Not so long ago I was on my way out of the dentist's office when I stopped to chat up the cute young receptionist. I complimented her on her nail polish, which was a lovely shade of black.
"Oh no," she exclaimed, "This color is not black, it is called Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees".
"Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees."
She then informed me in so many words that I was an überNeanderthal and that fingernail polish colors had had fanciful names for at least, say, two years. Well, I suppose every woman knows that, but up to that moment I had been entirely ignorant of this development in fingernail polish onomastics. I confess that I mostly let my nails go naked. Of course this is true except for when, like all men, I paint my toenails in purple metalflake before concealing them with white gym socks with no elastic left in them and going to play basketball at the YMCA. "Our little secret," we men call it amongst ourselves. But lately those occasions have been few and far between, and I mostly get all the fingernail polish I need in my Christmas stocking, so I guess it makes sense that I didn't know about Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees. The name continues to haunt me however, thus this story:
"Schuss!" said Suzi to a shih tzu sitting on the steps as she sauntered out of the chalet. She giggled to herself at her little joke. It was only her second day in Andorra, a tiny country nestled in the Pyrenees Mountains, and she was already having the time of her life. She was 23, insouciant, blond, well-endowed, packing Platinum Visa, and had already slept with a Spanish person and a French person on this trip. She giggled again just for joy as she adjusted her pinkest ski outfit to better show off her figure and prepared to hit the resort's two-diamond.
"Schuss!" cried Suzi as she glid down the the slope. The sun was shining with an explosive brightness, and the snow crystals in her wake glittered like cubic zirconia as she sped back and forth down the mountain. She had not a care in the world, and she determined then and there that she would maintain that state for the entire duration of her vacation, come what may.
As she entered the chalet after a long day of skiing she was surprised to see that no one was at the front desk. She shrugged to herself, then continued down the hall to the après-ski lounge with the huge fireplace, in front of which she planned to seduce that dark-haired boy from New York she had met the previous day who smelled so very much like money. Just before she entered the lounge, however, she heard a man yelling something at the top of his lungs, so she stopped in her tracks. "The last thing I need on this vay-kay is to walk into a domestic," she thought. "That would totally kill my buzz on this beautiful day."
Suzi crept up to the door and peeked into the lounge. She was chagrined to see that the entire resort staff and all the guests save her were being held at gunpoint by a group of slovenly-dressed men who obviously had not showered in some time. "Hmmm," she said to herself, "Why are there Frenchmen here with guns? I must listen closely and find out."
One of the gunmen in the room was screaming into the telephone with a marked French accent. "I say again, stupid American, connect me to the head of your CNN Europe news bureau! I lose patience, and lives are at stake!"
After a short pause, Suzi heard the man begin to scream even more loudly and become apoplectic with rage. "I am to declare myself here Boris II, the sovereign prince of Andorra, and I and my gang of swarthy Lascars from former French colonies take control of this ski resort in the Pyrenees. We demand 20 million euros in ransom for these spoiled children of rich people who speak English!"
"Andorra! A-N-D-O-R-R-A, stupid American pig-dog! It is the sixth smallest nation in Europe and its population has the longest life expectancy of any country in the world! Now relay my demands to whoever is in charge of these things at once! You have one hour until we begin skimming the bodies of young American tourists down the luge run, clad only their underpants!"
With that the man slammed down the telephone and turned to glower at his cowering captives, his mustache quivering with rage.
"Holy shit!" said Suzi softly, looking at her Rolex Lady Oyster Perpetual watch. "I've only got one hour!" She turned on her heel and ran off to her room as quickly and quietly as she could.
Once in her room, Suzi snapped open all five of her Gucci suitcases and popped open the secret compartment in each of them. She gathered all the makeup that fell out of the first and hurried to the bathroom. She washed her lovely blond hair, then dyed it a jet black. "Fuck," she said to herself. "There goes Mr. Dark-Haired Meal Ticket. Oh well, as the evil French guy said, lives are at stake!" She then smoothed dead white makeup on her face and began to apply heavy mascara to her eyes. When that was accomplished, Suzi then painted her nails with fingernail polish the color of which, oddly enough, was "Black".
Once all was done in the bathroom, Suzi came back into the bedroom and began rummaging through another of the suitcases. At last she came up with a nose ring, a labret stud, two nipple rings, and a curved belly button barbell, all in platinum by Christian Dior. "These will have to do, since this is a rush job," she muttered to herself as she inserted each one into its proper orifice.
After bedecking herself with the jewelry, she emptied the remaining three suitcases onto the bed. Three sets of clothing in varying shades of black landed on the bedspread. "Gods," moaned Suzi. "Look at them! They're all wrinkled!" But she sucked it up and chose one outfit from among them. "The dark black will show the wrinkles less," she thought.
Suzi glanced at her Rolex after smacking it against the door frame to make sure it hadn't stopped. 55 minutes had elapsed since the Frenchman had made his threat! She sprinted from her room full-tilt to the door of the lounge, took a minute to compose herself, then sauntered nonchalantly into the room.
The man who called himself Boris II was chatting amiably with one of the female guests as he cocked his gun and prepared to shoot her. "Ho ho," he said. "I have asked for 20 million euros, and in this Andorra country it is tax-free! It should be enough to keep my children in wine for a long time, no?" He then chuckled evilly, as only the French can do.
Suddenly Boris II saw the newcomer in the room from the corner of his eye and started visibly. He turned and stared at her. "Zut alors!" he cried. "What is this then? An apparition? But I have killed no one yet! Soon perhaps, but not yet!"
"Zoot a lore yourself, nasty French person. I am no apparition, I am... Goth Girl!" said Suzi triumphantly, trying but failing miserably to sound completely bored. "Prepare to be foiled in your evil plans!"
Boris II blinked. "Hah! Who are you to stop me, eh? What will you do? Throw your silly lip thing at me?" He and his henchmen all chuckled evilly at that.
"You won't have such an easy time of it as that," said Suzi with a fake yawn. "Unless you immediately lay down your weapons, let these people go, then go take showers, I shall first aloof you, then I shall treat you with scathing indifference, then I shall overwhelm you by my morbid fascination with death!"
"Sacre bleu, my delicate French sensibilities cannot withstand such an onslaught!" said Boris II. "You win! We surrender! Lucky for us we are used to it!"
"Schuss!" cried Suzi jubilantly as she glid down the slopes of the Pyrenees the following day, newly re-blonded and followed closely by the Dark-Haired Meal Ticket. "Schuss!"