"Uh-huh." Agparak nodded. Then he grinned. "Speaking of rude jerks, am I speaking with the president of the club right now? You ever listen to yourself, Godz? So far I've rescued you from that coffee girl before you had a total meltdown in front of her kiosk and she called the cops, I've given you a cup of coffee without the Caffeine Catechism, I've handed you a towel, and I've offered to put my work on hold so I could hear what you've come all this way to say to me. Gosh, how much ruder could I be?"
Dov hung his head. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I shouldn't've acted like that. That was jerky of me. I've been under a lot of pressure lately—not that that excuses my behavior or anything."
"Sure, I understand." The sculptor patted Dov on the back. "It can't be easy, worrying about your mother's health and all."
"Well, it's not as if there's anything I can do for her besides try to keep the company working at peak efficiency." Absentmindedly, Dov reached down and twiddled with Trebek's nostrils. "That's why I'm here, to see if you've got any requests or suggestions for change, any complaints about how we're handling your particular needs."
"You're from the government and you're here to help me?" Agparak had the talent to make a skeptical smirk look charming. "Like I told your sister, what I'm after is getting a foot in the door at the big Eastern art galleries, having my work seen by the people who matter. Well, seen and purchased. Anyone can be a starving artist; I'd rather be the artist who says, 'I'm starving; let's go grab a bite at La Cote Basque.' "
"You've become one of our top clients, Mr. Agparak," Dov said. "I think I've got the connections to get you just the sort of exposure you want for your art. Would you be kind enough to give me a little preview?"
"Of what?"
"Of the pieces you'll be exhibiting when I set up your New York City gallery debut."
"Oh." Martin Agparak nodded, then said: "You're sitting on one of them."
Dov looked down at the head of Alex Trebek and withheld comment.
"That's just the one I did for practice," the sculptor went on. "The finished work will be a totem pole combining Trebek, Barker, Philbin, with—whatzisname, the guy from that old 1950s quiz show, the one where everyone got busted for cheating—anyway, with him for the base and Vanna White for the top figure. It's the last one I need to do for my ideal installation. I've already completed the totem poles of the NFL mascots, the fast food icons, and the sci-fi TV show heroes. That's another thing where I could use the company's help: Maybe you can get a hold of Shatner so he'll sign the release, because I sure as hell can't swing it."
Dov mulled over this information for a while, then finally laughed and said, "Oh, I get it. You do funny art! Like comic strips, only wood. Very smart, Agparak, very cutting edge, Rothko meets Ethan Allen."
He would have gone on to praise the sculptor's business savvy in greater detail, except he caught sight of the venomous stare Agparak was giving him.
"There is nothing 'funny' about a totem pole," Martin said. "Not unless you find yourself in the habit of going into St. Patrick's cathedral for laughs."
"Hey, I know all about totem poles," Dov protested, holding up both hands to ward off any accusations of religious insensitivity. "I have only the deepest respect for what the real ones signify, but if someone slapped a giant propeller beanie on top of St. Patrick's, you know you'd be right there beside me, laughing your ass off."
"The 'real' ones?" Agparak repeated. "What makes my totem poles less real than the ones you claim to respect? Because instead of carving Bear and Fox and Raven, I've used team mascots? Bear is an animal of great power who holds healing in his paws, but more people worship him when he holds a football. If I make a totem pole with the old images, they'll look at it and smile politely and say how quaint it is, how charming. It won't matter if I made it the week before: They'll still see it as a relic, a leftover, an artifact. But if I transform it, if I create it so that it shows them the things that they still worship, they'll be more likely to realize that it's not just a decorative religious fossil; it's a living, vital icon of spiritual significance."
Dov's brow creased in thought as he took in everything Agparak was saying. At last he asked, "You expect people to go into a gallery, see your work, and come away from it ready to worship Regis Philbin?"
