"It's just like you to rain on my reincarnations. You know that brassy know-it-all woman I played in Letters from Limbo? Well, that wasn't acting. I was imitating you."
Click.
"That's right," Squirrelly called into the dead phone, "hang up on me. See if I care. You're only my mother for this life. I hope you die and come back as a silkworm."
The phone rang again. Squirrelly counted three rings and said tartly, "If you're calling to apologize, you're too late. My feelings are too terribly hurt for apologies to work."
"Squirl, baby-doll," came the voice of her agent. "Why would I call to apologize?"
"Julius! Listen, dear, I'm so glad you called."
"Good. Have I got a script for you."
"Screw the script. I have stumbled upon the role of a lifetime, Julius."
"What's that?"
"I'm the Bunji Lamb."
"Is that like a Pumi stick? Because if it is, I'd stay away from it. My cousin Irv, who was in Vietnam, stepped on one once. They had to whack his foot off at the ankle. To this day he doesn't walk. He hops."
"For your information, the Bunji Lamb is the spiritual leader of Tibet."
"Tibet Tibet?"
"Tibet Tibet. That's correct. I have the most incredible offer to go to Tibet and be the Bunji Lamb."
"You mean play the Bunji Lamb?"
"No, I said 'be.' Not play. Be. I've evolved beyond mere acting."
"Hold the phone. Are we talking about a movie here?"
"A book. A movie. At worst, a miniseries based on a book. I want you to put the package together for me."
"Who do I call?"
"I don't know. The government of Tibet, I guess. One of their reps is here with me. A dried-up Yul Brynner type named Lobsang. "
"Lobsang. Lobsang. The name rings a bell. Is he producing?"
"He's more of a coach. He's showing me the ropes. You know, language, customs, stuff like that. I already know my title in Tibetan. It's Bunji Bogd. You should see the scrumptious saffron number he gave me to wear. It clashes something awful with my hair and nails, but I think I can fix that."
"Squirrelly, baby. Sweets. You're a million miles ahead of me. How can I put together a package for you without a director, producer or locations scouted?"
"Find someone. Anyone good. How about Hardy Bricker?"
"Bricker? No one can find him. You know, they're whispering that the government got to him because of that assassination movie of his. Maybe he was right, after all."
"Then try Robert Altman. I don't care. I'm not fussy. I can carry this project. Maybe I'll direct."
"You?"
"Why not? It's about the Bunji Lamb. It's set in Tibet. The Bunji Lamb is the long-lost spiritual leader of Tibet. And I'm the Bunji Lamb. What could be more perfect?"
"This sounds like a high-adventure thing. We may need Spielberg or Lucas. Someone of that caliber. And what about the script?"
"We don't need a script! We'll go. I'll liberate the country, write a book about my experiences, and someone can adapt it. I'm thinking of calling it Lamb of Light. How's that for a boffo title?"
"What's this about liberating the country?"
"Oops. Almost forgot," said Squirrelly, fishing for a particularly fat chocolate-covered cherry. She picked it apart with her perfectly-capped teeth as she talked. "It seems there's this itsy-bitsy disagreement between the government of China and the Tibetanese, or whatever they call themselves. I'm sure it's been blown all out of proportion. Goodness knows when I visited China back during the Nixon regime it was a lovely country with a very enlightened leadership. I still know a few low people in high places. Once I get to Tibet and claim the Lion Throne-isn't that a scream? I'm the Bunji Lamb and I'm going to sit on the Lion Throne. Isn't there an old saying about the lion lying down with the lamb? Anyway, once I'm there, I'll just make a few calls and straighten it all out. "
There was a long silence on the line, broken only by the measured breathing of both parties.
Finally Julius said, "Squirrelly, sweetheart. What are you smoking?"
"Listen, Julie. You know I'm not one to lose my temper. Just talk to Universal or Amblin or whomever. Work out the money end. Then we'll all go to Tibet together."
"I don't do locations, you know that. I only have to drive past a Thai restaurant and my bowels clench."
"And listen, I'm having a party tonight. I'm calling it a little lost Bunji Lamb coming-out party. Drop by. I'll introduce you to Lobsang. You and he can talk. Ciao. Or as we Bunji Lambs say, kale pheb. It means 'go softly.' That's Tibetan for Ciao. "
Click.
Squirrelly Chicane leaned back in bed and stretched her limber dancer's body. It was the night of her sixtieth birthday, and she felt as if her entire life stretched before her.
"I wonder if this would work better as a musical?" she muttered. "Maybe I could convince that Remo hunk to be a chorus boy-or whatever they call them."
Chapter 11
"I hope you're happy with yourself," Remo Williams was saying as he brought in the last of the precious lacquered trunks.
The Master of Sinanju sat on his tatami mat on the polished hardwood floor of Squirrelly Chicane's guest house, facing the television screen. He said nothing. There was nothing to say.
His pupil continued addressing imaginary wrongs. "I hope you really enjoyed treating me like a second-class citizen in my own country. In front of your friends."
This time the Master of Sinanju deigned to answer. "Kula was your friend before he was my friend," he said. "In Mongolia he was your Mongol, not mine."
"Well, he sure acted like one of your friends this time around," said Remo, setting down Chiun's trunk. He began pacing the room, wasting both breath and energy.
"He has sworn allegiance to Boldbator Khan, whom I discovered riding the barren steppes and whom I encouraged to grasp the birthright that was his. Now I have done it again."
"Like hell, you have. Boldbator was one thing. Squirrelly Chicane is another. She's an actress, for Christ's sake."
"What better choice to play the greatest role a person can be asked to play? That of the long-lost Bunji Lama."
"Tibet is practically in revolt. There's a civil war going on over there. You just made it ten times worse."
"The outcome has not yet been ordained."
"Ten times worse," Remo repeated. "And for what? Gold?"
"A roomful of gold," Chiun corrected. "A mere purse of gold, or six purses of gold, would not have been sufficient. But for a roomful of gold, the Master of Sinanju was willing to put aside the few fading moments of the end days of his bitter life and undertake the momentous and exhausting search for the long-lost Bunji Lama."
"Exhausting? It took you a freaking day."
"Less. Technically, fourteen of your hours."
"Nice work if you can get it."
"I got lucky."
"Did you see the look on Lobsang's and poor Kula's faces when they decided Squirrelly was the Bunji Lama?" Remo continued. "They were practically in tears."
"Yes, it was very moving."
"It was a scam!"
"Yes. Kula said that. He is very perceptive. For a horse Mongol."
"How you can accept gold under false pretenses and not feel bad about it is beyond me."
"Many things are beyond you," Chiun said coolly. "But to answer your shouted question-I will feel bad if the outcome of the events I have set into motion decree that I feel bad. Until then, I am content. I have earned a roomful of gold, and the long-suffering Tibetan people will soon have their precious Bunji Lama restored to them."
"You know they're planning to sneak her into Tibet."
"The Lion Throne has been too long vacant."
"And she'll probably get killed. The Chinese have beaten Tibet into the ground."
"Rumors spread by whites. No one knows what is happening in Lhasa, which is the capital of Tibet."