CHAPTER ONE
Dressed in a long and flowing black velvet dress, the attractive, red-haired, thirty-something lady sat at the bar, waiting for her "date" to show up. She glanced impatiently at her slim, silvery Cartier watch, and then sipped from her wineglass. A moment later, she looked about at the other patrons of Kelsey’s Restaurant, hopeful that one of these gentlemen was the one for whom she was waiting.
I got up from my chair and walked toward the redhead, certain that she was here to meet me. We made eye contact and she looked me over as I approached.
"I am the Walrus," I whispered.
"Oh! I am the Egg Man." She burst into laughter. "You are not what I was expecting. My name is Elaine," she said as we shook hands. When I did not offer my name in response, she asked, "Do you really think this codename stuff is necessary?"
"The less you know about the real me, the better off we both are."
"Okay. We’ll do it your way."
"Perhaps we could discuss matters further in a little more private location?" I suggested.
Within a few minutes, a hostess had seated us in a comfortable booth at the back of the half-lit restaurant.
While we looked over the menus, Elaine reached into her slim leather purse and pulled out a small photo and a computer disk.
I studied the photograph for a moment and then picked up the disk.
"It’s an Iomega Zip Disk. Do you have access to the equipment that will allow you to read that type of disk?" asked Elaine.
"Yes. That won’t be a problem," I replied.
As I saw the waiter approach, I quickly hid the photo and disk under the large, plastic-coated dinner menu.
"Good evening. Welcome to Kelsey’s. I am Gregory and I will be serving you tonight. Are you ready to order?"
"No, not yet," I said. "Could you give us about another 5 minutes, please?"
"Yes, please take your time. Would you like to order a drink?" asked the uniformed waiter.
"Not right now," said Elaine.
"Very well," said the waiter, as he turned his attention to another table.
I slipped the photo below the level of the table so I could look at it with a degree of privacy.
"The man in the photo is Hugh Frazier, the publisher of Big Ones Magazine," said Elaine. "He is your target."
"You want me to put ‘the hit’ on Hugh Frazier?"
"Yes."
She reached into her purse again, extracted an envelope and placed it in front of me.
"This is your cash payment as you requested at the agreed upon price," said Elaine in a business like tone.
"Good . . . Is there a particular time and place that you would like me to perform ‘the hit’?"
"Yes. Hugh Frazier will be in New York on the 17th of this month. He will be speaking to the Women’s Business Alliance at the Waldorf Astoria. We would like you to perform ‘the hit’ during his address. On the computer disk, you will find all the details you need to know. There is a detailed floor plan of the hotel and a complete description of the known security arrangements . . . Also, I took the liberty of getting a press pass for you. All you need to do is add your name and photo," she said as she placed another envelope in front of me. "Of course, you do not have to use the press pass. You may devise a better way to gain access to this event. By the way, this function is for our women members only."
"Well, thank you very much," I said. "You seem to have thought of everything."
"You have come highly recommended. If you succeed, this payment will be well worth it. That man has been a pain in the ass for women. He has exploited and degraded women with his disgusting magazine! His centerfolds are an embarrassing American institution that should be obliterated from existence! And, in light of his recent negative comments regarding wage equity between men and women, he should not be allowed to get away with damaging negative crap like that."
Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn for porn.
When the waiter returned to the table five minutes later, the two restaurant patrons had disappeared.
CHAPTER TWO
On the evening of the 16th, I checked into the Waldorf Astoria Hotel for a two-night stay.
The grand dame of New York Hotels overwhelmed me with its opulence! A large crystal chandelier and a fabulous Art Deco Mosaic dominated the lobby. The hotel reeked of old money.
As was the custom in this grand hotel, a bellhop was summoned to help me with my two large suitcases and a garment bag, and also to show me to my room on the seventh floor. However, I insisted that I carry a special cardboard package, about the size of a notebook computer, perhaps a little thicker, that was labeled "FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE."
