1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun Read Online Free Page B

caller as I'd hoped. The
likelihood of a crank caller having both Karl's cell phone number
and the direct line to my office was about as likely as Miss Piggy
sprouting those wings and sailing toward the clouds.
    I was now convinced that on top of everything else, Karl had
gotten himself mixed up with a loan shark. And I'd be the one
wearing the cement Manolos if I didn't pay up.
    But how could I? Thanks to Karl, I didn't have an extra fifty
cents, let alone fifty thousand dollars. I sank into my desk chair and stared at my blank computer screen, willing it to offer up
some answers. It didn't comply.

    "Marlys! Where are you, you goddamn fucking bitch-whore?
You can't hide from me. I'll rip your fucking heart out and shove it
down your fucking throat!" The shrieking outrage of Vittorio Versailles, the Franco-Neapolitan fashion designer whose creations
were a favorite of the celebrities on Mr. Blackwell's Worst Dressed
List, boomed from the direction of the elevator bank. A moment
later, I heard him pounding down the corridor in search of the
woman who had minced and mangled him in our latest issue.
    In our business, egos often clash. Harsh words and not-so-mild
expletives were frequently hurled. Jealousies abounded. Wild histrionics regularly pierced the normal frenzy of our workplace.
Only the players changed from day to day and confrontation to
confrontation.
    I poked my head out in time to see Vittorio, his face a deep
purple that clashed against his skin-tight burgundy jumpsuit,
charge down the hall toward Marlys's office. He waved a copy of
our latest issue over his head. An entourage of eight anorexic men,
all dressed head-to-toe in die-cut aqua suede, followed at his heels.
    "Looks like Vittorio saw the slice-and-dice Marlys did on him,"
said Cloris, stepping out from her office directly across the hall
from mine. She gave me an odd look. "You okay?"
    "Sure, why?"
    "You look like you're about to cry."
    I pasted a smile on my face. "I'm fine."
    "Sure you are, sweetie." She broke the ears off a chocolate
bunny and handed them to me. As food editor, Cloris received samples for review on a daily basis. She ate them all and still maintained a size two figure. I hated her.

    I hadn't told anyone at work about my financial situation and
wasn't about to now. And I certainly wasn't going to say anything
about the message I'd just received. I changed the subject back to
Vittorio. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but for once I agree
with Marlys. Vittorio's designs belong in a circus."
    "On the clowns," said Serena Brower, our travel editor. She and
Daphne Jervis, our shared editorial assistant, joined us. We watched
as Vittorio and his group stormed into Marlys's corner office.
    "What do you have against clowns?" asked Daphne.
    The three of them laughed. I joined in with a forced and halfhearted chuckle.
    They were still laughing a minute later when Erica, tears
streaming down her cheeks, ran out of Marlys's office and headed
for the ladies' room.
    "Uh-oh," said Cloris.
    "Whose turn is it?" asked Serena.
    I sighed. "Mine."
    "If only she'd listen to us and file a complaint against that bitch,"
said Daphne.
    Erica and Daphne had been hired the same day, and Daphne
could just as easily have been assigned to Marlys. At first Daphne
resented Erica winning out on the choicer assignment, but her resentment soon disappeared when she saw how Marlys treated
Erica. Now she thanked her lucky stars for her position as assistant
to us Bottom Feeders.
    "This is harassment," said Daphne. "It's illegal. Erica should exercise her rights."

    But Erica didn't have the backbone to say boo to Marlys, much
less take legal action against her. She suffered Marlys's wrath, then
dissolved into tears at least once a week. I headed for the ladies'
room, hoping I could calm her down quickly. I had bigger problems than a sniveling, spineless assistant who wouldn't stand up
for herself to worry about-like a