Amazon

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either Joanie nor I attended the movie's premier and instead spent the evening in Brentwood discussing the subject of insensitive blowhard surgeons over pasta and Chardonnay. Unbeknownst to us, Lady G appeared at Santa Barbara's Arlington Theater preceded by several well-planted rumors that the popular celebrity who'd been unexplicably out of the public eye for several months had undergone some sort of radical cosmetic surgery related to the movie's theme.

The press were ready with their cameras but seemed shocked when she stepped out of her limousine.

Lady G's long hair had been dyed red to match Queen Hippolyta's and she was dressed in a loose wraparound pink and orange gown that went all the way up to her neck. However, one breast appeared to be missing. The fabric laid flat against the right side of her chest.

Lady G acted as if nothing was amiss. As was her aloof custom, she gave no interviews and answered not a single shouted question.

Joanie was alerted by cell phone, and we immediately headed over to my condo. Within an hour, the footage was on the evening news. The reporter covering the story postulated that Lady G's physical appearance must be a clever publicity tie-in for the movie, a case of tight binding similar to that used on many of the film's extras. Still, nobody was certain and so interest had been piqued.

The appearance was a lead topic on the next day's morning talk shows, while the photo made it into the entertainment section of all the big newspapers. A sleazy daily ran Lady G's picture on page one with the caption 'Godiva as Amazon.' Overnight, I changed my opinion of Dr. Olsen. Kook or not, the man had a definite flair for marketing on no budget.

Joanie phoned me just before lunch and seemed elated. The top brass at the studio had simply assumed that she'd arranged the whole stunt. When she'd arrived at her office, she'd found her desk smothered in roses, on top of which sat a envelope containing a most generous bonus.

Publicity aside, the movie reviews were murderous. "Smaltz," said the Los Angeles Times. "Don't bother," said USA Today. "Wait for the video game," said the New York Times. Just as I was going offline after reading them, I took a call from Dr. Olsen. I asked him if he'd heard the bad news.

"Bad, nothing. It's perfect!" He sounded almost manic." Come again?" I said. "I'm afraid Amazon is officially dead on arrival." "Sounds like you didn't read Sarah Knudsen from the Wall Street Journal."

I hadn't looked past the big three. "No. Why?"

"Here's what she said verbatim: 'Intelligent, extravagant, a visual and moral masterpiece'."

"How interesting. Is she also one of your patients?"

"I wish," he said with a happy chuckle. "But don't you understand? All of the other movie critics are men. Sarah's the only lady, and she absolutely loved it. Tell me if that doesn't prove something."

"I doubt it'll make a difference, but the only way we'll know is after the weekend. A film that disappoints at the box office on week one is doomed."

"Well then, how about a little last minute spin? Can't we pit Knudsen against the male chauvinists? Turn it into a battle of the sexes?"

"I'm afraid it's too late."

"Then when will we know about the receipts?"

"Monday morning. Until then, you have to—"

He hung up on me.

Surprisingly, Amazon's first weekend numbers were respectable, largely thanks to Lady G's racy photos sitting next to the checkout stands of every supermarket in the nation. Exit interviews conducted by the studio were mixed: the men found the movie boring, while the women felt lukewarm.

An hour after the numbers came out, Dr. Olsen was on the phone. This time, he sounded really worried. "The flick's dead, right?" I tried to calm him down. Amazon was not the raging success he'd been counting on, but then it wasn't a total flop either. "What if week two is no better?" he said.

"If momentum doesn't build, then likely that's it. A lackluster start with no uptick won't cut it. Forget the studio. The big movie chains will drop the movie cold."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "Okay, it's time to put Godiva on TV."

"No, sorry, that would seal it for sure. It's out of our hands, doctor, so let it play out naturally. Remember, this movie was only one part of our marketing strategy. We may need to emphasize other avenues."

"Forget that, doll, we're playing with my life's savings. Look, it's time to call up your sassy cohort and put the screws to her. Godiva saved this film's ass once already and she can do it again."

