by Jess Bentley
In Georgia, they have red clay roads. They're terrible for the motorcycle when it's raining, but it wasn't raining for us. The dust was fine and got all up in my nose. But still, something totally strange and wonderful to see. He seemed so proud to show it to me.
We keep to the back roads, away from the highways. That's another reason it's taking so long. But from what I gather, I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be anywhere.
I didn't know what the man at the motel was talking about when we first left, that I needed an ID. I have nothing. I don't even have a last name. If we got pulled over by the police, I would have no way to prove who I am.
That's how they explain it to me, but it doesn't make any sense. Of course I'm someone. Just because the police don't know I am, doesn't mean I don't exist. It's ridiculous. But apparently there are laws that say I have to have certain kinds of pieces of paper. I need to be in the system, whatever that is. I need to be documented.
Father Daddy says that he'll work this out when we get to LA. Los Angeles means City of Angels, and that just makes me giggle. A whole city, just for me? I know that's not it, but it's still fun to say.
Southern California is yet another desert. This is also a surprise. I thought deserts were distributed perhaps one per country. I didn't know that the country could have more than one. Just another silly assumption because I didn't know anything about anything.
It's hot, but there are no mosquitoes. The light is golden everywhere. The sky is enormous. We sail through roads that shimmer at the far end and look like they're covered in water but when we get there, there's no water at all. Just more brown sand and dirt everywhere. Cactuses.
Everywhere we go, whether it's to eat or use the bathroom or camp, Father Daddy and Brother Owen stand on either side of me, like they’re my bodyguards. I'm not supposed to wander off. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. I'm still enclosed in their protection.
If we need to get something, Brother Owen will go and get it. Father Daddy will stand next to me and wait. I don't need to do anything.
I don't do anything but daydream. I imagine that our new house is a bright white castle on a hill. Father Daddy said once it was in the hills of LA, so I'm pretty sure I have the hill part right. Trying to stretch my mind forward, I yearn to see a vision of our new life that I can access.
Will I be a housewife? A queen? The auntie of our new Kingdom Come? I don't know. I can't wait to find out. The possibilities are endless.
Eventually, we come to the ocean. It doesn't look anything like I thought it would. It's so big that the horizon doesn't even contain it. It just sort of fades into mist at the far end, though I know it eventually circles around to Asia somehow.
It smells like… the ocean, I suppose. I’ve heard people say that before, but it's really intense. Salty. Kind of feral, almost like a barnyard or something. Just a little bit filthy.
But so beautiful. The waves make a frightening amount of noise. Brother Owen asked me if I wanted to touch the water, but not yet. Today the waves are over my head. I'm afraid I will be swept out to sea.
There are thousands of cars and bikes on the highway. We turn off and begin the slow climb up the side of what looks like a small mountain. There are palm trees. The road zags back and forth, climbing ever higher. Houses seem to go all the way to the top. They’re enormous. Windows gape toward the ocean like eyes, all staring at the water at the same time.
Finally we slow. Motorcycle engines growl like big, African cats as we climb a brick covered driveway to the end. My heart begins to race.
Someone comes out the front door, gliding down the front steps as her shoes make sharp noises against the stones. She waves one arm over her head. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, so extreme that seems to elevate her eyebrows a full half inch.
“Mr. Redken? Yoo-hoo!”
Father Daddy doesn't say anything as she comes near. He dismounts the bike and edges to stand in front of me, protective as always.
“It's such a pleasure to meet you!” She sings, her voice strangely smooth like someone who speaks for a living. Maybe she's an actress. Maybe everyone here is an actress.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” he says formally. He stands straight and extends a hand to shake hers. It's a strange gesture, one I have seen in movies but never in real life. But I remember, Father Daddy had a life before Kingdom Come. He probably knows all of the customs here.
“And, um… Mrs. Redken?” she says brightly.
She means me.
Father Daddy steps aside slightly. He cups me under my elbow, supporting me.
“Yes. This is Angel.”
She holds out her hand. I extend my arm, sliding my fingers against hers. She pinches me slightly, bounces, then lets go. That didn't go so badly. She doesn't seem alarmed in any way. I suppose that was a success as first-time handshaking goes.
Then she turns and repeats the same sort of greeting with Owen. After, she pivots on her heel and sails back toward the front door, erupting into a musical description of the house, claiming that the estate preserved everything intact, hoping we all find it satisfying, and if he would consider selling it to please, please, please contact her first.
It's only the breeze of her flying past me that lets me know that she's gone. The front door closes, and finally it is quiet.
It's just like I imagined it. We are standing in an enormous room with enormous windows, with the full blazing glory of the sun as it sinks below the horizon, setting everything on fire. I walk slowly over to the windows, holding my breath, expecting to wake up from this at any moment.
“You like it?” comes a voice of my ear. All I do is nod. But do I like it? That's an understatement. It's magical. It's unbelievable.
“Oh look, a swimming pool!” Owen observes. He points downward and I wonder if there's more to this house than just this part. Inconceivable. This building would have to be bigger than all the barns put together.