When I offered a tip to the bellhop, I found out that gratuities were already included in my hotel bill. After closing the door, I took a good look around the bright, airy room. Sunlight streamed through the gossamer curtains. There was a circular table near the large window. I placed my "Fragile" package down carefully. From room 737, the view to the west was simply of other large buildings and a busy Park Avenue below. Then, I checked out the bathroom. The marble floor, the gleaming clean bathtub/shower, the large counter and brightly-lit mirror passed inspection. Next, I looked at the spacious closet near the entranceway, just outside of the bathroom, and the large floor-length mirror. Satisfied that the room would meet my needs, my eyes settled upon the comfortable looking bed. I took a running leap onto the king-sized bed and was pleased to find, upon landing, it was soft and comfortable. From the end table beside the bed, I picked up the remote control and turned on the television. I glanced back at the small digital clock radio. It was 6:15. I had plenty of time to kill.
Leaving the TV on, I walked back to the closet area and began unpacking my suitcases and hung up my garment bag.
Later, around 8:00 o’clock, I made my way down to the main convention room of the hotel, called the Grand Ballroom, located on the third floor. Carrying my FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE package in a white plastic bag, I attempted to crash a Wall Street stockbroker’s function that was just getting started. I managed to slip in without much notice. After all, how can you differentiate between a potential criminal and a stockbroker? My top priority tonight was simple. I needed to plant the package in a location close to the stage. Also, I wanted to see how the hotel staff went about their business. Noting that the serving staff had coffee, tea and other refreshments set at the sides of this huge room, I wandered toward the far right side of the stage into a corridor. According to the floor plans Elaine had provided me, this now empty passageway led to three possible locations. The first was the wing area and the main stage. The second was the seldom-used dressing room facility for performers. And the third zone was my destination, the kitchen facilities.
I tried opening the door to the kitchen as quietly as possible. Luckily the serving staff didn’t pick up on my intrusion immediately. I was able to confirm quickly that the floor plan Elaine had provided me was accurate. Near the doorway, there was a garbage chute leading directly to the main floor, although I had no intention of emulating a scene from the film La Femme Nikita. Also, there was an exit to another area of the third floor where the elevators were located. Egress would be easy.
Next, I took out the cardboard package from the plastic bag. Also, there was a roll of duct tape in the bag. Looking around, I spotted a large metal cart, probably used to serve coffee and other refreshments. I placed the package under the metal tabletop and used the duct tape to secure it tightly.
Just then, one of the serving staff burst through a doorway leading to the Grand Ballroom.
"Hey! What are you doing here?"
Too late . . . busted!
"Ah, don’t mind me. I’m just looking for a bathroom."
"Well this is the kitchen if you haven’t noticed!" he yelled. "You’re not supposed to be back here!"
"Okay, okay. I’m sorry," I said apologetically as I hurried back out the door.
Undeterred, I strolled over toward the stage area. From this wing, I could easily see and hear the guest speaker addressing the gathering of Wall Street brokers. It was exactly how I anticipated it would be.
Next, I wandered over to the dressing room area. Trying the door, I found that it was locked. Undaunted, I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a lock-picking tool, a residual benefit of a long-ago summer job working for a locksmith. Within seconds, I had it open. A quick inspection showed that the detailed floor plans provided by Elaine were dead accurate.
When I returned to my room, I went straight to the bathroom. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I removed my fake mustache, my hairpiece and glasses. I quickly shed my pinstripe suit, tie and Hathaway cotton shirt. Tomorrow, when I performed ‘the Hit’, I would look completely different.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, I slept in until 9:30. I was in no hurry to get an early start, as Hugh Frazier wouldn’t be speaking until about 1:15 p.m. according to the agenda Elaine had provided me.
The Women’s Business Alliance had stirred up controversy by choosing a men’s magazine publisher to be its keynote speaker. However, on the plus side, the women knew that Hugh Frazier’s daughter was going to be the second guest speaker, and it was widely recognized that she was an up and coming executive within the Frazier Publishing Empire.