I tried to reason with him. What he was suggesting, I warned, was extremely risky, both for the film and especially his own project. But he seemed too anxious to listen to reason and acted like he didn't respect my opinion anyway. At his insistence, I phoned Joanie.

Letterman's show filmed in New York, while Leno's was out of Burbank. Since time was of the essence, local would be quicker and more convenient. Besides, Letterman was more into sarcasm and ridicule, while Leno was generally friendlier and more clean cut. With a loose canon like Lady G, Leno seemed the safer choice.

Minus any hot political controversies or new scandals at hand, Jay Leno, who Joanie knew personally, was happy to cooperate with a short appearance two days hence, no more than five minutes to follow or perhaps coincide with the show's regular "Headlines" comedy routine that revolved around bloopers taken from recent newspapers and magazines, usually embarrassing misspellings or word combos with unintentional double meanings. Both Dr. Olsen and Lady G would be guests, but the latter was to be the focus of conversation.

Joanie cautioned Dr. Olsen, who admitted that he rarely watched television. Late night talk show hosts fed off the ridiculous; if you tried to outwit them, they could make you look like a moron. What they loved most was to catch a guest off guard and have him blurt out something embarrassing, a misstatement they could run with. Such shows were like the Indy 500—you watched for its car crashes and not the routine laps around the track.

"Remember," Joanie told him when Dr. Olsen, Lady G, and she and I met for brunch on the day of the show's taping, "The Tonight Show is supposed to be fun. It's not a meeting of the AMA. It's entertainment. Stay cool, don't get technical, and whatever you do don't act like some pompous, hot-tempered surgeon extraordinaire.

If Leno cracks a joke you find insulting, laugh along with the audience. I've already told him that Godiva had breast surgery and that you were the surgeon. But that's all. He probably assumes she has breast cancer and so maybe he'll be discrete, but he was in a big hurry and I didn't volunteer any private details. Be sure you both focus on the movie rather than your operation, and don't say anything more about it than you need to. It's not the right time."

"Cancer?" It was the first word Godiva had said all morning. "I ain't got cancer." She was dressed in a baggy sweater with her arms wrapped around (and concealing) her chest. She looked noticeably older without makeup.

"We know that," Joanie said, "but Leno and the world don't. That means they're in your corner, honey, which is good." Godiva's showed no expression. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

Lady G looked over at Dr. Olsen. "You bet she is," he said, and it suddenly occurred to me that he'd probably been coaching her all morning. The poor woman was an air-head with no original thoughts of her own who probably didn't even understand the reasoning behind her oddball surgery.

Godiva and Dr. Olsen were scheduled to be at the studio at three, their appearance would tape around four, and the show would first air on the east coast at eleven EST. We said our goodbyes, and then Joanie and I drove over to Burbank ahead of the other two, both of us feeling extremely ill at ease.

When Lady G and Dr. Olsen arrived in the lobby at NBC, I broke the news. The movie studio had found out about the appearance, phoned Leno's producer, and twisted his arm to let Natasha Stix, the film's eccentric director, in on the sequence. Dr. Olsen was now relegated to the sidelines.

The doctor looked stunned. "Who the hell told the studio? And Leno—go tell the jerk he can't do that to me."

"Mr. Leno can do whatever he wants," I said. "The only reason he gave us the get-go was because of your publicity stunt at the premier. If he now wants to replace an unknown boring surgeon with an up-and-coming flamboyant director, there's nothing we can do about it. You'll be watching from the wings along with Joanie and me. I'm afraid it's either Godiva and Natasha or Natasha all by herself."

"Replaced by a dyke!" Dr. Olsen blurted out without bothering to lower his voice, unaware that the Euro-Asian lady sitting across the room was none other than.

I glanced over at Lady G. While she appeared a bit more vibrant with her hair and makeup now in order, her smile seemed very tentative. I had to wonder—what might the puppet say without its ventriloquist?

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