Village Squire, 1977-02, Page 11J
MY MERICOLE GIRL
by Elvina A. Beder
"Next," I said without looking up, "Next applicant plea-
se." All afternoon, all day in fact, I had been looking for a
Mericole girl.
You probably never heard of Mericole but you will. You'll
see it advertized in fashion magazines, billboards and T.V. if
my clent, Mericole's discoverer, is able to raise enough cash
to swing it. Mericole comes in a long elegant tube. It's
creamy, frothy white in colour and smells like a night
blooming jasmin gone wild. (It's guaranteed to turn old girls.
young -shallow skin milky -the heads of men. In other words
it's supposed to do just what the name implies (produce a
miracle.) Of course I don't believe in it. I believe if you're
born ugly and even if you soaked in a tub full of Mericole for a
week you'd still be ugly when you emerged - but it smells
good so I have no scruples about selling it.
"I guess I'm next, Mr. Benson -and the last."
My eyes scanned the row of empty chairs that lined the wall
and came to rest on her. There she was and I couldn't believe
it. No, no not the Mericole girl but the one I had been looking
for all of my 34 bachelor years. You know, my Laura in the
misty dream, my passing face in the crowd. She was tall and
slim, dressed becomingly in a white suit. Her hair was
blonde, cut short and fringed above her eyes. Her eyes
predominated her whole face - large dark blue eyes you could
get lost in if you looked into them too long.
"You're it - she - her," I stammered.
"That was certainly fast, Mr. Benson."Her voice was low
and smooth like water bubling over a waterfall to the sea.
"You're the Mericole girl I've been searching for," I lied.
My client had specified that he wanted a teenager but I could
VILLAGE SQU1RE/FEBRUARY 1977, 9