by Libbylawrence
At the plush offices of Revson Incorporated, a lovely blonde frowned impatiently at her exact double.
“Vivian, while we have long posed as one to better aid our nocturnal pursuits, this crisis is one that shall assuredly require both our heads, oui?” said Constance d’Aramis.
Her twin sister Vivian smiled and returned to her chair. “Sorry! I admit to being a bit distracted. The corporate life it is not my cup of tea,” she said with a shrug.
Constance sighed. “After receiving this report from finance, I fear it is not mine, either. We are in the red. We’re bankrupt, in fact!”
Vivian jumped up and said, “I know! I read the same document. How is this so? Revson was doing magnifique! Our accountant said as much!”
Constance nodded. “He lied. He has made off with our assets. He has deceived us. I blame it all on the time spent in costume. We were duped, and we allowed ourselves to be played for empty-headed beauties. He hid his stealing, and now we are at crisis stage. If we are to save Revson, we must take drastic measures.”
Vivian smiled in a vulpine manner. “Oui. With consequences most severe for the one who robbed us!”
***
Vivian d’Aramis groaned in exaggerated frustration as she reclined in a plush chair in front of a computer. She dangled her long blonde hair over the top as she draped herself across the chair. She rose quickly and smiled as a new display crossed her screen. “This is eet! At last all my labors have been rewarded. Ze thief has been found, and now the Fox can prowl!” she said.
Her sister Constance reentered the room. Constance wore a short pink minidress with heels, while Vivian wore a black skirt, fishnets, and a white blouse.
“I ‘ave found him!” gloated Vivian.
“Have found him! Vivian, you must work on your accent,” scolded the blonde as she placed one hand on her hip.
Vivian said, “You ‘ave… have the soul of the school teachar. I have located Henri Duchamp. He has made his way to Gotham City with our assets. He is living in a posh penthouse, and we know his pay was not enough to earn such accommodations.”
Constance smiled and playfully mussed her twin’s hair. “Well done. Now, the question is: do we pay him a visit as the Fox or as our adorable selves?” she asked.
Vivian smiled roguishly. “Why not both?”
***
Later, as the Crimson Fox, Vivian perched outside the penthouse being rented by the corporate thief Duchamp. She wore the vulpine costume that had earned her fame across France and in selected circles around the globe.
I almost hope Constance fails to persuade Henri to surrender our property. I would like to play the fox and mouse game with him a bit myself.
The skyscraper’s height did little to distract the agile beauty as she effortlessly ignored any faint trace of vertigo. She listened carefully as the doorbell echoed in the apartment within. She knew Constance had boldly entered and charmed the staff into allowing her to surprise Duchamp. She frowned and then heard the scratch as the clever Constance forced the lock and entered the apartment with her spiked heels clattering as she crossed the floor. Moments later, she heard her twin gasp in dismay.
She almost crashed into the room, but Constance had thrown open the balcony door and stopped her in time.
“Did Henri escape?” asked Vivian as she crept inside.
Constance turned a pale face toward her slinky twin. “Non! See for yourself! He’s dead!” she gasped.
Indeed, Henri Duchamp lay dead on the floor of his apartment. He had apparently been beaten to death. Both sisters exchanged startled looks as their keen hearing picked up the approach of footsteps.
“The manager — he comes!” hissed Constance. She bent over Duchamp and grasped a card, then scampered over the deck ledge to follow her twin to safety below.
“Someone has beat us to him!” said Vivian.
Constance nodded grimly. “And we must find the killer before the clerk can identify moi as the last to see him!”
Vivian said, “The swine! We owe him so much!”
Constance nodded ruefully and pointed downward. “True enough. Not only did he misappropriate our funds, but look at my hosiery — torn to shreds on the roof! He must pay!” she said with a smile.
***
Glam Magazine’s Face of the ’80s Fashion Gala was being held in Gotham City this year. Since the Revson Company’s publishing division owned Glam Magazine, it was perfectly natural for CEO Constance d’Aramis to be present. Considering her curves and beauty, she could easily have been one of the supermodels instead of merely being a sponsor. However, more than business as usual brought the French woman to the gathering.
Since Henri was carrying a promo card and backstage pass from the fashion show, and it falls far from his fiscal duties, I assumed he had some personal interest in the show, mused Constance. I hope to find his killer, too, although it seems unlikely that any of these internationally famous models could beat a man to death. Why, as Vivian would joke, they would not risk breaking a nail.
She watched with interest as a small crowd entered. They were the personal aides to one of the models. Maude Shaffer created trouble wherever she went. It would take more than her stage magician boyfriend Nicholas Nickleby to make her temperamental attitude vanish. The haughty blonde stalked across the floor and demanded a larger dressing room. Constance smiled as she saw several employees rush to soothe the German blonde’s temper fit.
A shriek echoed as a tall blonde woman in a bikini rushed out of a dressing room. “He’s trying to kill me! I won’t stand for it!” she cried as she ran a hand through her cascading blonde locks and pouted.
“Miss Turner, what is the matter? Who seeks to harm you?” asked Constance.
Raquel Turner of New Zealand whimpered, “That idiot hairdresser of yours! He almost burned me with hot rollers, and I simply won’t put up with such sabotage!” she shouted.
Constance turned to see Mr. Jacque, the hair specialist, as he insisted upon being called, emerge from her room holding a curling iron. “Raquel, darling, please come back! It was an accident, Precious!” he pleaded.
Constance sighed as the model hung up the phone on her rock star boyfriend Stew Rodman and flounced back inside. Her mind — it has already forgotten her brush with death! mused Constance, who wore a short green dress and heels. She whirled as yet another scream rang out. “What now? No doubt Mindy Crayford’s beauty mark has been stolen, or worse,” she mocked. She hurried forward and gasped as she saw a scene of more importance than a typical glamor queen fit.
A gleaming golden figure stood over the fallen form of model Vandalia. The foreign beauty struggled to her knees as a female slapped her down again.
Constance used the confusion to change into the Crimson Fox. She pounced forward to tackle the woman clad all in gold. “You must not make her cry, even if her name sounds like an onion, oui?” she joked as she tried to separate the fallen Vandalia from her attacker.
The woman in gold turned to wrestle with the agile Crimson Fox, who gasped as the slender woman displayed an impressive brute force of her own. She heaved the Fox over her head and across the room with little effort.
Crimson Fox twisted in midair and rolled to a less-than-graceful landing amidst fallen dresses and shoes. She is powerful! I must use the gifts that come naturally to me as well, she thought.
The golden woman hurried out of the room. “You shall pay!” she hissed at Vandalia, who whimpered in fright.
The Crimson Fox bounded forward and raked out at her foe with her own claws. They tore across the gleaming costume that seemed a part of the woman’s body due to its extreme conformity to her form, but they did no damage beyond leaving a trail of scoring marks.
Ducking a rapid punch, the Crimson Fox kicked out to trip her enemy. She noticed her foe’s almost-featureless face that was also masked with a layer of gold. How does she see or breathe? She is like the automaton! mused the Fox as she received a sudden blow that knocked her flat.
She rose again, only to be buried beneath a hurled cart that held dozens of dresses in a row on hangers. As she fell down hard, she watched in regret as her enemy bounded away with strides that proved her legs to be as mighty as her arms.