It really was astonishing how it always worked out that way.
"This isn't what I was expecting," Dov murmured to his host as they made their way up the aisle.
"Oh, I had a spiritual evolution about three weeks ago," Reverend Everything confided. "Rather than remind the faithful of how, while our lives may appear to be unsinkable luxury vessels designed to take us to our ultimate destination, there's always the unexpected spiritual iceberg, I realized that our lives are really more like the vast and powerful Aztec Empire. Are they not rich? Does not every person command some sort of power over his inferiors? And nevertheless, are we not vulnerable to losing everything at a moment's notice if we continue to live heedlessly?"
"So where does stuff like 'fengsama' and 'Elysians' fit into all this? Brytanni said—"
The Reverend Everything chuckled. "Oh, that Brytanni! Fengsama is a way-station to enlightenment on a path that we haven't used since last November. Elysians are a method of keeping track of your progress that is, as Brytanni herself might say, so last season. I do wish she'd try to keep up with the rest of the congregation, but she's rather a slow study. Still, a devoted follower is always a blessing."
They mounted the platform stairs together and Reverend Everything motioned for Dov to have a seat on a high-backed chair that had been painted to resemble a crouching jade idol. Dov drummed his fingers on the heads of the Feathered Serpent armrests and glanced at the choirs. There was nothing even stage-Aztec about their outfits. The choir director was still wearing a tuxedo, left over from the church's previous incarnation. The transformation was not perfect, yet as Dov looked out over the sea of eager faces cramming the crystal pews, he only saw joy, faith, and readiness to gulp down whatever words of wisdom their leader might toss their way.
They did not have long to wait. Reverend Everything took center stage and raised his arms, letting his hummingbird cape fall back. "My friends, success and serenity be with you!" he declared.
"Precious and productive be your passage!" the congregation responded.
"Hear the words that will guide you!"
"We hear and heed and hearken!"
"Now ... who wants to score?"
Dov sat bolt upright. As soon as the Reverend Everything uttered those words, the aisle filled with the bodies of the faithful, and mighty admirable bodies they were. L.A. was famous for annually exceeding its production quota of Pretty People, but the Reverend Everything's temple seemed to have cornered the market on that commodity.
It was bumper-to-bumper time on the Silicone Highway, and those who had not come forward took up a rhythmic chant of "Score! Score! Score! Score!" seldom encountered outside of football arenas. This had all the earmarks of an impending orgy, and for the life of him, Dov could not remember whether or not he was wearing decent underwear. (It was clean, yes, but that was not the point. Some men went out and got embarrassing tattoos when they got drunk. Dov bought comic novelty underwear, the sort with witty mottos like Warning: Heavy Equipment, or pictures of happy gorillas with their paws disappearing inside the fly.)
His qualms were soon put to rest by his host. The Reverend Everything made a slashing movement with one finger across his throat and the mob fell into immediate, total silence. A thread of piped-in organ music sent up a soft, soothing rendition of the theme from Fame in funeral dirge tempo to underscore the words he spoke.
"My dear, dear fellow star-wanderers, your response is wonderfully gratifying. To think that my teachings have yielded such luscious fruit! We are a product of universal love, and we are placed on this earth to seek, to learn, and perhaps to know the reason for that divine product placement. We are all One with the universe, but one is the loneliest number. One can only win us the game of life if life itself fails to score, and we all know, life scores bigtime. It is therefore our mission to discover what our own lifescore must be and then to get out there and make that point spread! To see so many of you here, come to report on your latest successes, makes me realize that in a way, I, too, have added to my lifescore through you. And you have thus added to your own lifescore through me."
He went on in the same vein for about the length of one Super Bowl commercial break before having the lined-up congregants come up onto the stage with him one by one to announce their lifescores for the week. They spoke of audition appointments granted, screenplays written, producers "not completely disinterested" in their next project, even contracts signed. He had words of praise and encouragement for each of them, words which inevitably ended with: "And do you truly value what you have achieved through our spiritual partnership?"
