Sybille watched the rapt faces of the audience. Two of them were crying; several nodded rhythmically. All of them seemed mesmerized.
A small shiver touched Sybille. It was not Lily's words; they did not touch her. What impressed her was the absolute silence of the church, the concentration of the audience, and Lily herself: small, prettier than Sybille remembered, her face scrubbed, without makeup, glowing with her belief in herself. She wore a baby-blue dress with puffed sleeves that was all wrong for her; like a ten-year-old trying to look experienced, Sybille told herself. What she needed was white: ethereal, virginal, incorruptible. I could manage her, Sybille thought. She stayed
in her seat as everyone stood for some kind of hymn. I could make her the greatest of them all.
She waited while the audience filed out, moving slowly past Lily, touching her hand, pausing to tell her something, to which she listened gravely and nodded before turning to the next person in line. Then Sybille came up. "You were very good."
"Thank you," said Lily. She showed no surprise at Sybille's appearance. "How nice to see you again. I hope you are better now."
"Better?"
'Tou were so upset at Quentin's death, and then there was his will ... it was a trying time. Rudy and I felt helpless; you were very hostile —and we understood that—but it made it difficult for us to help you."
'Where is Rudy?"
"He has a slight cold. Otherwise you would have heard him preach this morning."
"Is that the only time you preach? When he's sick? You should be up there all the time; you're far better than he ever was."
Lily's eyes brightened, but, quickly, she lowered them. "Not better: diffisrent," she corrected gendy.
"But you do want to preach. You do want your own church, your own audience—"
"Parishioners," Lily corrected gently.
"Of course. With no one standing over you, telling you what to say and how to say it."
"Rudy never tells me what to say; he trusts me. And I trust him. I do long for my own pulpit, and he knows that; he's said he'll tell me when I'm ready for it."
"Has he mentioned it lately?"
Lily frowned slighdy. "I don't think... not for awhile, but—"
"Shall we have lunch?" Sybille asked abrupdy. "It's not easy to talk, standing out here, and you must be cold."
'Tes, it is cold. I'm hungry too; I didn't have breakfast."
They stood there for a moment. "Well, where's your coat?" Sybille asked impatiendy.
"I didn't bring one. I thought, April, it would be warm. And the sun was shining when I left home."
"Come on." Sybille walked rapidly to her rented car, with Lily close behind. "Who takes care of you?" she asked as she drove away.
"I do! I'm eighteen, you know. Nineteen in a few months."
"But not old enough to keep warm."
Lily gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "You sound like a mother."
"I don't want to—" Sybille stopped. Don't mess it up, she thought; she's ripe for being rescued. "I don't want to be just a mother, though God knows you need one," she said. "I want to be your friend too."
Lily gave her a sideways look; then she sighed. "Could I have a hamburger for lunch?"
"Where?"
"Hamburger Heaven; if you turn right here..."
Sybille turned right. "How far?"
"About a mile. Rudy never lets me go there."
"Why not?"
"He doesn't like the people who go there and he hates hamburgers."
She sounded very young. In the space of a few minutes, the confident young preacher who had mesmerized an audience had given way to a cold, hungry girl who longed for a mother, or at least someone— definitely a woman—who would guide her and be close to her while she grew fi-om a girl to a woman. She wasn't fiilly aware that that was what she wanted, but that didn't matter: Sybille knew it.
And here I am, she thought.
"What else does Rudy say you can't do? Do you date?"
Lily shook her head. "Not yet. We go out sometimes with people Rudy knows, to restaurants and movies; or I cook for his friends in his apartment."
"You don't live with him?"
"Oh, no, I never have. Rudy says it would give an appearance of impropriety that would be terribly damaging to me."
"Why do you cook for his parties, then? Doesn't he have any women?"
"I don't know."
"And you don't ask him? Do you wonder if he does?"
"No. Rudy does what he wants."
"But you don't."
There was a pause. "I'm too young," Lily said, but her voice was doubting. She leaned forward. "Ifs in the next block."
Sybille found a parking place near the low brick building. An enormous hamburger was painted on the window, surrounded by garish clouds and red-cheeked angels, and the doorknob was a plastic hamburger. Sybille followed Lily inside. A jukebox blared; teenage boys and girls in blue jeans and sweatshirts half perched, half stood at the stools at a long counter; others sat squashed, six or eight together, in the booths. "Here," said Lily, her light voice somehow piercing the
din, and she led Sybille to a smaller booth at the back, waving to a girl who called her by name.
Not a stranger, Sybille thought; here or other places either, I'd bet. "It's a terrific place," she said to Lily as they sat down. She took one look at the pink Formica tabletop, then tried not to look again. "How many times have you been here?"
Lily was beaming. "You really like it? Only a couple; once Rudy brought me, for my birthday, but he hated it, and once I came alone, just to... sit here. Just to feel like I was part of it. I didn't think it was wrong."
"It wasn't," Sybille said briskly. "What doesn't Rudy like about it?"
Lily gave a small shrug. "He thinks if I make friends they'll take advantage of me. And he doesn't want me to be with boys. He wants me to stay pure."