I adroitly applied my mustache, hairpiece and glasses disguise and went downstairs. I stopped by the Grand Ballroom again. At this time of day, the cleaning staff was busy preparing for the afternoon’s proceedings.
Again, I made my way to the kitchen area. When I opened the door, I quickly checked to see that the serving cart was where it had been the night before. I checked under the metal tabletop and I was relieved to see my package was still there.
All was going according to plan.
As it was too early to return to my room, I stopped by a newspaper stand and picked up The New York Times and the New York Post. At a coffee shop in the hotel, I scanned through the newspapers looking for stories about the Women’s Business Alliance. Eventually I found one story in the Business Section of the Post by Diane Harris. In typical news media style, it quoted Hugh Frazier’s male chauvinistic views from years past and contrasted that with his plans to have his daughter takeover the Big Ones Magazine Empire when he retired. The article pointed out that since daughter Anne Frazier was his only legitimate child, Hugh Frazier’s decision to put his daughter in charge might not have happened if he had had a son as heir to the family fortune.
However, I suspected that Anne Frazier might inherit the reins sooner than she expected.
As to the fate of Hugh Frazier, my conscience was clear. If I made a contract with a client and he or she agreed to pay me an ungodly sum of money for services rendered, I intended to fulfill my end of the bargain, in spite of the risk to my personal safety. But if you were to cross me, betrayer beware. "Ask not what your contractor can do for you; ask how a contractor can do you."
CHAPTER FOUR
After a leisurely, pleasurable bubble bath, I patted myself dry with a thick, fluffy white towel. The light perfume of the bath water and the smooth feel of my delicate skin set me in the proper mood for my, some would say, amazing male to female transformation. I stood before the mirror and admired my toned, thin and trim body.
With the benefit of several years of experience in show business, I set about transforming my rather ambiguous facial features into that of a high fashion supermodel or Miss America.
Using a Gillette Sensor Razor and Edge Shaving Gel, any trace of my naturally light beard was removed.
I started with blue contact lenses, then applied add-on fingernails. The natural eyebrows were hidden under spirit gum and a light layer of theatrical putty. Next, I sponged on a light foundation and then patted on powder with a powder puff. After waiting a few minutes for the powder to set, then using a large, soft brush, I whisked away the excess. I paused to look at my face critically. It was comparable to an artist starting with a blank canvas. I added dark contouring to diminish my oval jaw line and the outer edges of my nose. Then a lighter makeup was added to bring out my high cheekbones and to conceal any circles under my eyes. Blush, eyelashes, eyeliner, and eye shadow transformed the ordinary into the glamorous. Then a deft application of lip liner, lipstick, and lip-gloss gave my pouty lips some sex appeal. Finally, a liquid makeup sealer was brushed onto the refashioned, thin arched eyebrows to give the spirit gum, putty and powder some staying power. The whole makeup process from start to finish took about 50 minutes.
The next step was to work on my body contours. Laid out on the bathroom countertop was a flesh colored tape called moleskin. I bent over and pushed any loose chest flesh up. Then strips of moleskin tape were applied to hold my breasts together in the "up" position. But, the taping was not complete yet. My family jewels needed to be hidden. I made sure that I did my business before taping up my testicles and hiding my penis. A flesh colored ‘Ultimate Gaff’ ensured that no tell tale bulge would give away my secret. At the same time the special gaff flattened my lower tummy, reduced my budding love handles, and helped raise the cheeks.
I utilized some contour makeup to add contrast to the breasts’ lighter peaks and darker valleys. Next came a special "invisible" waist cinching corset made of nylon and spandex; additional padding for the hips and rear end were encased in a strong nylon panty. Now I had a perfect 36-24-36 figure. The sheer nylons felt great on my long, shapely, sexy legs. Then, I stepped into gorgeous patent leather high heels. Wow! Even better!