It was Agaparak's turn to laugh. "I expect them to come away from my work thinking about their own spirituality. I've seen too many people who call themselves religious when they're really just the slaves of habit. They go through the same rituals their parents and grandparents did, but they never think about what the words or the actions of the rites mean; they never feel the spirit within them. Faith should be a part of life, something you actively care about, like catching your favorite game show every weeknight or rooting for your favorite team. Think of what so many people have lost, Mr. Godz, without anyone taking it away from them. Then think of what they could have, and how much it would enrich their lives if only they'd open their eyes and see."
Dov stood up and shook the sculptor's calloused hand solemnly. "You can count on my support, Mr. Agparak," he said. "Can I count on yours?"
Agparak didn't answer right away. "I did mention that your sister's already been here?" he asked.
There was something in the way he said it that set off a little alarm bell in Dov's mind. Oh wow. This is the guy Peez slept with? Did she do it to cinch his support for her taking over the company? That skanky little—! Naaahhh. That's not her style. Still, I'll bet it didn't hurt her chances of winning him over to her side. And it sure as hell didn't do her any harm either.
Dov applied a liberal coating of Smile #98.2 and said, "Mr. Agparak, I fully understand. You want to consider all your options before making a commitment. I can respect that. But more than that, after what you've told me about your art and its purpose, I really respect you. And I'm not just saying that to kiss up, either. I mean it. Whichever way you throw your influence, it's been an honor to meet you." He released his grip on the sculptor's hand and concluded: "So, would you mind calling me a taxi back to the airport?"
"Sure, no problem." Agparak looked genuinely pleased and flattered by what Dov had had to say. He whipped out a cell phone the size of a pack of bubble gum and put in the call, then said, "It's on the way. Want another cup of coffee while you wait?"
"Sure, thanks. Light and sweet."
"What kind?"
"You're kidding, right? I saw you just have the one can of Maxwell House in your cupboard, you populist rebel, you."
"Right, but I'm talking about the 'light and sweet' part. I'm a lousy host for not asking you before: cream, half-and-half, whole milk, one percent, two, skim, cow's milk, goat's, white sugar, brown, Demerara, granulated, lump, cube, saccharine, aspartame—?"
Dov's scream split Alex Trebek's head wide open.
Chapter Thirteen
"You told the Reverend Everything what?" Teddy Tumtum demanded, button eyes fairly bugging out of his squishy fabric skull.
"I told him that I was thinking about quitting," Peez replied in a calm voice. "You know: giving up on the competition for backing, letting the chips fall where they may as far as who gets to run the company after Mom— I mean, who gets to run the company next. Why are you acting like it's such a big deal?"
She had rented a car at the airport and was driving to the prearranged meeting spot that Sam Turkey Feather had proposed, deep in the heart of a Tucson shopping mall. His choice of rendezvous had puzzled Peez, but only for a little while. She no longer bothered herself over the possible hidden agendas of everyone she encountered. If Edwina could have known, she would have been so proud of her little girl: Peez was finally learning to go with the flow.
Not so Teddy Tumtum. The only flow the little stuffed bear might conceivably go with was a river of blazing lava a mile wide, oozing its way down Mt. What-the-hell?! Peez had taken him out of the carry-on bag and strapped him into the passenger's seat beside her, hoping that the scenery would distract him. He hadn't been civil since the instant she'd told
him about all that he'd missed during her visit to the Immersionarium.
"I knew it," the bear said, gazing up at the roof of the rental car as if it were about to split open so that the angels of mercy might reach in and snatch him away, ending his misery. "I knew this would happen if I closed my eyes for one second. I blame myself."
"Stop that; you sound like a stereotypical Jewish grandmother," Peez said gently. "Anyway, you can't close your eyes."
"But I can take a time-out," Teddy Tumtum argued. "Especially if some people I could mention pack me headfirst all the way at the very bottom of their carry-on bag, where old breath mints go to die, and leave me there, alone, in the dark. Oh, it's no better than you think I deserve, I'm sure. After all, what have I ever done for you? Just given you years and years of unconditional love and support and guidance is all! Helped you, counseled you, kept you from making an idiot of yourself more times than I can count on these threadbare old paws of mine. Look at these pads! Just look at them!" He stuck out his fuzzy arms and gave her an imploring look.
