Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (best classic books .TXT) 📗

was all pretty blond hair, pink ruffles, and pleasant smiles. She paged through the proposal, while Minnie sat there looking touchingly hopeful.

It took Vicki less than a minute to crush her. ``I'm sorry, Minnie,'' she said dismissively. ``It's not what I had in mind. I wanted to give you a chance, but you're not quite good enough. Bobby's proposal is much better.''

Minnie looked as if she'd been slammed with a cinder block. She wobbled out of Vicki's office like a punch-drunk prizefighter. I was sure there would be another crying jag in the women's bathroom.

But I was wrong. This time Minnie didn't creep off to cry. I never saw her cry again. It was if she'd wept away all her tears. Now she was dry and hard.

Minnie straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and walked right out the office door.

Good, I thought. If that young woman has any sense, she'll keep on walking. Chapter 5

I heard what happened next thanks to Mr. Rick, my hairstyl- ist. He had the most fashionable salon on Las Olas--the Cut Direct.

Mr. Rick believed that he looked like Paul McCartney, so he dressed like the cute Beatle. The hairstylist wore a florid mustache and a coat festooned with braid and epaulettes like Paul on the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album.

Alas, Mr. Rick resembled the rogue-nosed Ringo more than Paul, especially in profile. Still, I appreciated his sarto- rial courage. Except for this one delusion, Mr. Rick's fashion judgment was flawless.

Speaking of courage, Minnie walked into Mr. Rick's salon without an appointment and said, ``I'm sick of me. Make me someone else.''

Only a desperate woman said that to a hairstylist. It was an act of bravado, a fashion free fall. It was doubly brave in a salon painted with showers of psychedelic stars and rainbows. It took still more courage to say it to a stylist dressed like a Gilbert and Sullivan pirate.

Maybe my lectures about standing up for herself had fi- nally worked. Maybe Minnie had had enough. For whatever reason, she was ready to be a new woman.

Mr. Rick sat Minnie in a red chair and tied a pink plastic cape under her chin. She looked better already with some color near her face.

To the customers in the Cut Direct, Minnie seemed hope- less. But Mr. Rick walked around the red chair, studying her.

He examined her hair closely. It was the color of cold gravy and styled to emphasize her large ears. He considered her sharp nose and pointed chin. He noted her frumpy

118 KILLER BLONDE 119 ankle-length brown jumper and big fat purse. Her flat shoes were styleless canoes.

But he also saw that her hazel eyes were large and intri- guing. He watched them change from brown to green and back. He gently lifted her sheepdog bangs and saw a high, noble forehead and well-arched brows. Her skin was clear and unblemished.

Mr. Rick brandished his scissors, shoved back his braided cuffs, and announced, ``I'll make you a blonde. You'll have more fun.''

``I'm not quite ready for that,'' Minnie said, gripping the arms of her chair.

``Then I'll give you blond streaks. You can use a little fun,'' Mr. Rick said.

There was no arguing when Mr. Rick took that tone. He'd used it on me once when he refused to make me a redhead like Vanessa Redgrave in the movie Camelot. Eventually I came to my senses.

Mr. Rick got out his mixing bowls and brushes. Streaks were a painful process thirty years ago. Mr. Rick put a plas- tic cap full of holes on Minnie's head, then pulled the hair he wanted to dye blond through the cap with what looked like a crochet hook. Minnie never flinched or said, ``Ouch.'' After working with Vicki, she was probably used to pain.

Once that was over, the rest was easy.

Mr. Rick brought her a tall iced tea and a frivolous maga- zine. Minnie seemed quite happy relaxing and reading fash- ion fluff. I don't think she ever had what we'd call a mental health day. She even got a manicure while waiting for her transformation.

You probably think highlights were invented a few years back, but they were big thirty years ago, too. Take a look at Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate. It's those streaks that make her look so wicked.

Minnie wasn't wicked when Mr. Rick finished his cutting and streaking, but she did look different. She wasn't a blond exactly, but the drab brunette was gone. Her soft new cut hid her ears and exposed a profile that belonged on a cameo.

The blond highlights gave her round face definition--and cheekbones. They also brought out her hazel eyes. Her sharp nose assumed a classical shape. Her pale skin had a pearly sheen. 120 Elaine Viets

``Very nice,'' Mr. Rick said.

Minnie blushed.

``Promise me you won't wear brown or gray,'' Mr. Rick said. ``It's so bad for your skin. It drains the color from your face.''

``But I have to look professional at the office,'' Minnie said.

``Try navy blue with a plain white blouse, if you're not ready for anything more interesting.'' Mr. Rick handed her the card of a fashionable shop on Las Olas. ``Ask for Marie. She'll help you pick out something.''

``Is it expensive?'' Minnie asked timidly.

``Of course,'' Mr. Rick said. ``But you're worth it.''

Minnie looked as if she'd never considered this before. Then she smiled at her new self in the mirror and said, ``Why, yes, I am.''

She started to put on that sad brown scarf, but Mr. Rick snatched it off her head. ``That's mine,'' he said. ``It's part of my fee.''

Minnie handed it over, and he dropped it delicately in the trash.

``But--'' she said.

``No buts about it. Head scarves are for old women.'' Min- nie looked bewildered, but she accepted this decree.

``One more thing,''