Well, of course they did.
"Oh, how we all want to believe that! For it is only through our continued belief in you that the veils of Illusion are parted and your eyes can see clearly the ultimate lifescore that will bring you joy in this world and serenity in the next."
Well, of course they wanted to make sure that the whole congregation believed in them.
"If only there were some small way, some token gesture you could make here, now, today, before all of us, to show proof of your sincerity, that our belief in you might endure."
Well, of course there was.
Dov watched as each successful lifescorer passed from the Reverend Everything's hands into the waiting embrace of the Temple Maidens, a bevy of Palm Pilot-bearing beauties who took the happy congregant aside and duly recorded the "token gesture" of a funds transfer into the Reverend Everything's coffers. Even knowing that a healthy chunk of those funds would wind up in the hands of E. Godz, Inc., Dov still felt a touch of moral queasiness.
And yet ...
And yet, despite the Reverend's flashy, trashy, soundbite showmanship, his line of spiritual gobbledegook that was little more than a recycled, regurgitated, retread mishmosh of bargain basement Zen and yard sale Taoism, his scarily efficient methods for fleecing the flock, Dov still sensed a great emanation of magical power coming from the congregation.
They believe this stuff! he realized. They actually believe in it, and true belief's one of the biggest sources of real power I know. Can I really fault the Reverend Everything for knowing his customers, giving them what they want, even what they need? Sure, most of them have the attention spans of kelp, but the Reverend's allowed for it, changing the packaging on the same old product as much as he has to, to hold onto his audience. He's sharp, they're happy, and E. Godz, Inc. shares the profits, but ...
... but do we really need to get rich like this?
Do I need to become the head of the corporation by getting someone like him as a backer? Even if this whole thing didn't smell funny, would I want to owe anything to the Reverend Everything?
The services were still in full swing when Dov crept up behind his host, murmured something about an emergency call on his pager, and slipped away.
Chapter Ten
Always one to make sure his bridges were in good repair behind him, Dov made it a point to call Reverend Everything from a coffee shop in L.A. International Airport. It was a very cordial conversation. The Reverend was all kindness and understanding, and he quite agreed that it would be for the best if the two of them were to continue and conclude their business meeting another time, via teleconference. He assured Dov that he would have his entire congregation pray for Edwina's recovery or peaceful passing, depending on what the universe had in mind for her. This little chat left Dov with a warm and cozy feeling, although that might have had less to do with the Reverend Everything and more to do with the fact that he had accidentally slopped a little of his coffee down the front of his pants.
Dov was still blotting at his fly with a wad of paper napkins when Ammi set up a frightful row from inside his shirt.
"Now what?" Dov demanded after pulling the obstreperous trinket out into the light.
"Oh, nothing much," Ammi drawled. "I was just wondering how much of your mind you lost, running out on the Reverend Everything the way you just did. You think that guy didn't see right through you and your little '
Mercy me to gracious, I simply must run, I left the cat on the stove!' ploy? You think he's a man who enjoys being dumped just because you got all schoolmarmy and—dare I say it?—ethical all of a sudden?"
"Dumped? For pity's sake, Ammi, you're exaggerating. He and I are just business associates, not lovers! Do you have to describe it like I broke off our engagement?"
"You did leave him waiting at the altar," the little ornament replied. "Besides, this is L.A.: Business is love, and love is business, at least in the media industries. When you left right in the middle of the Reverend Everything's lifescore spectacular, it was a slap in the face. Worse, it was a kick to the ego. You know how any performer feels about audience members who walk out while they're on stage? You hurt his feelings, except he's too much of a pro to show it."
"Come on, he was perfectly okay with my leaving. I told him it was an emergency."
"Why didn't you just tell him you had to wash your hair, or that you hoped the two of you could still be friends? Oh! Did you tell him 'It's not you, it's me?' Very important to say that. It's not an official breakup otherwise." Ammi batted his lashless eyelids and, in a bad imitation of Dov's voice, added: "Darling, it's not fair to keep you tied down like this. I think we should both see other religions."
