When Pruiss told her that the movie was going to be called Animal Instinctsand was would involve a menage a menagerie, she was only slightly crushed. After all, even Greta Garbo had to start somewhere. From there, it would be onward and upward.
And then, just like that, the movie plans had been dropped. Theodosia explained to her on the telephone that it was because Wesley had been crippled and couldn't think of movies now, but Flamma knew better. She knew the bitch had deep-sixed Flamma's future because of jealousy, trying to keep her from the stardom that should be hers, and when Will Bobbin approached her, she hadn't even cared about the money. But when he promised her a film test at a Hollywood studio owned mostly by oil money, she quickly agreed to blow the whistle on Wesley Pruiss and his plans to create a dirty film center in Furlong County. She felt no remorse. A girl had to start looking out for herself sometime.
Bobbin met her plane when it landed at the Furlong County Airport. Flamma looked around through enormous circular sunglasses and was a little disappointed when she saw no one resembling a newsman or press agent. She had prepared for the occasion by figuring out a costume that was both mysterious and provocative. She wore a trench coat (mysterious) and under it, she was naked (provocative). She could go either way as the occasion demanded.
"Now, listen," Bobbin said as they drove toward town in his rented car.
"That's what I hate about not being a star yet," Flamma said.
"What's that?"
"People are always saying 'now, listen' to me. Do you think they said that to Marilyn Monroe?"
"Not if she listened. Anyway, sorry. I want you to meet this Reverend Muckley. He's the one who's going to blow the whistle on Pruiss for us."
"Who is he?"
"He's a mail order fraud of a minister from California. But he's got a lot of money, he's always on the television and he'll get you and your story in every paper and on every television broadcast from coast to coast. Instant stardom. And then the silver screen."
Flamma smiled. "I'm ready," she said. She opened the buttons of her trenchcoat. Bobbin looked over, gulped, and reached to button them back up.
"Hey, this is Middle America," he said. "Hold that."
"Okay," she said. "Reverend Muckley, you say?"
"Yes."
"I'll be very nice to him. Very, very nice."
"No, no," Bobbin said. "That's just what I don't want."
"What don't you want?" Flamma asked.
"I don't want you giving him any," Bobbin said. "Keep him sniffing around you to keep him interested. But don't give him any."
He seemed very sure of himself and Flamma said "I understand," but she didn't understand at all. Everything she had ever gotten in life, she had gotten by giving some away. Maybe twenty years ago, you kept a man interested by not giving him any, but now you kept a man interested by giving him some right away and making sure it was good. Because if not you, someone else.
But she decided to trust Will Bobbin. She had to. He was her only chance into the movies right now.
Bobbin ushered her into Reverend Muckley's office past the secretary who glared at them coolly, as if sensing that underneath the tan trenchcoat was a threat to her own 38-22-36 supremacy.
Muckley gulped when Flamma stood in front of his desk, smiling at him. He insisted that Bobbin wait outside because he wanted to verify for himself the accuracy of the woman's story.
Bobbin waited on a soft chair in the outer office. He heard the sound of footfalls inside Muckley's office. He heard furniture being moved. So did the secretary. She went to Muckley's office door and turned the knob. The door was locked. She swore to herself and went back to her desk without looking at Bobbin.
A few moments later, the door was unlocked and opened a crack. Flamma winked at Bobbin. "Okay," she called. "I'm doing what you said." She ran from the door, slamming it behind her. Bobbin heard the sound of Reverend Muckley whooping.
After another five minutes, Flamma opened the door and gestured Bobbin to come inside. Muckley was behind his desk, panting heavily. Disappointment shrouded his face. As Bobbin came in, Flamma whispered, "It's all right. But it was close."
"I have checked this young lady's story," Muckley panted, "to my own satisfaction."
"And?"
"And I think it is just what we need to show the people of this area what a sex-drenched beast like Weston Price has in mind for them. I will call the television people here this afternoon."
"All right," Bobbin said. "And Flamma, I'm out of it, remember?"
She nodded. "I know. I read that the Reverend Muckley was here and I volunteered to help him in his battle against the antichrist because I saw the light and realized that what Wesley was planning to do was evil."
Bobbin nodded. "You might tell the television men that Pruiss was going to make a dirty movie with you in it, but that you didn't want stardom that way. You'd pass up stardom if it had to come that way."
"For stardom, I'd eat dogshit in the street," Flamma said.
"I know that and you know that," Bobbin said. "But trust me. Do it my way. It'll make you more mysterious and the movie offers will come pouring in. You'll see."
"Keen," she said.
"And leave me out of it," Bobbin said.
"Cool," said Flamma.
"Of course," said Reverend Muckley.
Chapter nine
"Chiun, I'm confused," Remo said.
"Birds fly and fish swim," Chiun said.
"Meaning?"
"Why are you always surprised when things follow their natural order?" Chiun said. "Who is a better person to be confused than you?"
"If you're going to be snotty, I'll take my problem somewhere else."
"Proceed," said Chiun majestically.
"I don't have any lead on this assassin. Theodosia says oil people but I don't know. I've got Smith checking out Rachmed, who's a sleazy creep. And there's that illiterate minister in town. I don't know."
"It is not unusual," Chiun said.
"Dammit, Chiun, this is important. Will you stop trying to score points off me?"
"All right. I apologize."
"Apologize?" said Remo. "You actually said apologize?"
"Yes."
"That's the first time you ever apologized for anything," Remo said.
He sat back on the bed in his room, staring in wonderment at Chiun who stood against in front of the open window, practicing his shallow breathing exercises.
"Perhaps I never had a reason before to apologize," Chiun said.
"In more than ten years, you think this is the first time you've owed me an apology?"
"Yes," Chiun said. "But I didn't realize you were going to be so ungracious about it. Consider it withdrawn."
"Too late," Remo said. "I already accepted it."
Chiun shrugged and kept looking out the window. Remo shook his head. Something was wrong. Chiun would fight for hours, normally before giving up on a major point like an apology. Something was on his mind.
"Chiun, what do you know about this assassin? What about the silver knife with the horse on it? What aren't you telling me?"
Chiun sighed. "Wait," he said, and went to one of his trunks and carefully removed a white robe from it. He went into the bathroom to change out of his blue morning robe.
Remo recognized the brocaded white robe as Chiun's teaching garment. He put it on when he was going to tell Remo something of great importance. All too often, the thing of great importance turned out to be a lecture on the beauties of Ung poetry or the proper way to steam a fish or how to chew rice into a liquid and extract all its nutrition, without swallowing any of its solid pulp.
Chiun came back and slowly sank into a sitting position on the floor facing Remo. He settled as softly as dust particles landing on furniture in an unused room.
He folded his hands inside the sleeves of his white kimono and looked dolefully at Remo, who resisted the impulse to tell Chiun to get on with it. With an American, he would do that. With Chiun, all things came in due time, due time often being long after Remo's attention span had been stretched to its limits, then shattered.