"For anyone in particular?" Lily blushed and Sybille cursed herself "Fm sorry; that wasn't very nice. But you've been here before; I guess Rudy doesn't know about that?"
"No." Lily blushed again. "I don't lie to him, but I don't tell him everything. I'd like to, because I'd like to ask him... things, but he'd forbid me to come again, so I can't ask him."
"He probably wouldn't have any answers. Would you like to ask me?"
Lily gave her a long look, surprising Sybille with its shrewdness. "I don't know. I don't know why you would want me to."
Sybille took a breath, but just then a teenager wearing an apron came up and Lily gave him her order. "The same," Sybille said, not caring what it was.
"Beer?" he asked.
"Coffee," she replied. "Are you drinking beer?" she asked Lily.
"Not really; it won't go down when I try to swallow it. I get it because everybody does, and Rudy—"
"—doesn't let you."
Lily giggled. Then she looked away, scanning the crowded room.
"Are you looking for someone?" Sybille asked softly.
''No!" Once again the color rose in Lily's pale cheeks. "Well... a friend."
"Have you gone out with him?"
"Oh, no, I can't; Rudy was so strict about that. We just sat here and talked."
"You can't date, but you can drink beer."
"I don't drink it; I only order it. Anyway it's not the same," she said
reproachfully. "Beer and hamburgers... those are little things. Dating ... could change my whole hfe."
"You mean you could lose your virginity."
Abruptly, Lily's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so scared..." she said, her voice barely audible.
Sybille felt a rush of exultation. Ripe for being rescued. What luck, that she had come at just this time. Never in her life had she had real control over another person; sometimes she wasn't sure she had control of herself, especially when her rages ripped through her, blocking her thoughts and making her feel she had no way of knowing what was coming next. But now she couldn't understand why she had waited so long. Why had she sche
med to have power over distant audiences, and the people who worked for her, when it might be even more satisfying, at least for awhile, to totally dominate one person?
Her lunch was set before her: an oblong basket holding an obscenely fat hamburger in a sesame bun, riding precariously on a mound of thick french-fried potatoes and a glob of coleslaw in a pleated paper cup. "Isn't it beautiful?" Lily sighed. She raised her hamburger in two hands and bit into it, taking an astonishing amount into her small mouth.
Sybille gazed at her hamburger. She wouldn't do it; it was no way to eat. Even here, where no one knew her, she was not going to look like a gluttonous teenager who'd never learned to use a knife and fork. Valerie would do it. Her head came up, as if she were listening. She'd think it was fun, something different; she'd make it a game and laugh it off if anyone made a crack about the way she looked.
Damn it, Sybille thought with something like despair. WTiy can't I ever do that?
She picked up her hamburger and nibbled at the edge of the bun. She took a small bite, and then another, larger one, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.
"Isn't it delicious?" Lily asked blissfully. Hers was almost gone.
"Wonderfiil," Sybille replied, and in fact, to her astonishment, it was. "Do you want another one?"
"Oh, no, I mustn't; Rudy says I musm't get fat."
"He's right, but that doesn't seem to be a problem for you. Could you eat another one?"
Lily ducked her head and nodded. Sybille ordered another, then watched in disbelief as she ate it,
"Thank you," Lily sighed at last. "I get awfully tired of fish and chicken and healthy soups; that's all Rudy wants. This was heaven."
She nibbled french fries. Her beer was untouched.
"Do you want coffee?" Sybille asked.
"I don't drink it. Ginger ale would be wonderful."
When it arrived, Sybille pushed aside her empty basket. "Lily, I'd like you to come back to Washington with me."
There was a brief silence. Lily put down her glass. "I know," she said.
"What do you know?"
"That you want to take care of me. I don't know why; you didn't like me before, when I was with Quentin. Maybe you think you did me a wrong and you want to make up for it? Or you have no children and you want to pretend you have a daughter? Or you just like me and want to watch over me, and that would be so nice, but I don't know why you would, all of a sudden..."
Lily's words trailed away and Sybille let the silence drag out, making Lily wait. "I do like you," she said at last. "More than you can imagine. You're right, I don't have a daughter; I've always wanted one, but it just never happened. And now I'm thirty, and I can't imagine being married to anyone after Quentin, and that means I'll probably never have a daughter, or anyone to care for. My life is so empty, Lily. I never thought about it very much; I just took it for granted; and then one day I realized I missed seeing you in the apartment, and hearing your voice. I know I wasn't kind to you when you were there; I let my suffering dominate me and I didn't think about how I was behaving to other people. I apologize for that; I know it made you unhappy. But I'm not asking you to live with me because I feel guilty, Lily; I want you with me because even in those terrible months you made my apartment feel warm and full of love and I miss that so much..." There were tears in her eyes and a tremulous smile on her lips. "Isn't this ridiculous? A grown woman crying in a hamburger joint— heaven; isn't that what you called it? Wait a minute." She held a handkerchief to her eyes. "I thought I'd cried myself out over Quentin; I guess there's always more, isn't there? Let me be honest with you, Lily; I hope we'll always be that way, with no lies or secrets between us. I want more than to have you share my home. I've started a new television production company and I want to produce a program for you. You can do what you want: preach in a church—we'll find you a church—or speak to small groups in a studio, or anything else you can think of; anything you want. You don't know how amazing you are; you must give yourself this chance to reach millions and build the kind of following you deserve; you won't ever again have to pour out your
heart to a handful of people. You need a little help with your voice and some of your phrasing, and talking to the camera almost as if you're making love to it, but I can give you that help. And I can give you the audience. It's waiting for you, Lily; you'd be famous. And you'd be adored by millions of people who need what you can give them. I want to do that for you. I want to give you a home, and my love and protection, but I also want to give you a way to use your gifts to reach those millions of people who are waiting for you."
