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A CURE FOR BALDNESS
RON GOULART
*
In an issue filled with terrorists, ghosts, and Martians, we need a bit of levity. Fortunately, we had this
story by Ron Goulart on hand. “A Cure for Baldness,” according to Ron, “explains the various aspects of
growing older.” Hmmm. Would that aging could be so interesting for everyone.
It was about a half hour after the second bomb scare that his real trouble got going. Roger Snow had
hidden in a closet the second time the fifteen story Tandem Brothers Publishing Building on Park Avenue
South was evacuated. Trooping out into the hot, glaringManhattan street once a day was sufficient. The
building never blew up anyway.
Roger had sneaked back into his office after five minutes or so, sat again at his drawing board and
started working on thumbnail sketches for the latest paperback cover in the Lizardworld series.
“Swordsmen of Lizardworld,” he’d said aloud, allowing himself to sigh some. “Can you fall from grace if
you never had any in the first place?”
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 After awhile he noticed that his hand kept sticking to the layout paper, which meant the air conditioning
was on the fritz again. Sighing once more, he leaned back in his chair. The chair produced the usual
resentful groaning.
Roger was a plump, moderately tall man in his middle forties and his hair was thinning. Well, actually he
was going to be forty-seven next month and he was just a shade under five foot eight. He was at least
thirty pounds overweight and there was extremely little of his brindle-colored hair left on his head at all.
“I’m starting to sound like a resume when I describe myself,” he reflected. “But
you can’t romance the fact that I’m going to seed. As a person, as an artist,
and—“
“Just where’s your damn loyalty, Rog?”
“I had it when I came in this—“
“Enough wiseass stuff. How do you explain this?”
While Roger had been woolgathering at his board, everybody in the Fiction Division of Tandem
Brothers had returned. Lex Tandem himself was in the doorway of the small office, holding a partially
crumpled fax message in his tanned hand.
“You have some words written in reverse across the front of your suit,” mentioned Roger. “What does it
say? ‘Down with the Colonel! Tobacco means . . . ‘ Can’t make out the next word.”
“Death,” supplied Lex. “I got whacked with a placard. You’d think those halfwits would wait until the
paint dried before they started marching around with the damn things.”
“Another protest march in front of the building, huh?”
“Didn’t you notice it? Over a hundred wild-eyed loons waving—“
“Wasn’t paying attention.”
“I tried to explain to this woman—large hefty critter, probably lifts weights -- that the Colonel Lightfoot
Tobacco Company sold its interest in Tandem over a month ago to Worldwide Pesticide. But she
wrapped me anyway.”
“Protestors usually have a narrow view of—“
“I’m happy to say it sounded like the cops broke her arm when they tossed her in
the wagon. So I got some gratification out of—“
“They the ones who planted the latest bomb?”
“No, no. Ordek Yumurta is claiming credit again.”
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 “The Turkish terrorist group?”
“How many Ordek Yumurtas do you think there are? Yes, of course, stupid, the damn Turkish
terrorists.” Lex shook his handsome head. “They continue, apparently, to be ticked off because we
published Dr. Uzon Boylu’s book last month. It’s a shame because that book—what the bloody hell is
that?” He was pointing a tanned finger at a cover painting that leaned against the far wall.
“Cover for Dr. Suicide novel #46. Slit Throats inSingapore . Why?”
“It’s godawful.”
“Yep, which is exactly the style you said to use, commencing with #40.”
“I thought I suggested wretched.”
“It’s that, too.”
“I’m straying from the point.”
“About Dr. Boylu, you mean?”
“No, not exactly. Although it is a fact that Think Tall has helped me one hell of a lot. And how many
other publishers can say they actually get anything from any of the dimwit books they publish?”
“The correct answer is fourteen.”
“What did I tell you about the wiseass stuff?
“To stop.”
“Exactly. Before I read Boylu’s wonderful book I suffered from not being especially tall.”
“You’re short, Lex.”
“No, five foot two is not technically short.”
“It is, yeah. Besides, you’re only four foot eleven.”