I turned toward Father Daddy, staring up at him, overwhelmed. The sunlight blazes on one side of his face and he smiles at me gently, maybe the happiest I've ever seen him.
“So… you do like it, don't you?”
Owen slides up behind me, stroking my shoulders. “Angel? It's important to us that you like it.”
“I don't even know what to say,” I admit. “It's beautiful. Beyond beautiful. It's like nothing I could've ever imagined. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”
“That's wonderful,” Father Daddy sighs with relief. He reaches down, tipping my chin with the gentle tips of his fingers. His kiss is sweet and slow, unhurried in a way that it's never been before.
“This is our home now,” Owen says gently in my ear. His fingers trace the side of my neck, stroking my collarbones as he presses closer to me. I can feel his heat rising as I kiss Father Daddy, then turn to kiss him as well. It's just the first night, the first of many, in our new life. In our new Kingdom, where I am the Queen.
Epilogue
Angel
A year later
“Girls, can you greet our guests?”
Mandy, Mercy, and Juanita rush to stand next to their neatly made beds. They each raise a hand and wave politely.
My guests wave back, shifting nervously in the doorway.
“You can go in if you like,” I suggest. “We don't have any secrets here. Have a look around.”
“Are you sure?” the senator's wife asks me, tipping her head toward mine and keeping her voice low. She's doing the same thing people always do: acting like they're in some kind of zoo situation. Everyone's very careful not to mention the words orphan or foster care, so the girls won't hear it. Like they don't already know they’re orphans or something.
“Oh yes, we love having visitors,” I reassure her, smiling broadly. “The girls are really proud of their personal spaces and projects. Why not just go say hello?”
She tiptoes off, carefully walking between the marked off spaces that denote each girl's individual ar
ea. She keeps her weight forward, trying to not make too much noise with her expensive heels on the terrazzo floor. The girls just smile at her warmly, beckoning her further toward the space.
They'll take over from here. They know the drill. Visitors come for tours, and then they leave a check before getting back in their expensive cars and driving away, back to their regular lives. It's a kind of wholesome charity in their minds. It's not too politically sensitive, and it's not too difficult to look at either. Just some lost girls, sharing a room and edging toward adulthood at a reasonable pace, safe from predators, drugs, and all the other horrible things being on the streets of LA could have done to them.
Elaine folds her hands together and nods to get my attention. “They don't mind? Being in one big room like this?”
She sniffs as her gaze sweeps back and forth, probably mentally calculating the square footage of each space. I think she's in real estate. That makes sense. Even though the room is large, the girls still have heavy curtains on tracks hung from the ceiling, to get extra privacy if they want to.
“You know, it's not ideal for every situation,” I tell her quietly, “but we quickly found that too much privacy leads them back to whatever bad habits they've been trying to escape from. Not that they all have had bad habits, mind you. Some of the foster kids are escaping really terrible situations.”
Elaine's perfectly garnet colored lips form a small, pursed O of understanding. She opens her eyes wide and blinks as though just the tiniest bit mortified by whatever she's imagining. Sex, drugs, all the things that terrify the well-heeled, even though they indulge in all of them.
Beside her, the younger girl called Kita simply looks knowing. Like she’s been through all this before even though she’s much younger. I wonder what her story is.
In some way, I suppose the check that these people are going to leave me probably soothes the guilt over their own hypocrisy. Elaine just recently soldiered through a small scandal, where she was caught naked with the gardener's teenage son in the guest house. Caught on video. Nobody seems to want to talk about why there were video cameras in the guest house, but there you have it.
Life is weird. Did I mention that? Los Angeles is not exactly everything that the name would've implied. It’s like an alien world.
“We have another dormitory, another six beds. Would you like to see it?”
Elaine and the senator's wife both turn gratefully toward me, happy to be moving on from this room. Kita just follows. Guests like to be led from place to place rather quickly, so they don't have to simmer too long in the reality. But there are enough details here that I think we make the right impression. It's wholesome. There are cross stitching samplers on the walls that the girls made themselves. Even the quilts are salvaged and made by hand. It’s not because we can't afford quilts, but because working as a community makes them stronger people.
These are some of the things that we kept from Kingdom Come. Other things, we left there.
I lead them down the short, cool hallway toward the what used to be the game room outside the swimming pool rooms. This house is so spacious, I can't even imagine living here as just one family. It seems like quite a waste of space, but now that we've found another way to give these rooms a purpose, I feel much better about it.
“This is the media room,” I announce, pushing the door open. There are long tables along two walls, with laptops every few feet. On the other wall is a large flat screen television, with a comfortable leather sofa placed in front of it and a few pillows neatly stacked underneath.
“I don't think that there's ever been a time in my house when the television was actually off,” Elaine mutters, rolling her eyes comically. “Are those their laptops? They're just… in here? They don't have them with them, in their rooms?”
