VAVOOM BREAKS SELF-EXILE TO CLAIM,
“I WANT TO BE ALONE”
The actress Lola Vavoom broke her self-imposed exile of fourteen years yesterday to demand that the press leave her alone. The reclusive fifty-five-year-old former star of screen and stage who has been absent from newspaper columns since 1990 demanded that the press stop hounding her every move and making her life a misery. “I thought she was dead,” admitted “Skip” McHale,
“Did you ever see
“No, I think I missed that one.”
“Brilliant piece of work,” said Brown-Horrocks reverentially. “You would have thought that a musical about the experimental anthrax bombing of the Scottish island of Gruinard would be tasteless but Miss Vavoom’s performance of chirpy biological-warfare scientist ‘Boobs’ McGonagle was both sensitive and touching.”
Spongg Villas had been surrounded by journalists, all eager to speak to the actress since Thomm’s body had been discovered the day before, but Jack, Mary and Brown-Horrocks had just pushed their way through.
They reached her apartment, and Jack pressed the doorbell. It didn’t work, so he knocked instead.
Lola opened it like a whirlwind but seemed surprised to see them. She was wearing a kimono and looked faintly alluring.
“Ah,” she said, “it’s you, Inspector.” She lazily extended a hand for him to shake, then looked at Mary.
“DS Mary, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded.
“Well! Haven’t we all got
“This is Brown-Horrocks of the Guild of Detectives, Ms. Vavoom, and he’s not technically a giant. He’s a big fan of your work.”
“Oh, Brown-Horrocks,” she cooed, “you are
“Kjdshdieupw,” said Brown-Horrocks, struck inarticulate in her presence.
“Won’t you all come in?”
She walked away without waiting for an answer, and they followed. Her apartment smelled of lavender, and the walls were adorned with black-and-white photographs of Lola as a young woman with the stars of the screen and stage in the seventies and eighties.
“So you kept good company?” asked Jack as he pointed at a photo of her with Giorgio Porgia. She pulled down one of the blinds on the window and laughed a high, shrill laugh.
“In the early days. He was a charming man, Inspector. When one searches for exciting men who treat a girl with respect, one is willing to overlook the shadier aspects. Gentlemen like Giorgio just don’t exist anymore, either side of the law.”
The room was lit mostly by table lamps. There were several drapes hanging on the walls, and all around them were the collected memorabilia of her short yet illustrious film career. Her Milton was on the mantelpiece, in pride of place among an impressive array of other awards. She lay on a chaise longue and indicated the chairs opposite her. “Please.”
They sat down.
“A few questions, Ms. Vavoom. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I was rather hoping you’d have that handsome constable with you. How can I help?”
“We’d like to know a little bit more about Humpty Dumpty—and women.”
She looked up at the ceiling and placed her head on one side. “He was devoted to his first wife.”
“Lucinda Muffet-Dumpty?”
“Yes; he never really got over her death. She died in a car accident when he was in prison. I don’t think he ever forgave himself. If he had been there, he often said, it might have been different.”
She sighed. “Whatever his second wife told you, they were never that close. He thought that by marrying again, he could retain some of the stability he had enjoyed with Lucinda and perhaps recoup some of his lost fortunes—I understand Laura Garibaldi had quite a bit of cash.”
“She