Killer Blonde Read Online Free PDF Page B

intriguing. 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.”
    â€œI’m not quite ready for that,” Minnie said, gripping the arms of her chair.
    â€œThen I’ll give you blonde 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 plastic cap full of holes on Minnie’s head, then pulled the hair he wanted to dye blonde 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 magazine. Minnie seemed quite happy relaxing and reading fashion 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 blonde exactly, but the drab brunette was gone. Her soft new cut hid her ears and exposed a profile that belonged on a cameo.
    The blonde 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.
    â€œVery nice,” Mr. Rick said.
    Minnie blushed.
    â€œPromise 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.”
    â€œBut I have to look professional at the office,” Minnie said.
    â€œTry 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.”
    â€œIs it expensive?” Minnie asked timidly.
    â€œOf 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.
    â€œBut—” she said.
    â€œNo buts about it. Head scarves are for old women.” Minnie looked bewildered, but she accepted this decree.
    â€œOne more thing,” Mr. Rick said. “Burn those brown flats.”
    The next day, Minnie teetered into our office on three-inch heels. She hadn’t quite mastered walking in spikes yet, but her attempts were cute, like a new colt learning to stand. She walked with a lighter step, and it took me a moment to see why. The twenty-pound old-lady purse was gone, replaced by a small swinging shoulder bag.
    Minnie wore a tailored navy suit and a white blouse. Now you could see she had a smart little figure and sweet, slender legs.
    The men in the office, married and single, suddenly sat up and got that glazed look. Jimmy told me that men are suckers for white blouses and neat navy suits. They start fantasizing about parochial schoolgirls and airline stewardesses. We