If Jessica pet the dog and the dangling thread of slobber wobbling from the corner of its jowls transferred to Jessica’s clothing, Wendy would lose it.
But on the other hand—
THOU SHALT PET THE DOG.
She had never received a better command from her Father.
She turned toward the Great Dane to face it full-on, and gave it a huge two-handed head pet, flopping its ears around. Not only did the act of petting a dog make her feel exponentially calmer, but she heard a few people in the gathering crowd of curious passersby fawn over the interaction. And when she straightened up again and the dog ran off, she realized that, yes, there had been a transfer of drool onto one of her forearms. She cringed and wiped it onto her pants leg, and the onlookers chuckled.
Thanks. That was a good idea. I think it won me some favor.
THE COMMAND WAS NOT GIVEN FOR STRATEGIC PURPOSES. HE WAS MERELY THE GOODEST OF BOYS AND DESERVED A PET.
Well, thanks anyway.
She smiled out at the cameras and found Maria Flores smiling back at her. She couldn’t see Gabrielle’s face behind her camera, but knowing she was there was enough.
The gathering dog owners watched now with a bored skepticism she rather appreciated. At least it wasn’t contempt!
“Welcome. Thanks to everyone who made it out today. I know we didn’t give you a lot of information regarding the nature of this event, so I appreciate your curiosity and willingness to take the time to come out.” First talking point down. Maybe she could nail this. “For those of you watching at home, who are wondering what this random white girl is doing on TV”—Wendy had written that line for her, and while Jessica had questioned if she needed to bring race into it, the publicist insisted it would loosen up the crowd—“my name is Jessica McCloud. I used to run It is Risen bakery, a locally owned establishment. I’m a former Texas State Bobcat, a native Texan, and, most importantly—” She paused, remembering the words she was supposed to say, that Wendy had pounded into her. But she couldn’t say them. Why couldn’t she say them? They were true.
She modified it.
“—Most importantly, I’ve been sent by God to relay a message.” There. It expressed the same thing as “I’m the daughter of God” anyway.
“Over the next months and years, my mission is to make it undeniably clear to you and the rest of this country that God as we know him is, in fact, a her.” She paused for effect. “That is correct. I’ve been put on this earth with a message, and that message is that God is a woman.”
A fluffy labradoodle ran up to Jessica at that point, but she was too preoccupied with the startled expressions reflecting back at her to notice. Her survival instincts wouldn’t allow her to look away from the mass of people who had been on her side only moments before but now appeared ready for a good old-fashioned lynch mob.
Then a male voice rose up from the dog owners, shouting, “Fuck yeah! Lady God!” And Jessica was almost knocked a step back by it. Then the supportive man ran forward, hand raised, and Jessica stepped around the podium for the much-needed high-five.
She was officially off script, and it felt … right.
She snuck a glance at Wendy to get a handle on how things were going. The ferocious woman stood straight as a board—that was nothing new—her arms by her side, palms resting on the fabric of her A-line skirt. And she was grinning.
And just like that, it was official. Jessica’s ultimate gambit had begun.
Chapter Five
Jessica climbed the stairs of her building, heading for the condo Jameson Fractal still technically owned and stuffing her face with a meatball sub that Chris Riley’s NFL contract had paid for. She was officially the moochsiah, but the sandwich was so delicious and her day had been so crappy that the self-criticism bounced right off her.
The last four months since her initial announcement at the park had flown by, hardly more than a blur of volunteering and small public appearances at local events. And though the city’s reception of her had warmed enough that she’d graduated from “worrisome religious radical” to “quirky but delusional local celebrity” and might become “revered cultural icon” before long, this morning’s highway cleanup under the brutal late-August sun was enough to blind her to all the positive progress she’d made, leaving her with a sour mood and the meatball sub.
As she dug a hand into her purse, searching for her keys, the door across the hall opened, and Jesus stuck his head out. “Sister! How was your day? Joyous, I hope?”
She used her tongue to cram meatball into her cheek, then said, “Something like that, but much worse.”
He frowned. “Oh, but you were having such a good week! Jeremy said footage of you at the Pride Parade has gone viral!”
That much was true, and the various clips of her dancing on a rainbow unicorn float next to a man who, unbeknownst to the crowd, was Jesus Christ in a flower crown, had been well-received and, according to Cash, gained her over twenty-thousand followers on Twitter, and fifteen thousand on Instagram, many of whom weren’t bots.
“Right, but that was four days ago,” she said. “I just spent the last three hours picking up used condoms and sun-dried squirrel jerky from the side of Highway 71 with a ragtag band of criminal misfits.”
Jesus nodded his understanding. “The animal shelter was booked.”
“You got it.”
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket, and she slipped it out and looked down at the screen. “Um, I gotta go.”
“Blessings, sister!”
She juggled the phone as she finally located her keys and hurried inside. She caught the call just before it went to voicemail.