From the closet, I took out the royal blue Playboy Bunny outfit from the garment bag. Then I wiggled into this figure-hugging, provocative suit. I inserted silicone pads to give my bosoms additional lift. In fact, the Bunny costume was constructed in such a way that it pushed the breasts upward. As I turned my back to the full-length mirror, I peered over my shoulder to see how the fluffy cottontail would complement my beautiful buns. I was delighted to see that my sexy long legs and cute behind would do credit to any Bunny of the Year!
Finally, I was ready for my crowning glory. Using a large special brush, I combed out my long, gently curled, blonde wig, to give it more bounce and body. Bending down, I placed it carefully just below the natural hairline, allowing the genuine human hair strands to fall forward in front of me. Then, as I straightened up, I flipped the hair back.
Voila! I stood before the mirror, admiring a drop-dead gorgeous, charismatic "babe" who radiated sex appeal. A stunning knockout!
I defined the term narcissistic self-love! I imagined myself as the Playboy Bunny of the Decade! Miss America! Miss Universe! Supermodel!
I would love to have had a girlfriend who looked even half as beautiful!
Wait! Something was missing! I forgot the bunny collar, the cuffs and the bunny ears! They were still in the garment bag. Quickly, I retrieved the white collar with a black bow tie and fastened it around my slim, aristocratic neck. Then I attached the large white wristband/cuffs, using the Playboy Bunny cuff links. Carefully, I placed the transparent plastic hair band with the large white and pink bunny ears on top of my flowing blonde mane. A delicate brushing of the hair covered up the plastic band. Now, I was complete! Absolutely Flawless! Truly Ravishing!
Alert the press photographers! The Ultimate Superbunny of the Year is here! Appearing at the Waldorf Astoria’s Grand Ballroom, right here in New York City!
CHAPTER FIVE
Waiting offstage near the kitchen passageway, I tried to look as inconspicuous as I could. Actually, it wasn’t that hard because I wore a dark blue trench coat that covered my outrageous Bunny outfit. Well . . . maybe I still was conspicuous. Anyway, just think of "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" without the Indiana Jones hat. My long delicate Bunny ears were stashed temporarily within capacious inner pockets of the coat.
When a burly hotel rent-a-cop security man approached me, I flashed him my friendliest, seductive smile, showing off my perfect pearly whites.
In a breathy, sexy voice, I said, "Hello there. My name is Carrie Creamcheese. I am here to cover Hugh Frazier’s speech for Big Ones Magazine."
"Could I see your pass please?"
"Why certainly."
When I handed him my pass, the rent-a-cop guard tried to look down the front of my tightly belted trench coat. Judging by the leer he gave me, I wondered if a more appropriate label for this horny guy might turn out to be the cop-a-feel guard.
He was not alarmed by my presence. As a matter of fact, I think he was just happy to see me, judging by his I’m-tongue-tied-when-I’m-dumbfounded-by-beauty response. Also, I noticed a tent pole spring up in the crotch area of his pants.
"Looks okay."
"Just okay," I teased with a hint of disappointment. "I go to a lot of trouble to look my very best."
"Ah . . . um . . . gorgeous."
I noticed that he had a little trouble walking gracefully.
A glance at my white, plastic Swatch Watch told me it was 12:40. So far, I had seen two newspaper reporters in the passageway near the stage. In the Grand Ballroom I spotted three local television crews plus CNBC down here to get the story. But, Hugh Frazier had not yet arrived.
While the security guards were distracted by the arrival of another reporter, I peeked into the kitchen, saw that nobody was in the immediate vicinity and checked under the tabletop to see if my package was still there. It was. Then, I got a little bolder and went deeper into the spacious kitchen. There were a myriad of pots, pans, serving carts, trays, dishes, food preparation islands, sinks, and utensils. One of the workers spotted me. It was the same guy who discovered me last night!
"Hi there," I said in a friendly tone, wondering if he could possibly see through my disguise.
"Hello," replied the middle-aged Hispanic man. Perhaps he was a little suspicious of me being in this restricted area. It looked like he was taking a break, munching on some of the hors d’oeuvres that were supposed to be provided for the Women’s Business Alliance.
