She burst into strident laughter. "What? That piece of shit? They wouldn't let me show so much as one tit on that show. It almost wrecked my career."
Chiun stepped back, his mouth gaping. "I… I…"
"Amscray, Pops," she said, elbowing her way past him.
The old Oriental stood where he was for a long moment, his white hair drooping like a melting ice cream cone. Then, taking a deep breath, he came quietly back to the table.
Remo hurt for him. "I'm sorry. Little Father," he said.
Chiun shrugged. "It was a disappointment, but the world can be a thoughtless place."
"That's the spirit," Remo said, patting him on the back.
"However, I must write to Miss Madrigal immediately."
"After that? What for?"
"To tell her that there is in her very city a vile, coarse woman attempting to impersonate her, of course."
"What?"
Chiun bent low over the table and whispered, "Obviously that woman is in the service of some foreign power determined to shatter my serenity and sour my disposition."
Remo stared at him for a moment, blinking. "Obviously," he said at last.
"It may be a conspiracy. Perhaps you would like to look into the matter yourself, Emperor."
Harold Smith choked on his water. "Er… yes. That is, I'll see what I can do."
The old man grinned with satisfaction as he picked up his cup of tea and sipped it. "It is a good feeling," he said, "to associate with reasonable men."