``They're all gone. It's just you and me, and we're going to have a serious talk.''
``There's nothing to talk about.'' Vicki sounded like she was trying to convince herself that she was in charge.
``Oh, yes, there is.'' Minfreda moved toward her, lithe as a golden cat. ``You stole my ideas and you stole my promotion.''
``I did nothing of the kind.'' Vicki sounded more snippy than scared.
``Liar!'' Minfreda screamed. That single cry unleashed years of buried rage and humiliation. Minfreda grabbed the pussycat bow around Vicki's neck and twisted it tightly.
``Stop!'' Vicki gasped, clawing at her own neck to pull away Minfreda's fingers.
But Minfreda only twisted tighter. Vicki's color went from delicate pink to stroke-out red. ``Not till you tell me where you hid those carbons.''
``File . . . M.'' It was all Vicki could manage, but it was enough.
``Don't move,'' Minfreda ordered as she marched to the file cabinet. There was no chance that Vicki would run away. She could hardly sit up. She was gasping and trying to catch her breath.
Vicki's natural color was coming back by the time Min- freda said, ``Aha!'' She had the pilfered carbons. ``What's your name doing on this title page?''
``I . . . I typed it,'' Vicki said. She had a sandpaper rasp after her near strangling.
``So you did. But I typed the rest of this report.''
``You can't prove it,'' Vicki said.
``Oh, but I can. The page you typed was done on a differ- ent machine. You're not as good a typist as I am. Notice how your Ts float and your Ws jump? Even Mr. Ham- monds will be able to see that. And if he can't, I'll hire an expert to explain.''
Minfreda could feel the tension loosen in her neck and shoulders. She had the proof of Vicki's theft. She would sit at her beloved partners desk after all. KILLER BLONDE 139
``Now you're going to write a confession,'' Minfreda said.
But Vicki felt bold now that she could breathe again. She laughed, a sarcastic sound, sharp as a slap in the face. ``After you tried to strangle me? Over my dead body.'' Then she added a mocking, ``Mouse.''
Hot new rage flowed over Minfreda's old, impacted anger, and it ignited with a deadly roar. ``That can be ar- ranged,'' she said.
Vicki's desk was loaded with lethal weapons: a daggerlike letter opener, a pink granite paperweight, a silver memo spike. That last was so dangerous offices don't allow them anymore.
But Minfreda had sought the unconscious irony. She hit the world's worst boss with the WORLD'S BEST BOSS coffee mug. She hit her once, and felt the fragile bones on the side of Vicki's skull crack. Vicki stared at her in dazed surprise, as if her stapler had learned to talk. Her lip curled into a nasty sneer, but she didn't get a chance to speak. Minfreda hit her again. And again and again. Minfreda kept hitting her until the heavy mug broke and the side of Vicki's head was soft and squishy.
Blood spattered Vicki's blond hair and ran down her cheek. There was an ugly abrasion over her ear. But Min- freda had mostly battered the white bones beneath the pink skin. Vicki was deader than last year's vacation schedule. She sat in her executive's chair with a death's-head grin on her face.
The old mousy Minnie would have panicked when she saw her battered boss. The new Minfreda kept her cool blond head. She calmly considered what she needed to do.
Vicki's blood was dripping on her suit and heading for the floor. Minfreda whipped off her neck scarf and wrapped it around the dead blonde's head. Better, but blood was seeping through it already. Minfreda looked around for something else and saw my typewriter cover. I was the only person in the department who used one. The others didn't care about their machines. The cover was gray plastic. She bundled it around Vicki's dripping head.
She had to get rid of the body. Vicki was not tall or heavy, but she was a deadweight, no pun intended. Min- freda was strong, but she couldn't move the body without help. She went back to the construction area. 140 Elaine Viets
The old sun-faded curtains from the corner office were still in a heap in the back hall. She also saw a lumber cart, like the ones you get at Home Depot nowadays for hauling large purchases.
Minfreda bundled the curtains onto the cart and trundled them back to Vicki's office. She spread the curtains out on the lumber cart, then tipped Vicki's chair forward. The exterminated executive landed in the dusty drapes with a deadweight thud.
``It's curtains for you, boss,'' Minfreda said out loud, and tried to suppress a giggle.
The cart was harder to maneuver with the body on it. Minfreda had to shove Vicki's desk aside to get the cart through the door. The dead blonde's foot caught in the door frame, and her pink heel was pried off. Minfreda tossed it on top of
the body, then cleared a path through the department, carefully moving waste cans and steering around desks until she got to a clear aisle.
Minfreda was sweating like a construction worker. The cart was heavy and awkward. She was worried someone would come back to the office. She kept her ears open for the ding! of the elevator doors. But Minfreda was no mouse. Her fear didn't paralyze her. It made her think more clearly.
Once in the dingy back hall, Minfreda pulled the cart near the old torn-up carpet and spread the rug out flat. Then she tugged on the curtains until the body slid off the cart and onto the carpet. She heard the rotted, sun-faded fabric rip, but not before she'd moved Vicki.
Minfreda had a sneezing fit from the dust, but she rolled up the carpet with Vicki inside. A Vicki taco, if you will. No, a Vicki crepe with a poison pink center.
Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Page 15
