The old man muttered, "I don't see taking funds from the lipstick campaign and splitting them off into little projects like this," he said. "Twenty-five thousand bucks would get you one nice spread in the Post, but what kind of a one-shot campaign would that be?"
I mumbled excuses, hung up and screamed for the pixie. My secretary said, "Who?"
"Little sexy-eyes. The Atomic Bath Powder girl."
Without her name it took an hour to dig her up, but she finally popped in, plumped down and began giggling. "You found out."
"How," I demanded, "did you arrange it?"
"Easy. Madame Elaine's in Paris. She gave you a free hand, didn't she?"
I nodded.
"Well, when you signed your okay on the Atummyc—"
"That was an interview voucher!"
"Not—exactly," she said ducking her head.