"What's wrong with them?" Peez asked the question even though she knew she'd regret it.
"Wrong? Nothing ... if you like rags! When I was first confected, these paws were suede! Now what are they? Tattered and frayed, worn down to chiffon, do you hear me? To chiffon! Would it kill you to pick up a needle and thread, give them a stitch here, a stitch there, maybe even applique a fresh set of pads onto them? But no. That you don't have time for. But for quitting, for giving up, for throwing in the goddam towel, for that you've got all the time in the world! For that you make time!"
Peez sighed. "Right now I'm tempted to ask directions to the Grand Canyon and drive us both over the edge," she said. "That's sure as hell where you're driving me. I don't know why you're carrying on like a crazy thing: I said I changed my mind. Or did you just stop listening to me at the point where you could start hollering your lint-filled head off for no good reason? Read my lips: I'm not going to quit the battle for the company directorship."
"Oh, puh-lease." Teddy Tumtum sneered better than a corps of trained sixteen-year- old mall rats. "So you're not quitting. Read my mouth stitches: Biiig deeal. You say you're back in the fight, but as what? A five-star general or some poor moop who got drafted when he wasn't looking?"
"What makes you think I won't give this everything I've got?"
"Don't try to fool me: I can tell. Who knows you, baby? You're still facing the fight of your financial life with that cutthroat baby brother of yours, and you're just gonna phone it in. And why? Because ittoo Peezie-pie went and gots her dewicate iwooshuns awww bwoke. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Po', po' ickle Peezie."
"I got my what broke?" Peez asked.
"Your illusions," the bear said, dropping the baby talk. "So the Reverend Everything's all about show biz, and Ray Rah's gang is all partay and pretending to be young, and Fiorella gave you the brush-off, and Agparak gave you— Okay, so maybe you did get something good out of that visit, but still, you're sniveling around because Edwina's top clients either don't want to know you or you don't want to know them. Why? Because you think they're phonies. So what? The checks don't bounce."
"Teddy Tumtum, it's not just about the money."
"What, do I look like I was stuffed yesterday? It is so too!"
Peez shook her head and fixed her eyes on the road. "There's no talking to you when you're like this," she said. "I give up."
"Yes, you're good at that," said Teddy Tumtum, smugly getting in the last word.
* * *
"Mr. Turkey Feather, I presume?" Peez said, extending her hand to the Native American spiritual leader. They had met, as previously arranged, outside The Gap. (To quote Sam, "These days it's the closest we can come to heading someone off at the pass.") "Or do you prefer Turkey Plucker?"
Sam's eyes opened a little wider in pleased surprise. "How did you know that?"
"I like to do my research," Peez replied. "I feel it's a courtesy to the client to know everything you can about him or her."
"Commendable. May I take your bag, Ms. Godz?"
"What bag?" Peez looked to left and right, puzzled. She'd left her carryon safely locked away in the rental car.
"The one with your chief research assistant packed inside," Sam said. "The bear?"
"How do you know about Teddy Tumtum?" Peez blurted.
The Native American laughed. "You're not the only one who does research. If we both make it a point to know as much about the other as possible, we can call it courtesy instead of espionage. And yes, I would prefer if you called me by Turkey Plucker, though if you really want to know what I'd like the most, just call me Sam."
"Only if you call me Peez." The pair of them exchanged smiles that were not in Dov's extensive repertoire.
Soon thereafter they were riding along the highway in Sam's truck. Teddy Tumtum, retrieved from the carry-on bag in the rental car trunk, was pressed against the windshield singing Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer at the top of his stockinette lungs.
"You were the one who insisted on bringing him," Peez said to Sam. "Happy about it now?"
"I can take it," Sam replied, his jaw set in grim determination. "I keep telling myself that after everything else my people have endured at the hands of the White Man, an obnoxious stuffed bear is no biggie."
"Is it working?"
"No. Right now I'm ranking him somewhere between broken treaties and smallpox- infected blankets."