I shrug. “They earn screen time through their chores, but too much of it is just… Too much. We would rather they be interacting with each other, trying to be productive. There's too much in modern media that's just…”
I let my voice trail off. The senator's wife nods sagely. She understands what I'm getting at. Her husband has been trying to write legislation to eliminate the use of cell phones and other similar devices in public spaces. He feels their moral influence doesn't belong in some of the more church-like settings. I don't think he's going to get very far with it, but I can appreciate the sentiment.
And I also appreciate that their wholesome platform makes them perfect donors for our project.
Kita follows the Senator’s wife. Her husband, Daniel, is a donor; I’m not sure what his exact job or position in society might be. I smile at all of them the same. A dollar’s a dollar. Every one helps.
“There's just this one more dormitory here,” I announce, holding my hand out as I walk toward it. I push the door open so they can peek in. None of the girls are here right now, but each bed is neatly made, with pillows fluffed and perched primly at the head. Sunlight streams gaily through the window, illuminating the whole thing like a set for a very upbeat musical.
“I think they're in the pool right now, or maybe mingling with some of the other guests,” I explain. “We're fully booked right now. That's why we want to open the new space. There's a waiting list and everything…”
“And you don't have any boys?” Elaine asks, averting her eyes because she realizes how her question might be taken the wrong way, considering her recent history.
“No, we just decided to focus on the girls. For now, at least. I really feel passionate about helping them on in the world. We don't want to take on more of a test than we can handle, you understand. At least not before we’re ready.”
“Oh, of course,” the senator's wife says. I know she has sons, and I can only imagine what she's thinking right now.
“I suppose we should join the party again now, don't you think?” I suggest.
They smile, the relief plain on their faces. Everyone has a personal tolerance for charity. Some people like to be more at arm’s length than others. I like being up close, doing the real work. Like Mama used to say, I was born to be a hard worker. But these ladies look like they've had just about enough harsh reality for today.
“We'll just go up here,” I say, pointing toward the wide, hewn timber staircase. “I'm sure the caterers have brought out the gazpacho by now.”
The women coo excitedly as I lead them back up the stairs, back to the main living room. Soft music fills the air, with the sounds of subdued conversation here and there. Through a combination of lucky interactions as well as neighborhood visibility, we managed to pull together a reliable and wealthy group of people to help support our mission.
Sometimes I can't help but wonder what it would have been like to have these kinds of supporters for Kingdom Come. Maybe Silas wouldn't have struggled so much. Maybe he would have been able to realize his dreams more quickly.
But it’s happening now, and it feels good. People have been very generous with us, and we have found the kind of peace and fulfillment I don't believe we ever could have, before.
In the living room, I find Silas standing by the window, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he listens to Senator Jack Kenilworth talk with his mouth wide open. Daniel stands to the side, surveying. He’s fortyish. Muscular, and handsome. Jack looks like a senator should: wavy silver hair, the California tan, square jaw. He looks like an actor, playing the role of a senator in a movie where he does something heroic after spending a long time struggling with his foes.
But really, he's just a man. Just like all of them, he gives us money because he feels guilty about some of the really terrible things he's done.
“Quite a view you have here, Silas,” the senator observes, but I'm not sure if he's talking about the city lights far below us, or the swimming pool full of starlets and some of the older foster girls. I watch them through the window, squinting, trying to figure out who I recognize. Sometimes I can’t tell them apart. Actresses and orphans seem to have a lot in common in LA.
/> “Now, Jack,” Silas chides him, “I know you’re not here to talk about the view. And I'll tell you what, I won't ask you exactly what you meant by that if you just cut to the chase and tell me if we can count on your support?”
The senator rolls his eyes and turns around deliberately. Seems like men are always surprised when they don't get reinforcement for their worst inclinations from Silas. He's not sanctimonious about it, but he is direct. Silas is not anyone to tolerate the abuse of children. Not even as a joke.
You think that these guys would have figured this out by now. It makes me wonder what kind of conversations they have when Silas is not around.
“Yeah, you can count on me,” the senator huffs, pouting. “I’ll get the line item in, making sure there's funding for your little rehabilitation program here.”
“Thank you,” I add quietly.
The senator’s eyes slide over me suspiciously. He looks at me like everyone here: like I am some kind of strange archeological artifact. My “story” has been part of the new Kingdom Come operation. Daughter of an addict, raised in the church. Sheltered from outside influences but still, I am a strong influence here. I’m not like anyone they’ve seen before, and sometimes we have to use that notoriety to gain more attention.
All in the service of the greater good, of course.
The senator knows I’m forbidden, so he wants me. It’s obvious, now that I’ve learned how to watch for the signs. He swallows as he looks me over. He seems distracted by his own fantasy. It’s appalling, really, how everyone is so simple-minded. I’m wearing a long, silk gown that looks like it might be transparent if I move just right. He can’t help but look. But he also knows I’m miles and miles above him. He’s just a man. I consort with better.
Daniel only seems to have eyes for Kita, which I appreciate.
“You won't regret it,” Silas smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “Every penny will go to good use.”
“That's just the thing,” the senator huffs, shaking his head as though this has somehow defeated him. “I know I won’t regret it. You really do good work here. You’re one of the good guys, Silas. It's a rare thing.”
