The sound of a beep came through the telephone followed by a moment’s pause, then his voice came back on. “Thank you. God bless you. And, remember, Jesus loves you.” A moment later the first bars of the song came to his ears and he put down the telephone.
“Is that okay with you, Dr. Talbot?” the director asked.
Preacher nodded. “Fine.”
“Good,” the director smiled. He turned to the engineer. “Wrap it up.” He came to the desk and picked up the microphone. “You’re getting better all the time, Dr. Talbot,” he said politely. “We took care of the next three months in only eleven takes. That’s four takes better than we ever did before.”
Preacher smiled at him. “Thanks to you. You have a way of making it come very naturally.”
“Thank you, sir,” the director said, coiling the wire and walking back to the engineer. The engineer pulled the lead plug from the recorder and got to his feet. They walked to the door. The director looked back from the doorway. “Goodbye, sir. Have a nice evening.”
“You too,” Preacher said. “Thank you.”
He watched the doors close behind them. Each month a new recording would go on the toll-free counseling line. The message would be changed slightly from the previous month, and the holding song would be replaced with another. Whether or not there was a free line available, the message was important. It was the one sure way they could obtain the caller’s name and address so that it could be fed into the computer for future use.
The message center was located in Fort Worth in its own building. Churchland wasn’t large enough to carry the personnel necessary to operate it. There were over one hundred paid employees and between eight and nine hundred volunteers, the largest number at any one time being the shift that worked as the hours from midnight to five a.m. rolled across the country. Those were the lonely hours, the hours when most television stations went off the air and people were left alone in their rooms with only their own doubts and fears to keep them company.
When the counselor picked up the telephone, the caller’s voice was the first one heard. The counselors didn’t press the button on their telephones to connect them with the caller until after they had typed his name into the keyboard of the computer and it was on the screen in front of them. Seventy percent of the counselors were women but, men or women, all were screened for warm, friendly and sympathetic voices. They would address the caller by his or her first name and identify themselves as Brother or Sister with their own given names, thank them again for calling and ask how they could be of help. They seemed to have all the time in the world but their principal function was to obtain all the information possible about the caller and his problems, which was immediately typed into the computer. They would offer common-sense advice, generally including quotations from the Bible that were pertinent to the caller, the quotations fed to them by the computer screen as the computer sorted and selected the problems into the general classifications programmed into it. If necessary, the counselor would even join the caller in a short prayer. The conversation would be ended when the counselor would inform the caller of the location of the affiliated church nearest him and tell him that he would soon receive a letter from the pastor of that church, inviting him to come in and have a person-to-person talk with no obligation either to join the church or to make a financial contribution to it. (The letter would actually be sent from the message center on the stationery of the local church over a facsimile signature of the pastor of that church, and the church itself would receive a copy of that letter for reference.) Of course, if the caller cared to, he could make a contribution directly to the Community of God Church in Churchland to help defray the costs of maintaining this worthwhile service of helping people like himself with their problems but it was not obligatory to do so. But contribution or no, the most important thing the caller should remember is: No matter how terrible things might seem at the moment, tomorrow will be better because Jesus loves you.
During the past several years there had been an average of one thousand calls a day but lately, since the recession and growing unemployment, the number of calls had increased by two to three hundred a day and was still increasing. And more than ninety percent of the callers made contributions of about five or ten dollars each. How much more they contributed by follow-up mailings or through the local churches was difficult to estimate but one study had shown that the total average contributions from each caller amounted to thirty dollars, which came to about eighteen million dollars a year based on six hundred thousand callers.
***
It was nine o’clock when he stepped from the private elevator that went directly from his office to the main floor. The uniformed guard in the corridor touched his cap respectfully. “Evenin’, Dr. Talbot.”
“Good evening, Jeff,” Preacher answered. “How’s the arthritis tonight?”
“Much better, Dr. Talbot,” the guard said. “I been sayin’ those prayers you gave me every night and, you know somethin’, they been really workin’. Thank you, Dr. Talbot. I don’t even have to take no aspirin no more to go to sleep. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Jeff,” Preacher said. “Thank Jesus for His mercy. It was He who answered your prayers. Not me.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” the guard said fervently.
“That’s better,” Preacher smiled. “God be with you. Good night.”
“Good night, Dr. Talbot.”
Preacher hesitated a moment, then walked down the corridor to the main entrance. He needed some fresh air before crossing to the parsonage and there was none in the tunnel walkway between it and the main building. The sounds of a chorale came to his ears as he entered the lobby. He crossed to one of the auditorium entrances and looked inside.
The guard at the door turned and saw him. He touched his cap. “Evening, Dr. Talbot,” he whispered.
“Good evening, Morris,” he whispered, his eyes surveying the auditorium. It was almost full. “Quite a crowd.”
