4. If the invitation came from a sexy-voiced woman, the lure was irresistible.
So Muckley got his secretary, Sister Corinne, on the telephone right away, alerting the television people that he would hold a press conference at noon and he had proof of "a conspiratorial plot by Wesley Pruiss, a plot so cruel and evil that it would stagger their minds." The secretary read this from a card that Muckley had printed out for her. Then, also at Muckley's directions, she dropped a hint that a former employee of Pruiss's, a one-time Grossie Girl, would be at the press conference. And there would be plenty to eat and drink.
While she was making the calls, the secretary glanced frequently at the office door, worried because she had heard it being locked to keep her out. What were they doing in there?
Inside the office, Muckley and Flamma were discussing the costume she would wear to the press conference. She had a model's hatbox with costumes in it.
"How about this one?" she asked, holding up two flimsy pieces of nylon.
"I don't know," Muckley said. "Better try it on."
"Where can I change?" she said.
"You can change here," he said. "I'll turn my back."
He turned away from Flamma and watched her in the window as she peeled off her raincoat and put on the costume. She smiled at his reflection as she dressed.
"Done," she said.
Muckley turned and gulped. The nylon costume was transparent, her breasts totally visible. The rest of the outfit was a pair of brief panties covered over with thin nylon pantaloons that showed every pore, every rippling smooth muscle of her long legs.
"What do you think?" Flamma asked.
Muckley came close to inspect her. He walked around her as she stood in the middle of the room. He gulped several times as he eyed her milky body.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with the human body, you understand," he said. "Under the proper circumstances, I think it is the most beautiful of God's creations," He cleared his throat. "And, of course, your body is exceptional. From a purely esthetic viewpoint, that is."
"Of course," said Flamma. She had heard that many times before.
"But I'm afraid, for television, this won't quite work. With lights, it might turn out a little too transparent and then they might not be able to use their film. What else you got in there?"
She reached in and brought out a red satin bra.
"How's this?"
"That might do. Try it on."
"Okay," she said, purposely forgetting to tell him to turn his back again. She reached behind her for the bra clip of the transparent top but pretended she couldn't reach it.
"Can you help me?" she asked.
"Of course, girl," he said. He fumbled with the clip. The palms of his hands were wet with perspiration.
"How long have you been a dancer?" he asked.
"Well," Flamma said, "I'm not really much of a dancer. I can do a turn or two, I guess. But really what I'm good at is tricks. Straight, half-and-half, around the world."
Muckley gulped as the bra clip opened. He let his fingers linger on the bare flesh of her back.
"Of course, you're not going to say that at the press conference," he said.
"Why not?"
"We don't want to harm your credibility. You and me, we're people of the world. We'd understand how some forces could push a young woman into such a life."
Flamma shook her head as she removed her bra. "Nothing forced me. I like it. I always liked it. I still like it. I'd rather do it than anything."
"I can understand that," Muckley said solemnly. "After all, people have needs, desires." He tried to chuckle but it came out like a chicken squawking as its neck was being wrung. "Even us men of the cloth have needs," he said, "although most people would try to deny us. They don't understand the heavy burden we bear, trying to be an example for other people and still having to live with the fires that rage within us." His hands were still on her back.
"You got fires raging in you?" she asked.
"All the time. But I suppress them," Muckley said. He slid his hands toward both sides of her back. Only eight inches more each and he would have those beautiful breasts in his hands.
She leaned forward suddenly, pulling away, lowering her breasts' into the red satin top. "You shouldn't suppress them," she said casually. "It'll give you pimples." She straightened up, her hands behind her on the two bra straps. "Clip that, Rev, will you?" He clipped the bra closed.
She stepped away from him and turned around, her breasts jutting toward him, two mounds of pleasure and beauty. He had not thought of his bible in a long time, but the Song of Solomon forced its way into his head. Something about breasts.
"How's that?" she said.
"Beautiful," he said, staring at her bosom. "Excruciatingly beautiful."
"Me or it?" she asked. She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them, arranging them inside the bra top.
"You forget, I'm just a man," he said.
"There," she said as she finished adjusting herself. "Now what do you think?"
He looked at her bosom through the red satin. "Just a moment," he said. "There's a wrinkle there." He reached forward and touched the underside of her right breast with his fingers as he adjusted the thin piece of satin.
He let his fingers stay there.
"Okay now?" she asked.
"Fine," he said, still not moving his fingers.
"All right," she said. "I'll slip on the bottoms and then I'll get some breakfast before the press conference."
Muckley looked glum.
"And then," she said.
"And then?" he asked.
She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. He let his hands slide down her back to the round mounds of her buttocks. He kneaded them as Flamma told him in detail, full, glorious colorful detail exactly what she had in mind for the two of them after the press conference was over.
"Praise God," said Rev. Higbe Muckley.
The reporters were bored when Muckley appeared.
They had been assigned to the Pruiss story for two days, most of them, and with the exception of the small picketing at the country club, which ended before they got there, there had been nothing. No groundswell of opinion in the farm country against the porn publisher; no sense of impending violence, no bomb threats, no death threats, no sign of the person or persons who had put the knife in Pruiss's back.
They were prepared to let Muckley die on his feet so they could get to the booze. Furlong County was the dullest place in the world anyway.
But they came to attention when Flamma arrived, stepping out on the small stage next to Muckley and wearing her belly dancer costume. She told them that Pruiss had planned to make Furlong County into the porn movie capital of the world. She told them that she had been going to star in his first movie, but that the Reverend Muckley had saved her by giving her religion.
They wanted to know about that first motion picture.
"It's called Animal Instincts," she said.
"What's it about?"
"About a man and his wife who find happiness in nature. She has her collie. He has her, a goat, three girlfriends and me. I'm the lead, because I bring them together again. All at once."
"Goats and dogs?" one reporter asked.
"Yes," she said haltingly. She covered her face with her hands as if crying. "There is no limit to the degradation of Wesley Pruiss and the perverts who are close to him and how he gets people to do his dirty work for him. Thank heavens I have been spared."
Some reporters tried to get her to dance for them, but Flamma demurely said no. Near the end of the press meeting, one reporter asked her for her future plans. They don't include anything with you, Flamma thought, when she found out that the man represented a small Indiana paper.