“Hey, Chris.” She was out of breath. Out of breath from climbing a dozen stairs, eating a meatball sub, and hurrying a few steps inside. But she pushed aside thoughts of getting back into shape to focus on the conversation.
“Jess! How’s it going?”
He sure was chipper and friendly, considering they hadn’t spoken, outside of a few emotionless texts about the logistics of getting money into her bank account, in months.
“Great. It’s going great.”
“Yeah, I figured it would be. I just saw the video of you and Jesus at the Pride Parade. You know it’s gone viral?”
“Yeah, Jesus just told me.”
“Hey, listen. There’s something I want to tell you about. I was keeping it a surprise, but it goes live today.”
The phrase, “it goes live today” sent chills down her spine without her quite understanding why.
“O-kay … what is it?”
“As you know, the regular season starts this Sunday.” She didn’t know that, but she let him go on. “So, I’ve been working with the NFL on a project over the pre-season. There are a lot of eyes on me going into my sophomore year in the league. Outside of the injury at the end of last season, I was doing pretty well, and there’s this thing where players who have a great rookie season tend to flop in their second season, so everyone’s wondering if I’ll do that.”
She was having a difficult time following where this was going. “Oh. Um, are you?”
“Ha. I sure as shit hope not. But the point is that people are watching me closely, and I figure I might as well use that to my advantage. So, I’ve been working on this initiative.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Initiative? For what?”
“Women.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Wendy gave me a rundown of your strategy for this lady God thing—”
“You’ve been keeping in touch with Wendy?”
“Of course.”
“Does she know about this initiative?”
“Eh … Not exactly. The commercial will be a surprise for her.”
Jessica flopped down onto her couch. “Commercial?”
“Yeah. A commercial for women.”
She inhaled slowly through her nose and laid her head back on the arm rest. “A commercial for women,” she echoed.
“Yep.
”
“I mean … are you selling us? What exactly—”
“No, it’s like a pro-women commercial. If you want people to believe God is a woman, it stands to reason that you would need people to like women first.”
Oh, Chris, what have you done? “Okay. Tell me more.”
“I could, but I’d rather show you. Hold on one sec, and I’ll send you a link to it.”
While he tinkered with his phone on the other line, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine the many ways this would bite her in the ass. What did pro football have to say about God being a woman? What sort of influence did it hold over the masses? She honestly didn’t know, although, now that the sports networks were apparently woke, maybe there was something to this. Maybe Chris’s initiative could make a huge difference. Or maybe …
“There, just sent it.”
“Okay.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and saw the new text notification. “I’ll watch it once we’re off the phone.”
“Great. Then I’ll talk to you later.” And before she could say a proper goodbye, he disconnected the call.
She stared down at her screen for a second, then opened the text and clicked the link.
The video popped up and started playing automatically.
But after a few seconds, she paused it, pulled up her text messages again, and went to the ongoing conversation with Wendy and Cash.
“We have a problem.”
Chapter Six
Jessica tossed out the empty microwave meal container and chucked her dirty fork into the sink. It was five till seven, and she settled onto her couch to prepare for her video chat with Wendy and Cash. It had been a long afternoon of panic as she played through the various scenarios where the airing of this commercial ended her attempt to make God a woman before it ever took off.
She’d watched it dozens of times since Chris had called that afternoon, and yet, she still couldn’t articulate precisely why it was such a horror show.
Was it the corny script?
Was it the execution of the corny script by a rotating cast of semi-literate professional football players staring directly into the camera?
Was it the strangeness of watching men whose notoriety was derived from smashing each other to bits talking about the importance of respecting women?
Or was it all of the above?
ALL OF THE ABOVE.
She opened her laptop.
What was he thinking?
IT WAS NOT HIS DOING. HE STARTED SOMETHING HE COULDN’T CONTROL.
Why would any organization sign off on this?
BECAUSE THERE IS A PROFIT IN IT FOR THEM.
How?
THAT IS NOT YET CLEAR TO THE LORD.
You don’t understand it, but they do?
THE LORD IS NOT A PROFITEER.
Tell that to Jimmy Dean.
I HAVE. HE DOES NOT LISTEN.
The cutesy beeping of an incoming call pulled her attention to the physical world, and she answered the chat. Wendy’s face appeared. A moment later, there was Cash.
“Can’t I go a week without being dragged to a deeper circle of cyber hell?” Cash demanded in lieu of a greeting.
“I guess you watched the commercial already?”
They nodded.
“The question is,” Wendy began, “how can we keep this thing from ever airing on TV?”
Jessica cringed. “I believe it’s too late for that.”
Wendy’s face tightened. “Okay, then we’re screwed.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?” Jessica asked, stupidly.
“Of course not,” Cash replied. “I think the line, ‘You’d better respect women, or else,’ really gets the job done.”