"Hey, I don't care what you have to say, I don't think I alienated him at all. And so what if I did? I don't even know if I want his support."
"You'll want it plenty once your sister grabs it out from under you," Ammi said sagely. "Pecunia non olet, baby: Money does not stink, and neither does power, no matter how they're generated. I'll bet Peez doesn't even hold her nose while she's signing the Reverend Everything onto her side. That's when you'll be sorry, but by then it'll be too late and too bad."
Dov snorted. "Peez? Please! Even if she were going to try grabbing the Reverend Everything for herself, which I doubt she'd have the chops to do, one look at his set-up and she'd run shrieking for the hills. She takes faith seriously, my sister does. Any trace of showmanship makes her break out in a case of acute disapproval. Once when we were kids Mom took us to a wedding in an Episcopal church and Peez couldn't stop complaining about how they were swinging the censers much too wildly, in a frivolous manner. If you think my ethics are holding me back, you ought to get a load of hers. The girl's still a virgin!"
"Not any more, she's not," said Ammi.
"Says you."
"No, says her."
"What?" Dov's logical mind insisted that the amulet had to be lying. Ammi was annoyed with him for having failed to bag the Reverend Everything and this was payback. It had to be ... didn't it? "When? To your face?"
Ammi smirked. "Where else? It's not like I've got a back for her to talk behind. Or a behind, for that matter."
"What I mean is, if it's true—and I don't believe that for an instant—then how did you find out?"
"Hey, who's the communications device here?" Ammi was enjoying this. "Information is my life."
"This is not the sort of thing that gets posted on the Internet. Wait. Let me rephrase that. This is not the sort of thing that my sister Peez would post on the Internet. Even if it were, you haven't had Internet access, or access to anything but my pocket lint, since we left Miami."
"And chest hair," Ammi prompted. "I've also had access to your chest hair, don't forget that. God knows, I never will."
"Will you leave my chest hair out of this and just answer the question?"
The amulet chuckled. "Elementary, my dear Dov. I was created to monitor communications. I sift hard information from idle chitchat, real news from spam. Do that long enough and it makes you sensitive to nuances, not just in information, but in people. No surprise: What are people besides information dumps with legs? Change is a nuance, and losing your virginity is one significant change. For a device of my sensitivity, your sister's altered sexual status came in loud and clear, like she'd walked up to you and hollered it in your ear."
"It must've been one hell of a first time if you could sense the change in her at this distance. She must be at least a couple of thousand miles away," Dov remarked.
"A couple of thousand miles? That's a laugh! Try feet, a couple of dozen at most." The amulet grinned. "Unless that isn't who I know it is. See there, over at that newsstand? Checking out the latest copy of Cosmopolitan?"
Dov whipped his head around to peer at the airport shop just across the way from the table where he'd been enjoying the unspilled portion of his cup of coffee. That is, he'd been enjoying it up until that very moment when he saw that Ammi was not joking: There was Peez, as big as life and twice as condescending.
She stood by one of the many magazine racks in the newsstand and was, as advertised, scanning an issue of Cosmopolitan. Dov realized that he'd caught a glimpse of her over there earlier, but that he had failed to recognize her at the time. There were a number of good reasons for this, the copy of Cosmo being number one. Five minutes ago, Dov would have bet his life that Peez would rather be caught in the middle of Fifth Avenue during New York City's Easter Parade, naked except for a pair of pink plush bunny ears, sooner than touch any magazine that tossed the word orgasm hither and yon like handfuls of confetti.
Another reason Dov had noted but not seen Peez was more basic: She'd changed her looks. Gone was the severe, serviceable hairstyle. Somewhere along the line she'd gotten a stylish cut and was wearing her hair loose, lightly curled and— Were those highlights?
"Son of a seamstress," he muttered. "She's actually got a figure!" It was true. The same impulse that had made Peez set her hair loose had also caused her to wear clothing that was shorter, tighter, and a lot more colorful. She didn't look like one of the Reverend Everything's Temple Maidens by any means, but her ample curves were more welcoming and less intimidating than those California-perfect bodies.