"I was wondering if I could get a pitcher of ice water and some glasses. We have some reporters out in the passageway that would greatly appreciate it if you could help us out."
"Oh sure. I’d be happy to do that for you . . . I guess we did not think anybody would be out there. Ah, how many pitchers would you like."
"Oh, two would be fine thanks," I said. Judging by the smile on his face, I think he appreciated my beauty. Then I got a little bolder, but not unreasonable. "Those hors d’oeuvres look tempting."
"Would you like some of these as well?"
"That would be great. Thanks for the offer."
The mesmerized man couldn’t take his eyes off me. As he walked over to a counter to fetch the pitchers, he inadvertently bumped into the countertop and dropped one of the crystal pitchers.
"Watch out!" I yelled out just out of the nick of time as one of the pitchers shattered into a million pieces.
"Damn it!" He looked at the broken shards of glass spread all over the floor. He paused to consider what to do next. "Here, I’ll get you the pitchers and ice water first. Then, I’ll clean up later."
On a nearby counter, I spotted a serving dish that looked suitable for my purposes. The large plate was silver with a dome-shaped covering, designed to keep hot food warm.
"Do you think we could put the hors d’oeuvres in this?" I asked, without trying to sound too pushy. I loosened the belt and the top buttons of my trench coat. "I’m feeling a little hot in here. Is it just me, or is it a little warmer here in the kitchen?" I asked as I revealed a little of my sexy Bunny costume. The ingratiating fellow handed me the water pitchers. The unbuttoned coat gave him a closer look at my inviting bosoms and sexy, long legs.
"Uh, I do feel a little warm, too . . . Here, I will put these hors d’oeuvres in the serving dish as you wish."
I carried the pitchers and he carried the food container. I looked down at the nametag of this cute looking guy. I felt so sorry for being such a distraction that I had caused the accident.
"Juan, that’s your name isn’t it? Could I ask another favor of you? You see that metal serving cart down there by the door. Do you think I could borrow that and wheel it into the passageway?"
"Yes. That’s what I was going to do."
"Great minds think alike," I said with an engaging smile.
After we placed the pitchers, tumblers, napkins and food container on the cart, I leaned over and gave him a thank you kiss on the cheek. He responded with a hug. I could feel his hard on through the trench coat. Big Juan - they might’ve named the Big Ones Magazine after him!
As I tried to open the door to the corridor, somebody pushed it shut. On the other side of the metal door, I heard the muffled voice of one of the guards say, "Wait one minute please."
Juan stopped the cart just in the nick of time, although he still had his eyeballs glued to my shapely form.
"Oh, I better cover up," I said as I did up the belt and buttons of my trench coat. "I want my Bunny costume to be a big surprise for our guest of honor, Hugh Frazier. Please don’t breathe a word about it."
A minute later, the guard opened the door.
"Sorry about that. Our special guest was just arriving and I didn’t want somebody surprising us . . . What’s this?" he asked.
"Just some refreshments," I replied as I pushed a lever/button, lifting the dome covering, revealing the tasty shrimp hors d’oeuvres. "Would you like some ice water or a bite to eat?"
The guard helped himself to a tasty shrimp morsel.
"Mmmm . . . good!"
"I felt thirsty and Juan was nice enough to put this together for us."
The guard nodded an acknowledgement to Juan.
Then as the security man held open the door, Juan wheeled the cart into the corridor toward the wing of the stage.
So far, my plan was working.
Juan stopped short of stage proper. There were huge, white, floor-to-ceiling sound baffles on both sides of the stage. You could walk between these baffles to access the stage. A handful of people gathered there to watch proceedings, out of view of most of the audience. There were three reporters, a new person who might have been one of Hugh Frazier’s bodyguards, another uniformed guard, and I think a stagehand who likely was in charge of the sound system.
"Thank you, Juan." I gave his hand a squeeze.