Wendy piled on with, “And the series of hypothetical questions was great. While I enjoyed ‘Remember, that woman you’re disrespecting could be somebody’s daughter,’ I was blown away by the moment when Chris appeared on screen to add, ‘or even God’s daughter.’ “
“Yeah,” Cash said. “And the little wink he did was just icing on the urinal cake.”
Was the urinal cake reference further proof Cash was born a man?
Stop! Focus! It doesn’t matter anyway!
It was about time someone came to Chris’s defense. “He meant well. I’m sure he thought this would help.”
Wendy sighed. “I know. It’s my fault for filling him in and not being completely clear that he wasn’t to do this specific kind of thing. I have a feeling he wasn’t in charge of the script anyway.”
“I had that feeling too,” Jessica said. “I can’t imagine him agreeing to the line, ‘Sexy ain’t their fault’ or ‘Women are people, too.’” But the fact of the matter was that he had watched the finished product, probably multiple times, and had still called her, excited to share it. On some level, Chris had condoned this train wreck of pseudo-feminism.
Wendy bowed her head solemnly, and Cash was clearly already typing away on their keyboard, drafting damage control tweets.
“You know you’re going to be dragged into this, right?” Wendy said.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“The memes are going to be relentless for a while.”
“I can imagine. What I don’t get, though, is why it’s so bad. I mean, it is. I can tell that with one watch. But it’s not like they said anything untrue. Women are people. Being sexy isn’t a woman’s fault. And we’re all someone’s daughter. So why does it rub me the wrong way?”
Wendy didn’t mince words. “Because it’s fucking stupid, Jessica. Because all the things they say are obvious—anyone with half a brain doesn’t need to be told them—and there’s nothing more irksome than people shouting painfully obvious things from a pedestal with the hope that it’ll make them appear heroes for the little guy.”
“But there are some men out there who need to hear it, who don’t treat women like we’re people.”
“They still know it, though. This doesn’t address the root causes of disrespect. There are people in this world who believe their job is to punish women who don’t act the way they want, and that’s the long and short of it. But we don’t need those people on our side and, frankly, we don’t want them. They are the power-starved idiots who ruin social movements. We don’t need everyone in our camp. We just need the majority.”
“Right, right,” Jessica said, remembering their original game plan. “And the majority of Americans are women.”
“Not by much, but yes. We just need to get most of the women, a portion of sympathetic men, and a bunch of children. Those are our most likely voters.”
“Most likely voters for turning God into a woman,” Jessica echoed, hoping to point out the insanity of the topic.
But Wendy missed it. “Exactly.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Jessica asked. “How do we—”
Cash interrupted. “I’m already on it. I’m making crossover memes of your first press conference and the NFL commercial as we speak. I’ll inoculate social media by injecting it with the virus. It’ll flare up for a couple days, then it’ll move on.”
Wendy smiled proudly, but Jessica snapped, “You’re creating the memes? You’re making fun of me?”
“Yeah, but not as much as other people would. And I’m posting them from your account, so it’ll look like you’re making them and joking about it.”
“And that works how?”
“It shows you have a sense of humor. Or at least your persona does, and thankfully that’s all that matters. It’s not as fun to make fun of someone who is already making fun of themself. Jesus Christ, Jess, how did you even make it through high school without learning this stuff?”
“I suffered for four years straight,” she said, honestly. “Fine, I trust you, Cash.”
“Your trust is irrelevant. But thanks. Oh, and do me a favor?”
“Yeah?”
“Send Chris a text and give him a heads up that I will be invoicing the everliving testosterone out of his rich ass for all this Photosho
p.”
She ended the call feeling like she could be hopeful. Cash had it under control, after all.
But could she dare to hope? Could she ever expect the average American to understand the difference between the toxic drivel of this commercial and the message she needed to spread about divine femininity … especially when she didn’t yet understand the difference herself?
Chapter Seven
On more than one occasion, Jessica might have been spared a lot of trouble if only she’d been able to see auras. But that skill was not on her heavenly resume. However, she didn’t need the ability to know she was presently surrounded by angels. Sir Pawsington paused on their walk along the narrow strip of dirt behind the shelter to whip his head around and nibble at the place his balls used to be, and she let him. It was probably quite satisfying to gnaw at that particular phantom body part. Also, he had a long day ahead of him locked in his kennel.
As they continued, Sir Pawsington seemed content to simply stare up at her and follow wherever she went, and she reminded herself that she was not in any place to get a dog. Nope, nope, nope.
Thankfully, Austin had a strict no-kill policy, which meant, of course, that they only killed a few, and only the especially mean or sick ones at that. At least that was what they told the public.
As she slipped Sir Pawsington a training treat and put him in his kennel, a familiar voice called out, “There you are.”
She turned and couldn’t quite make sense of who she was looking at. Did he even like dogs? She couldn’t remember ever seeing him around one. Why was he here?
“Why are you here?”
Quentin Jones tilted his head back and arched an eyebrow at her. “That’s how you say hello now?”
The End Is Her Page 3