"Hey, I resent that!" Teddy Tumtum interrupted his droning song to voice his objection, then groused: "Damn. Now I lost my place. I'll have to start all over from the beginning. Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of— YEEE!"
Sam stopped the truck. "You really shouldn't have thrown him out the window, Peez."
"I know." Peez's head drooped in contrition. "But it just felt so good!"
It took her the better part of an hour to find the little bear again. After spending that much time out in the midday sun, the initial thrill of pitching him out the window was well and truly gone.
"There you are!" Peez panted when she finally laid hands on him once more. The little bear had been sprawled in the shade of a cactus plant. "Why didn't you say something to let me know where to find you? I tried invoking your homing hex, but it didn't work, for some reason." She gave him a suspicious look. "Did you disable it, Teddy Tumtum?"
"Oh, I'm sorry." Teddy Tumtum made an art of sarcastic payback. "I was under the impression that you didn't want to hear from me ever again. My goodness gracious me, wherever might I have gotten that idea? Oooh, could it have been something as trivial as being flung out the window of a speeding truck?!"
"Oh, calm down. You're stuffed. You bounce. The fall didn't hurt you."
"Maybe not my body." Teddy Tumtum sniveled and wiped invisible tears from his eyes. " 'Ooo went and bwoke my ickle heart. Bitch."
Peez laughed. "That's my Teddy Tumtum!" She gave him a hug and climbed back into Sam's truck.
"Found him?" Sam asked casually. "Way to go." He started up the truck again and drove on. Throughout the whole search-and-rescue operation, he had remained comfortably ensconced in the air-conditioned cab, letting Peez do all the work of finding the bear. Now it was time for a reckoning.
"Yes, I found him," Peez said angrily. "Not thanks to you, might I add."
"None expected. I wasn't the one who threw him out the window."
"Maybe not, but you've got to admit, you shared the benefit of it."
Sam shrugged. "I get a lot of that response from you city folk. First you do something I didn't ask for, maybe even something I never wanted, then you tell me I benefited from it so it's my duty to share the cost. But do you ever ask me if I think the results help me live my life more comfortably, or did they just help you advance your idea of how you think I'm supposed to be living?"
"Wow," said Teddy Tumtum. "That's an awful lot of resentment you're harboring just over tossing a teddy bear out of a truck."
"Friend, I've got resentment I
've hardly used," Sam said. "The good news is, I don't think I'll ever bother using it. I've got better things to do."
"Like fleecing the woo-woos and wannabes of their wampum," the bear said. "We read the reports on your operation before we came here. Take one clutch of yuppies, stick 'em in the desert, hand them a rattle, a bottle of designer-label spring water, tell them that their true name is Squatting Iguana or Dances-With-Dot-Coms, and have them sign on the dotted line of any major credit card slip. Ka-ching! Money is the— YEEE!"
Peez looked accusingly at Sam. "Okay, this time you find him."
Sam pulled the truck over. "Sure you want him found?"
"Yes, I'm sure!"
"Find him, then."
"Hey, you were the one who—!"
Sam turned sharply and took Peez by the shoulders. "This isn't about finding that snide little scrap of fake fur. This is about finding something for yourself."
"A vision quest?" Peez smiled. "I don't think so. It's starting to get dark out there. Besides, do I look like a yuppie who wants to get spiritual enlightenment in just eight minutes a day?"
"Making fun of something you don't understand? I expected better of Edwina's daughter." Sam looked stern. "Don't be a fool, Peez. What I do isn't just about making a quick buck off gullible white-eyes. I could do that a lot faster and easier if I stuck to my fetish-bead business or started mass-producing medicine pouches. Do you even know why yuppies—people who've supposedly got everything money can buy—feel that they still need spirituality? After all, you can't take it to the bank, it won't help you get ahead in business, and it won't attract a trophy spouse."
Peez shook her head. "I don't know, but I do wonder. Truth is, when I started this whole journey of mine, it was all about just those kind of things: money, power, self- importance. Now ..." She bit her lip, unsure of how to go on.
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