"My pleasure."
The reporters, never ones to pass up freebies, helped themselves to the refreshments. Within a few minutes, all the tasty hors d’oeuvres were gone. It would have been so easy to put a drug in the water or food. That would have eliminated anybody who could possibly stop me from successfully completing my mission.
From this location, I could see Hugh Frazier and his daughter Anne take their positions onstage. There were three chairs behind the podium.
At precisely one o’clock, a lady stepped up to the microphone and called the gathering to order. I recognized the voice, the lovely lady’s red hair and attractive features. It was Elaine - the woman I had met at Kelsey’s.
She welcomed the members of the Women’s Business Alliance, noting that the Grand Ballroom was jammed to its full capacity of 1,150. She thanked everyone for their support. As she continued speaking, I casually leaned back against the refreshment cart. I rolled it a few feet, up against the second sound baffle so that the cart was partially hidden from view. I stepped behind the baffle and reached under the cart. In a few seconds, I had the contents of the hidden package in my hands. Then, while the others were watching proceedings onstage, I slipped the package’s contents under the silver dome-shaped covering of the serving dish.
Now, I was prepared for ‘the hit’.
CHAPTER SIX
Hugh Frazier was introduced and he received a mixed welcome. Most of the thousand or more women in the Grand Ballroom applauded warmly, but there were a few hisses and catcalls, showing that he wasn’t universally admired.
The publisher of Big Ones thanked the MC, Elaine Grant, for a flattering introduction. He began with a comical anecdote about a past occasion when he had addressed a women’s organization. With a few embarrassing stories about how his admiration for the ladies sometimes got him into trouble, his self-deprecating humor soon won over the audience. Hugh Frazier then discussed the American dream, his poor working class background, how he searched to find a career for himself in the publishing world before he took the big gamble and launched his own men’s magazine.
While Mr. Frazier discussed the critical turning points of his early days, his setbacks and triumphs, I listened intently. I moved away from the handful of spectators here in the wings, and stepped behind the sound baffle again. I loosened my trench coat, removed some of the costume accoutrements from the inner pockets, and attached the Bunny collar with its decorative bow tie. Using the reflection from the shiny dome-shaped serving dish as my mirror, I meticulously placed the Bunny ears into position and with a deft touch of a comb teased some strands of hair to cover the transparent plastic hair band. I wrapped the trench coat loosely around my shoulders. Then I wheeled the serving cart to the opening between the second and third sound baffles, giving me an unobstructed path to my target. Now, I was poised to spring!
Hugh Frazier discussed his keys to success: hard work, creativity and having the confidence to take a risk. The rapt audience ate up his inspirational message. I hung on every word, waiting for the opportune moment.
Then, as he turned away from the microphone to cough and clear his throat, I wheeled the serving cart onto the stage.
"Oh my poor dear Mr. Frazier! Oh my poor dear baby Hughie!" I wiggled my way toward our befuddled guest speaker, pushing the refreshment cart ahead of me, dramatically dropping the trench coat to reveal my exquisite form.
Immediately the audience broke out in laughter at the sight of a beautiful, buxom, long-legged, shapely, Playboy Bunny coming to his aid. I ‘worked’ the cute cottontail, swaying hips, bouncing bosoms, silly rabbit ears, and radiant smile. The bright stage lights reflected off my shimmering, golden-blonde, crowning glory.
I did not hear any hint of the pitter-patter of feet from the security guards behind me. Would a brawny male guard dare to manhandle a petite Playboy Bunny in front of an all-female audience?
"We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold," I bellowed, trying to project my voice to reach the entire audience.
By now, I was almost up to the podium.
There was a broad smile on Hugh Frazier’s face as he gave me the once over from head to toe.
I stepped up to the microphone. "I know what it’s like to catch a deep . . . deep . . . deep chest cold," I said in my best, breathy, ‘boo boop dee do, I want to be loved by you’ Marilyn Monroe voice.