“Always is when we do The Resurrection,” the guard whispered. “We got more’n thirty buses outside.”
“Of course,” Preacher nodded. “I forgot it was Tuesday.”
Every Tuesday night the Churchland Amateur Theatre presented its weekly play. There were ten plays, each about a portion of Jesus’ life, adapted freely from the Bible and the television series they distributed to the affiliated churches. At the moment it was intermission, and while the choir sang the wicker collection baskets were moving up and across the aisles.
“I’m always glad to be workin’ nights when this play is on,” the guard whispered. “It’s a miracle how they can make those miracles happen on the stage right in front of your eyes. Even if you know all the equipment and technical things they got to do it with.”
Preacher smiled. “Don’t forget that Jesus made all those miracles happen Himself. And He didn’t need any equipment and technical machinery to help Him.”
“That’s right,” the guard nodded in agreement. “It really was a miracle.”
“Good night, Morris,” Preacher said. “God be with you.”
He went out into the cool evening and breathed deeply of the crisp night air. It filled his lungs and he felt his strength and energy returning. He took the long way back to the parsonage, walking past the rows of buses to the back path, then down the slight hill to the parsonage.
He went inside and directly up the staircase to his study. He put his attaché case on the desk and then went into the bedroom. It was empty. He went from the bedroom directly to the dining room. She had probably started dinner without him. But that room too was empty, the table not even set. He picked up the telephone on the sideboard and pressed the button for the maid. “Where’s Mrs. Talbot?” he asked as soon as she came on the wire.
“I don’t know, sir,” she answered. “They haven’t come back yet. It’s past the children’s bedtime too. I been worryin’.”
“Didn’t she tell you where she was going?”
“I
wasn’t on when she left,” she answered. “This was my morning off.”
“She probably went to visit her father,” he said. “And you know him. He doesn’t like to let them go and probably made them stay for supper. But don’t worry about it, I’ll give him a call.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Shall I fix you some supper?”
“Please,” he said. “I’ll take it in my study.”
He went back to his study and called the ranch. The butler answered. “Mr. Randle available?” Preacher asked.
“No, Dr. Talbot,” the butler replied. “He’s already gone to bed.”
“What time did Mrs. Talbot leave?” he asked.
“Mrs. Talbot?” There was a note of surprise in the man’s voice. “Mrs. Talbot hasn’t been here at all today.”
Preacher put down the phone and stared at it. None of it made sense. Where could she have gone? He called the garage where the cars were kept. “Is Mrs. Talbot’s Mercedes there?” he asked.
“No, sir,” the man answered.
“Anyone there who saw her leave?”
“No, sir. I’m the night man. I don’t come on until eight. The day men are all gone.”
Slowly he returned the receiver to the telephone. He rose from behind the desk and went to the bedroom. There wasn’t even a note in the room. He crossed the hall to the children’s room. It, too, was deserted.
He was in the hallway on his way back to the study when he heard the telephone begin to ring. He ran into the room and picked it up. “Jane?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Where are you?” he asked. “I was beginning to worry. Your car isn’t in the garage and I was beginning to imagine all kinds of accidents.”
“No, we’re fine,” she said.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“In Dallas,” she said. “At Aunt Jenny’s.”
He lost his temper. “What the hell are you doing in Dallas?”
“I needed some breathing space,” she said. “I felt I was going crazy in Churchland.”
“Breathing space?” he shouted. “If that’s what you wanted, why did you drag the kids with you?”
She was silent for a moment. “Because we’re not coming back.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, not believing his ears. “You can’t do that.”
“I’ve done it,” she said.
“You can’t do it,” he said. “Not without talking it over.”
“I knew better than that. I’ve had enough of your spellbinding. I’ve seen it work on too many people. I never would have left.”
“Did you ever stop to think that you wouldn’t have left because you knew it was wrong?”
“I won’t listen to you,” she said. “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll call the maid in the morning and arrange to have her bring the clothes up here.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” he said. “I’m coming up there and I’ll bring you back myself.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said in a tired voice. “Tomorrow morning there’ll be something more important for you to do. You’ll never come up here.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, but he was already talking into a dead line. She had hung up.
The maid came into the study, carrying a tray, while he was still staring at the telephone in his hand. “Was that Mrs. Talbot you were talking to?” she asked, placing the tray on the desk.
“Yes,” he answered shortly.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, looking up at her. “She decided to visit her Aunt Jenny in Dallas at the last minute.”
The maid looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “I’m glad they’re all right,” she said and left the room.
He stared at the tray for a long time and finally pushed it away. He wasn’t hungry. He could fly up there early in the morning and have them all home before noon.
