The Green Lama: Crimson Circle Read Online Free

vanity. “Or should I say ‘Mrs. Dumont.’”
    “Oh jeez,” Jean groaned as she read over the bold headline “JETHRO DUMONT TO WED JEAN PARKER” that sat above the flattering—and more than a little revealing—photo of her. “Where the hell did you get this?” she asked, tossing it back at him.
    “Hit newsstands this morning, love,” Jason chuckled as he looked over the front page. “I may know someone who works at the printers. I must confess, I always wondered if Dumont would ever settle down. Sure, he’s dated every woman on both sides of the Atlantic, but he’s a Buddhist, so who knows if he even, you know ...”
    The corner of Jean’s lip curled up. “If there’s one thing Jethro Dumont is not , it’s celibate.”
    “Look who’s been getting the milk for free,” Jason exclaimed. “Anyway, if he did get hitched, I always thought it was going to be Vivien Leigh, but I guess you’re… attractive enough.”
    “You’re sweet,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Hate to burst your bubble though. If Jethro’s popped the question he hasn’t told me , at least not yet . Besides, just because it’s in black and white doesn’t mean it’s true. Remember when they were saying Erin had married Howard Hughes?” She indicated the blonde actress at the other side of her shared dressing room.
    Erin gave Jean a vacant look of confusion through the mirror. “Yeah, but I was only sleeping with him,” she retorted in a nasal voice. “And he would always make me shower three times before and after we did.”
    Jean fought back an exasperated sigh. She loved her costar, but… Good Lord . “Right, so why then should that be any more legitimate,” she said with a dismissive wave at the tabloid.
    “Because, you’ve been living with Mr. Dumont in sin ,” Jason said, poking Jean in the shoulder.
    “Thank you, Mom,” she retorted. “Does this mean I can’t come home for Christmas?”
    “Only if you come back with a rock on your finger,” Jason said with a laugh. “A big one. A real big one. I want you to make the Rockefellers jealous.”
    “I’ll let Jethro know, though after all we’ve been through together, I think we’re both a little off rings.”
    Jason frowned in consideration. “Mm, how progressive of you.”
    “You know me, always looking toward the future,” she said offhandedly as she tossed her last bit of make-up in to her purse, the metal cap of her lipstick clinking against the metal of her pistol. “You heading out, Erin?”
    “Yup,” the redhead replied as she lit a cigarette.
    “Great, I’ll walk ya home. Nine tomorrow, Jas?”
    “That’s Nine A.M. That means in the morning, Erin.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” the blonde objected. “That only happened once.”
    “Night girls,” Jason said with a small wave as they exited, then as the door swung closed behind them: “You! Who told you could carry that? Put that down! Don’t look at me like you don’t speak English, put it down!”
    The street was beginning to empty, the last of the Broadway audiences making way for the city’s late night revelers. The night was cool, the clouds overheard portending rain, the autumn breeze raising goose pimples on the back of Jean’s neck. It always felt cold to her these days; even the warmest days left Jean feeling frigid, as if the world had fallen beneath a shadow and would never see the sun again. Even Jethro, her one ray of light in the darkness, could sense it. Something bad was just beyond the horizon. Not just another war, but something worse, something… other.
    There were a few audience members waiting outside the exit, a pen and paper held out expectantly. Jean usually tried to avoid her fans as much as possible—not that she didn’t appreciate them, she did—it just felt odd after everything she had done in her life that people were celebrating her for acting. But she put on a smile and signed every one; a big, loopy “J” followed by scribble and a stylized “P”