She stopped. She thought she must have gone too far, but Lily was so young, it was possible she hadn't gone far enough.
Lily sat very still, eyes downcast, hands clasped on the table. Slowly, she looked up and gave Sybille a wavering smile. "It's too much; it doesn't seem real. I never dared pray for all of this; I never thought I could have it all... A pulpit of my own; a mother... Oh, Sybille, I can't even imagine what it will be like!" A delighted laugh burst from her. "It will be like a fairy tale!" She put out her hand and when Sybille laid hers on top of it Lily closed her fingers around Sybille's. "I can't ever do enough for you to match what you're giving me; I'll always be in your debt. I'll pray for you every day, but that isn't all... you'll have to give me things to do for you, chores and jobs and errands, whatever you need; will you? Let me do things for you, Sybille. I love you already; I love you so much."
"Well, let's get you to Washington, first. How long will it take you to pack?"
"Not long; I don't have much. But Rudy... I have to talk to Rudy."
"Call him up."
"Oh, no, you don't mean that. He's been so good to me, as good as he knew how. I'll go there now; I'll cook his dinner, and we'll talk. He wants the best for me; he'll be happy for me."
"He might be jealous."
Lily's eyes widened. "How could you think that? He'll be happy."
"Will you come with me even if he isn't happy?"
There was a long silence. Lily pulled back her hand. "We'll pray together and then he'll be happy."
"But if he isn't," Sybille insisted.
"Sybille," Lily said quietly, "Rudy will be happy for me and then I will come with you. You must believe that."
Her eyes held Sybille's, and for the first time Sybille had a moment of doubt. The little girl who had sighed over hamburgers, and ordered a beer she didn't want, was gone; in her place was the young woman who had so confidently preached, and held an audience, only an hour
before. The possibility occurred to Sybille that Lily Grace might not be as malleable as she seemed. But then Lily's tremulous voice echoed in her memory— Vm so scared —and she dismissed that flicker of doubt. Lily was a child: an instinctive actress in the pulpit, a little girl the rest of the time. And she was hungry for someone to manage her, and let her be as young as she wanted. This time Sybille was the one to put out her hand, and Lily put hers in it.
"I believe you," Sybille said. "You and I are going to do very well together. Do you know something? This is the real beginning of our Hves."
Ted Mcllvain hosted a party for Nick on his last day as president of Omega, and Chad was there, wearing a new sports jacket and a tie. It was June and school was out, so he had more time to think about what his dad was doing and thinking, and he was pretty worried, because his dad was making jokes about looking for a new garage to start a new company in, and Chad was pretty sure he wasn't thinking about starting anything new in San Jose. Ever again.
Chad didn't know how much more he could argue, either. His dad was about the most stubborn man in the world, and he was kind of like a magician too, because lots of times when Chad thought his dad was giving in he was sort of getting his way. Like the time Chad wanted to see some gory movie the guys were talking about at school, and his dad didn't, and something happened between lunch and dinner that made Chad not want to see the gory movie after all. He couldn't remember what made him change his mind; he ju
st knew they'd gone to see something else, and it was great, but still... the gory one had really sounded neat and now it was gone forever and he'd never see it.
And then there was the whole thing of his dad selling his stock in Omega and not being president anymore, not being anything over there after he was such a big wheel and everybody wrote stories about him and he was even on tv a couple times and stuff". They'd talked about it a lot, selling his stock and all that, and then, like overnight almost, Chad thought it was okay for his dad to do it, in fact it was a great idea, but just, like, yesterday he'd been sure the idea stunk. How did his dad get him to think that? He didn't know. It was really weird. Or magic.
There was something else that was weird, and that was all the tv stuff his dad was reading: books and newspaper clippings and reports he got in the mail from finance experts and lawyers and accountants.
When Chad asked what it was all about, he said he was just curious, in case someday he wanted to buy a tv station, maybe more than one, maybe even start his own, and what would Chad think about his doing that? Chad thought it would be great, then he could be on it whenever he wanted, and meet all the other people who were on it, but so far his dad hadn't bought anything at all; he just kept reading and watching a lot more than he used to, and, maybe, thinking about it.
Nobody knew what they were going to do; that was the problem. Elena and Manuel didn't know; Chad didn't know; his dad didn't know. It didn't sound good, Chad thought. They'd probably end up doing something weird in some stupid place with lots of inventors for his dad to talk to but no friends for Chad, and he'd never see his mother 'cause she wouldn't want to come to a place like that, and his dad would be busy making a new company and Chad would be all alone and no one would care.
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