“I was, but after reading Boylu’s book and applying his teachings—well, I shot up to five two. Any
dimbulb can see I look much taller.”
“That’s only because you’ve taken to walking funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“You go around on tiptoe now and sort of stretch your neck.”
“Sure, that’s all part of the Boylu System. In order to think tall, you have to stand tall,” explained the
publisher. “But actually—I came here to talk about the new assignment I have for you.”
“I’ve got sufficient assignments, what with recruiting artists for Dr. Suicide
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 covers and Lizardworld and the new Lethal Injector series and—“
“This involves not art but travel.” He took, on tiptoe, a step back and cocked
his head to the right. “It’d be nice if you had more hair and less chins, but
maybe Olive Bunce has different tastes than—“
“Whoa, no. Wait.” He pushed back from his board. “I don’t intend to go anywhere
near Olive Bunce or—“
“On the contrary, Rog, you are. You’re going out toCalifornia , in just three weeks,” said the publisher.
“Otherwise . . . “ Shrugging, he glanced over his shoulder at the door.
“You can’t fire me. I have tenure, not to mention—“
“Tenure is for academics. But, don’t fret, if you can bring off this simple task, you’re set for life.”
“Any chore that remotely involves Olive Bunce cannot be classified as simple.”
“Follow along with me as I explain things to you.” His boss smoothed out the fax
he’d been clutching. “For the past two years, lord only knows why, Olive Bunce
has been the top mystery thriller writer in the nation. Her latest compilation
of tripe, Red Blood Reigns, has been on the lamebrained Times best-seller list
for untold eons. The paperback of her Blood upon the Rose is already #2 on the
--“
“It jumped to #1 this past weekend. But, be that as it may, Lex, I won’t be—“
“Let me make two very important points. Firstly, Olive Bunce’s contract with Blitzkrieg Books is about
to expire. She is now being courted by just about every major publisher.”
“I hear Barson & Sons offered her $42,000,000 for her next three—“
“We can match any offer those nitwits make. In fact, we’ll top anybody’s offer,” the publisher assured
him as he came inching forward. “And we have an ace in the hole in you.”
“Nope, not an ace. A Jack or a Queen, maybe a ten, but—“
“She loves you, doesn’t she?”
“Loved. Years in the past. Maybe.”
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 “I’m betting she still does. Those college romances are intense and never forgotten.”
“We only dated for about one semester, Lex, and I’m sorry now I ever mentioned
it to you. The thing is, we weren’t exactly Scott and Zelda or—“
“But you slept with her, didn’t you?”
“I don’t feel like discussing my long ago sex life with you. I’ve been married
for better than fifteen years and—“
“And damn lucky you are. If it wasn’t for Natalie I wouldn’t even have found out about this terrific
opportunity for us to beat all the opposition.”
“Natalie? What does my wife have to do with this?”
“Natalie. bless her pretty blonde head, sent me this.” He fluttered the fax.
“What is it?”
“It’s the final notice from the Class of ‘68 Committee of the Bayshore College Alumni Association. If
you don’t send your money in by this Friday, Rog, you’ll miss the 25thReunion. It’s being held at the
palatial Hotel Fairview, nestled high in the Bayshore hills and overlooking beautifulSan FranciscoBay .”
“I’m not attending that. I’ve never been to a damn class reunion and I’m not starting now. I haven’t even
set foot inCalifornia for sixteen years.”
“Note this line—‘Keynote Speaker at the Reunion Banquet will be Olive Bunce.’”
“Noted.”
“You’re fortunate that your wife thinks more of the company than you do.”
“Natalie really sent that to you?”
“The original came in today’s mail and once Natalie spotted it, she knew what to do.”
“She opened my personal mail and shared it with a stranger, huh?”
“It’s an invitation, not anything confidential. And I’m far from being a stranger,” countered the publisher.
“Natalie happens to be aware that we’re anxious to get Olive Bunce in our stable.”
“Listen, Lex, I have absolutely no influence on Olive. We haven’t even exchanged Christmas cards for
over ten years at least.”
“She’s divorced.”
“So?”
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