I turned back to the cart to pour a glass of water and I bent over to give Mr. Frazier a better look at my fluffy cottontail. Looking back over my shoulder, I gave him an admonishing gesture as he stared at my beautiful buns.
"Naughty naughty!"
I offered the glass of water to a sheepish Mr. Frazier.
As he looked down at the drink, his eyes rested for a moment on my heaving breasts.
"The poor dear’s eyes seem to be caught in the glow of my headlights."
The audience roared with laughter.
"Thank you very much," said Hugh. Then he sipped from the glass.
"To help prevent deep throat hoarseness, I have brought some liquid . . . lubrication so that whatever you swallow goes down smoothly."
Water spewed out of Hugh Frazier’s nose. The crowd went into convulsions. Some were doubled over with tears streaming down their cheeks.
"Oh my, did the water go down the wrong pipe? You poor thing. It is so embarrassing when things go in and out of the wrong orifice."
Picking up a napkin from the serving cart, I delicately caressed his face, absorbing the phlegm and water. My soft, seductive bosoms brushed up against his chest. I put my right arm around his waist. He responded as I had hoped. Placing his arms around me in a warm embrace, he closed his eyes, puckered up and gave me a long, wet, deep, probing kiss.
With my free left hand, I reached back to the serving plate, depressed the button/lever, and picked up the item beneath the dome-shaped silver covering.
The audience gasped as I held it up!
When our lips parted, he opened his eyes, and smiled blissfully!
Whump! A Boston Cream Pie straight to the kisser!
His knees buckled.
The crowd roared! Absolute bedlam!
As my hand purposely brushed up against his crotch, I whispered into his ear, "By the way, I’m really a guy."
I quickly stepped away as a shocked Hugh Frazier tried to wipe away the cream from his eyes.
Reaching over to the serving dish again, I picked up some silvery pellets in both hands. I stepped in front of the podium, my arms held up high in triumph. Amidst the screams of laughter and tumultuous applause from the crowd, I could sense the rapid approach of the guards’ footsteps.
I threw down the pellets! A blinding flash! Clouds of smoke!
When the mists cleared, Miss Bunny had disappeared!
The crowd cheered!
The amazed audience erupted in an uproarious standing ovation!
CHAPTER SEVEN
After taking a minute or two to wipe away the cream and regain his composure, Hugh Frazier tried valiantly to carry on. But, the hyper audience was still buzzing with excitement. Soon thereafter, Hugh Frazier gracefully wrapped up his speech. An experienced public speaker, Hugh quipped, "I guess I flunked the rabbit test."
There was a short, unplanned intermission.
Then, Elaine Grant introduced Anne Frazier to rousing applause. Her earnest message was well received. She was a shining example of female success in a male-dominated environment. It was exactly the encouraging type of story the Women’s Business Alliance wanted to hear. She even adlibbed a line, concluding, "the American Dream is no longer a pie in the sky hope for women."
Afterwards, when the press asked Hugh Frazier if he would file assault charges if the Bunny were ever caught, he graciously declined to press charges.
The incident received wide newspaper and television exposure. "A knockout by a knockout" read the USA Today photo caption. The video of ‘the hit’ was replayed on ESPN with sportscaster Howard Cosell’s famous blow-by-blow call, "Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!"
An investigation by Hugh Frazier’s security team revealed that the Playboy Bunny likely used the blinding flash and smoke to disappear through the stage’s hidden trap door.
How did they figure that out?
When I escaped through the trap door, I emerged backstage in the locked dressing room facilities. There, I was greeted by Juan. It turned out he was the head of Hugh Frazier’s security team. They had been on to me from the night before.
It was Anne Frazier’s suggestion that I be allowed to go through with the harmless hit. After all, it could generate incredible free publicity. In fact, sales of Big Ones Magazine went through the roof for the next few months.
The Boston Cream Pie "hit" by Carrie Creamcheese became part of the Frazier Publishing Empire folklore.
And it turned out Juan did have a big one!
© 2000
The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this
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