Wompler wasn’t in, but I found Audrey posing for the photographer as a white sss reared by the matriarchal Tchambuli tribe of green-jungled New Guinea, meeting an explorer from Boston for the first time. The jungle set, I decided, might look convincing enough in black and white, but the explorer was something straight out of Abercrombie & Fitch, and Audrey had borrowed her leopard-skin leotards and long blonde hair from the pages of Congo Comics. She held a prop knife in her hand and the explorer was teaching her one of the more subtle arts of Boston society, known as smooching.
“So now they’ve got leopards in New Guinea,” I said, reading the location data off the photographer’s info sheet.
“If it isn’t Mr. Chase,” Audrey said tartly. “Are you married?”
“No, but…”
“I was thinking if yo