"Well? Aren't you going to go over there and say hi to your beloved sister?" Ammi teased.
"In a pig's eye," Dov said through tightly gritted teeth. "Damn it, she is here to bag the Reverend Everything. And looking like that, she just might do it!"
"Told you so, told you so," Ammi chanted in an obnoxious singsong. "Unless you're right—as if!—and she's still got too many scruples to deal with the First Church of Perpetual Gimmickry."
"You think there's a chance of that?" Dov sounded pathetic.
"How should I know? You're the one who thinks you can bank on your personal charms forever. The Reverend Everything's going to wait for you to call because you've got such a winning smile; is that how you see it? Ha! I'll bet you even have a whole wardrobe of smiles, one suitable for every occasion!"
Dov pressed his lips together and said nothing. Bad enough that Ammi was right; he didn't need to let the amulet know it had hit the mark.
Ammi didn't much care about scoring points off Dov. The little amulet would have made a very unsatisfactory member of the Reverend Everything's Serene Temple of Unfailing Lifescores. "You think you're the only one with charisma? All it means is a fancy Greek way of saying you believe in your own abilities. Show a little of that self- confidence to the world and before you know it, you've got a crowd clamoring for your company, hoping that if they stick close, some of that magic's going to rub off on them. The Reverend Everything knows all about charisma: He'd bottle it, if he could! Well, guess what? Now your sister's in on the secret, too."
"How? Just because she finally got la—?"
"No vulgarity, please." Ammi could sound like a Puritan when it suited. "The change in Peez's, ah, status, was only the catalyst. Deep down inside, she always knew she had what it took to get ahead in life. She just needed a little push."
"Now who's being vulgar?" Dov smirked.
"That would be you," the amulet replied. "Some people have the ability to think outside the box and out of the gutter. Obviously you are not one of those people. If I had shoulders, I'd shrug them, and if I had hands, I'd wash them of you. You're only being snide about Peez because now she's a real threat to you getting the company. You big baby. You b
rought this on yourself, you know."
"If I wanted a lecture, I'd go back to school," Dov growled. He dunked Ammi in his coffee cup for emphasis. A galaxy of tiny bubbles rose to the surface, bursting into sparkling pinpoints of magical power. The amulet couldn't drown, but it didn't care for being treated like a teabag. The bubbles were a warning to Dov: Get me out of here before I send up a freakin' flare of magic! Or do you want your sister to know you're here?
Dov did not want that at all. In fact, he was plotting on how best to use this unexpected, clandestine Peez-sighting to his advantage. Accordingly he jerked Ammi out of the coffee and dried the amulet off on a paper napkin. "Oops. My bad," he said, using a very disarming smile.
The amulet wasn't buying. "News flash, slick: Butter will not only melt in your mouth, it'll vaporize."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Now let's get out of here before she notices us."
"Hey, don't waste time selling me on an escape plan. You're the one with the legs."
As quietly and unobtrusively as possible, Dov tucked Ammi back inside his shirtfront, gathered up his carry-on bag, and headed for the gate area to catch his next flight. The untrained eye would have seen nothing odd or disquieting about a well- dressed single traveler walking nonchalantly through L.A. International Airport, but the eye trained in the detection of magic and all of its attendant effluvia would have noticed a pale, minty mist floating off Dov's shoulders and drifting away in his wake like a foggy cape.
It was a spell that caused the victim thereof to become a human magnet for every bore on the planet. Total strangers would glance at the spell's target and feel the irrational compulsion to unburden themselves of the full details of their gall bladder operation, or their four children's latest achievements, or the absolutely darling trick that their cat Fluffy always did when he wanted to be fed. The spell's power to attract tedious, rambling, unstoppable chitchat was quadrupled when it detected that its victim was in an escape-proof situation, such as a moving vehicle of any kind. Silent but deadly, it wafted through the terminal corridor, blew into the newsstand, and settled itself lightly over Peez.
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