E. Godz (13 page)

"Ah, Brother Dov, so good of you to visit us," Reverend Everything said, shepherding
Dov through the towering doors of the sanctuary. "What a pity that it has to be under
these grievous circumstances. I still recall the day that your dear mother approached me
about affiliating the United Mithraic Order with E. Godz, Inc. Why, it seems as if it were
only yester—"

"Uh, excuse me?" Dov paused beneath a tapestry depicting the Reverend Everything,
dressed as an Aztec emperor, slaying a hydra whose wings were clearly labeled disunion
and negativity. "The United what?"

"The United Mithraic Order," the Reverend Everything repeated affably enough.
"That was what we called our congregation in those days. Ah, simple, humble
beginnings! Not quite so simple once your dear mother provided us with the methods for
channeling our collective zeal into tangible power, not to mention her invaluable advice
in matters concerning what we need and need not pay the government."

He walked on, Dov by his side, until they reached another pair of doors, these
adorned with quilted panels made from pieces of gold lame, burgundy-hued crushed
velvet, bronze-shot turquoise brocade, sea-green silk, kingfisher-blue moire, and silver
point-lace.

"Holy Seventh Avenue!" Ammi exclaimed. "I knew that Liberace was dead, but I
never knew they skinned him for his hide!"

"And what might this be, Brother Dov?" Reverend Everything asked suavely,
bending low to peer at the little amulet. "My, my. I had one just like this on the fax
machine for the Blessed Keepers of the Holy Actualization—that was the name of our
divine mission about two years ago. It was a gift from Edwina. Why do you carry it
around with you?"

"Oh, he—it's a later model with more technological capabilities than simple fax
interfacing," Dov said a little too quickly, a little too glibly.

"I see." Reverend Everything smiled and patted Dov on the shoulder. "There, there,
son. We all get lonely at the top." He opened the doors with a dramatic flourish just as he
added: "But we all find our ways to make do."

The full glory of the inmost sanctuary of the Serene Temple of Unfailing Lifescores
burst upon them with the impact of a Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza. Row after
row of plexiglass pews filled the chamber, sparkling beneath the battery of complexion-
flattering pink lights on high. A raised platform stood at the end of the white-carpeted
aisle that looked about as long as a football field. Twin choirs of fresh-faced young men
and women with flowered sarongs wrapped around their lissome bodies stood ranging all
up and down the length of a pair of airy spiral staircases, the banisters draped with
luxuriant vines. They burst into song as soon as their leader noted the Reverend's
entrance. Exotic blossoms were everywhere, and Dov could have sworn he heard the soft
calls of tropical birds and monkeys echoing through the sanctuary. Somewhere a steel
drum band was playing a Shaker hymn.

Dov was surprised, but not by the splashy display itself. The last he'd heard, the
Reverend Everything's church had been decorated to resemble the grand saloon of the
Titanic, with authentic early-twentieth-century costumes available for rental by the
congregation upon receipt of an "offering." What sort of costume you were issued
certainly did not depend on the amount of your donation, but it was an amazing
coincidence how readily the Reverend's friendly Mistresses of the Sanctified Wardrobe
could discover that, if you were a parsimonious giver, the only costumes left in your size
were suitable for steerage passengers. On the other hand, more open-handed donors
inevitably took their seats dressed in period evening gowns and tuxedos, fully
accessorized.

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.

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 brought 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.

As for Peez ...

"Is he gone yet?" Without looking up from her copy of Cosmopolitan, Peez nudged
her own carry-on bag gently with the tip of one shoe.

"Yeah, he's outa here." Teddy Tumtum stuck his muzzle out of the bag. The little bear
was just as unaware of Dov's parting "gift" to his sister as she was. "Him and that dumb
amulet of his. What kind of a person talks to a communications device?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Peez closed the magazine and took it over
to the cashier. As she pocketed her change, she rubbed one of the quarters in a very
particular way. It was one of those commemorative issue States quarters, specifically the
Massachusetts coin. Its "heads" side still showed George Washington's profile, but "tails"
was no longer the American eagle. Instead, in honor of one of that great state's most
memorable historic events, it gleamed with a miniature representation of Paul Revere
making his famous midnight ride.

Or so it did until Peez got her hands on it. Rubbing her thumb counterclockwise over
the slightly raised design and muttering a few well-chosen words of power had the
desired effect: A ghostly horse and rider rose up from the surface of the coin, leaving
only smooth metal behind, and set off at a gallop after Dov. Peez chuckled.

"Just wait until they catch up to him, Teddy Tumtum," she said. "As soon as that
horse rides right up his pants leg, he'll be hexed good and proper." She turned her back on
the departing spell and headed for Baggage Claim.

"The Lost Luggage spell, I presume?" Teddy Tumtum sighed wearily as he swung
along in her carryon. "That is so juvenile. So ineffective, too. Sure, he'll be annoyed the
first time it happens, but he'll get over it. And by the second time, he'll catch on to the
fact that someone jinxed him. Then he'll just invoke a counterspell. In the meanwhile,
he's got credit cards and he's not afraid to use them. There's nothing in his check-in bag
that can't be replaced by a quick shopping trip."

"A shopping trip that will steal precious time from his interviews with potential
allies," Peez pointed out. She smiled.