His mind made up, he opened his attaché case and took out the folder marked “Urgent.” Quickly he skimmed through it. There was at least two hours’ work he would have to leave on his secretary’s desk in the morning. He switched on the desk lamp and began to read the first report.
Chapter—Ten
He was still at his desk almost two hours later when Marcus called. “They’ll do it!” Marcus was excited. “I just got back to the hotel. We have the lawyers working on a memo agreement that will be ready tomorrow.”
“Congratulations,” Preacher said. “Their program will be a major asset to the church. They have a following that crosses all denominational lines. Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians, even the Episcopalians like them.”
“There’s one hitch though,” Marcus said. “They won’t sign until you see them personally and reassure them that all the promises I made are true.”
“I’ll be glad to see them,” Preacher said. “Bring them down on the plane with you tomorrow.”
“They can’t make it,” Marcus said. “They’re committed to Bob Shuller for a special program at the Crystal Cathedral tomorrow night. You’ll have to come up to L.A. if you want that agreement for the board meeting.”
“Can’t do it,” Preacher said. “I have to be in Dallas tomorrow morning.”
“Put it off,” Marcus said. “It can’t be as important as this.”
Preacher was silent. In a way, Marcus was right. And so was Jane. The church took precedence over his private life. But that was a fact of life every minister’s wife had to face. In another way, maybe it was just as well that he didn’t go charging up to Dallas after her. Right now she was still angry. A few days to think it over and she might cool off. Maybe life in Churchland wouldn’t seem so bad to her after all. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “How long is the flight?”
“About three hours.”
He calculated the time. Los Angeles was two hours back. He could still get a few things done in the morning and take off by ten a.m. “I’ll be up on Churchland 2,” he said. “Look for us at the airport around eleven in the morning.”
“I’ll be there,” Marcus said.
Preacher put down the telephone, found a cigarette, and lit it. He blew the smoke out slowly. He didn’t like himself right now. He didn’t like having to admit that she was right in saying there would be something else for him to do that would keep him from coming to Dallas. But then, she had no reason to turn it into a battle between the church and herself. He didn’t love her any the less because of his love for Jesus.
A sudden thought crossed his mind and he ground the cigarette angrily into the ashtray. Maybe what she felt was more true than even she realized. They hadn’t married because he was passionately in love with her. In his own way he loved her, but no more than many other girls. Maybe the simple truth was that he was just not capable of the kind of love she demanded.
***
The white stretchout limousine with blackout windows pulled alongside the plane as Churchland 2 rolled to a stop. The steward opened the door and pressed a button that automatically set down the steps.
Marcus was waiting as Preacher came down the steps. “Good flight?”
“Perfect.” Preacher smiled and looked down at the limousine. “Flash?”
“It’s called the rock star special.” Marcus smiled. “Thought you deserved nothing but the best. It has everything; bar, television, two phones, even a pull-down writing desk if you want to make notes.”
“Of course,” Preacher said as the chauffeur opened the door. He got into the car and Marcus followed him.
“I have a draft of the preliminary memo with me. We can go over it on the way to the hotel and discuss any changes we want to make with their lawyers before we meet with them,” Marcus said.
Preacher looked at him. “Why the hotel?”
“I thought you might want to shower and change first. I’ve taken a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel for you. That way you can go right in from the street without going into the lobby. We’re not meeting until after lunch,
two thirty at their house.”
Preacher looked out the window. They were already on the freeway north. There was no chance that he could make it back to Dallas before nightfall now. “I thought all we had to do was sign the agreement.”
“That’s all we have to do,” Marcus said. “But that’s not the way it’s done in show business. It’s two hours of bullshit for every two minutes’ work.”
“Okay,” Preacher said. “Let’s see the memo.”
Marcus pulled down the desk tray in front of them and opened his attaché case. He placed a set of papers in front of Preacher and one in front of himself. “Everything is pretty much what you and I talked about,” he said. “But there are a few things they want.”
“Like what?”
“They want to work only thirty-nine weeks a year and the right to select the guest hosts for the remaining thirteen weeks, subject to our approval, of course. I saw no problem in that since we had approval, so I okayed it.”
Preacher nodded. “Next?”
“They want the program called ‘The Jimmy and Kim Hickox Show’.”
“Okay.”
“They want executive producer credit for themselves.”
“They got it.”
“They want the show to be a joint venture between their company and us. The credit would read, ‘A Hickox-Churchland Production,’ and they wanted us to split the copyright. I said no to that one.”
“Why?” Preacher asked.
“Because if we ever wanted to do anything with the show afterwards, we would have to get their approval. I said they could have the production credit but not the copyright.”
“Did they agree to it?”
“Not yet,” Marcus said. “They’re going to try it on you. If you stand fast I think they’ll cave in.”
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