Goddess of Light (4 page)

Sweet mother of God,
was Pamela's first thought. Her second was that she needed to close her mouth. Then she was caught up in a vortex of sight and sound. People crowded what had been built to look like the pretend streets of Rome. Emphasis on the word
pretend
. It was tacky beyond belief. She and Eddie had emerged between stores that emblazoned Versace and Escada in gilded letters meant to imitate ancient Rome. But instead of evoking old-world elegance, it reminded Pamela of a cartoon caricature. It was like someone had taken a crayon to history and architecture.

“Spectacular, isn't it?” Eddie boomed.

“The . . . the ceiling has clouds painted all over it,” was all she could manage.

Delighted, he nodded. “It is the exact effect I want for the ceiling in my home. Do you see how they have it lit?” He pointed up. The mock facades that fronted the stores were tall, but they did not reach the domed ceiling. It was obvious that atop the fake roofs were spotlights that shined up, illuminating the pretend clouds. “As you see, right now it appears to be midday, which is what I wish for my home. I want it to be perpetual daylight, so that I may write in an eternal sun.”

“Oh, God . . .” The words escaped Pamela's lips before she could think to reclose her mouth.

Eddie's laughter rumbled between them. “You had no idea it would be like this.”

“No idea,” she agreed numbly.

“Come! The best lies before us.” He quickly checked his watch. “We must hurry. There are only five minutes left before the show begins.”

“The show?” Pamela forced herself to stop gawking and hurried to catch up with him.

“Yes! It is what I want you to create as the centerpiece of my home. The spectacular fountain.”

“You want a fountain inside your home?” Her voice was pitched to be carefully optimistic. She loved water features and believed they were an important part of creating positive chi within a home. Her mind was already whirring . . . she would hire an excellent artist and create . . . she glanced up and tried not to grimace . . . a
tasteful
version of the sky blue and cotton white paint-by-numbers scenery above them. Then she would offset that garishness with a fabulous fountain. Perhaps one imported directly from Italy. Eddie would like that, after all, The Forum was a play on Rome, so it would be natural to want a fountain from . . .

They turned to the left, and Pamela stumbled to a horrified halt.

Opening up in front of them was a monstrosity that spewed bubbling water and naked gods and goddesses. Pamela could feel her head shaking back and forth as if it didn't belong to her. It was atrocious. Huge marble horses lunged from the lighted pool as water frothed around them. Zeus or Poseidon or some other naked god stood atop a platform holding a pointed trident as he stared sternly down at the billowing water. Against one side of the fountain diners sat in little café tables of an obviously popular Italian restaurant. Pamela wondered how they could hear one another over the roar of the erupting water.

“No, no, no, not this fountain,” Eddie touched her back, guiding her easily past the wet hulk. “I have no need for an imitation of Trevi. I want something truly unique.”

Relieved, Pamela gave him a weak smile.

“I do not like that, either,” Eddie said as they hurried by The Disney Store, which hosted a life-sized Pegasus sticking out of the top of it. “A winged horse seems a little too much to me.”

Pamela nodded silently. A winged horse was “a little too much,” but a domed ceiling painted to look like the sky lit with eternal sunlight wasn't? She set her jaw. She liked a challenge. Really. She was an excellent, experienced interior designer with a keen sense of taste and style. She liked eccentric clients. No, she reminded herself firmly, she didn't just like them, she preferred them. There was no project so weird or tacky or bizarre that she couldn't take it and whip it into something tasteful and refined.

A crowd of people milled in front of them, from the middle of which a tall man's raised arm caught Pamela's attention.

“Ah, there is James. He has chosen an excellent spot.”

Eddie tucked her against him as he plunged into the crowd, propelling them forward like a whale cutting through a school of guppies. When they reached the tall man, Eddie pushed her forward. A little short of breath, she smiled a greeting, but the expression died on her face as she realized where they stood.

It was in front of another massive fountain. This one was shaped like an arabesque window. The center of it was dominated by a gigantic stone man sitting on a throne. Three standing statues ringed the throned figure, but Pamela didn't have a chance to get a clear impression of them because at that instant the eternal sunlight that shined off the domed ceiling faded, and a thick fog began pouring from openings at the base of the throne. Pamela sneezed at the tangy scent of dry ice.

“Bless you!” Eddie said from behind her. Then he leaned down to speak in her ear. “It begins. Watch closely.”

Maniacal laughter erupted from the middle of the fountain, and Pamela felt a weird little jolt of shock as she realized that the center statue had become animated. The laughter was issuing from its moving lips. In amazement, Pamela watched as the seated figure swiveled on its dais so that it was facing them.

“It is time! It is time!” The talking statue proclaimed. “I am Bacchus! Come one—Come all! Come to the mall!”

The animated Bacchus lifted his goblet, which suddenly glowed golden. But Pamela spared only a small look at the new special effects. Bacchus' face had captured her attention. She decided he resembled a grotesque reproduction of the Three Stooges' Curly all dressed up in a toga with grape leaves around his bald head and several chins dangling down his neck. More laughter spewed from his mouth as he pretended to drink a toast to the crowd.

“Caesar! Welcome the visitors to our Forum!”

At Bacchus' command, the standing statue that was farthest from them began gesturing with his arms and said something about Bacchus pouring a feast for the crowd. From where she stood Pamela couldn't quite make out his words. The newly animated arm-flailing statue reminded her of Fred Flintstone.

“Bloody buggering hell,” she muttered to herself, using her assistant's favorite oath, “it's like a car wreck.”

“On with the party!” Bacchus' statue yelled. “Artemis, speak to your subjects.”

The second of the standing statues raised her arm, and Pamela was horrified to notice that her mountainous breasts bobbled in time with her movements.

“From the forest and the hunt only you could entice me to leave—so it is to your Forum that we all must cleave. Shop, drink and be merry—especially if it is Visa that you do carry!” The female voice was tinny sounding, and as she spoke a quiver of arrows and a bow slung over her shoulder glowed an awful neon red.

“Well spoken, my beauty!” Bacchus' head wobbled up and down with a jerky, mechanical movement. “But now it is your brother's turn. Play for the gathering, Apollo!”

The statue directly in front of her began to turn until it was facing the crowd. The harp in Apollo's hands glowed bright green while he stroked it. Music came from a speaker semihidden at Pamela's feet.

“Yes, Bacchus, with my lyre I shall delight and inspire.”

“It touches my heart!” Said the fat statue in a canned voice. “Oh, Apollo, what a romantic spell you cast. But enough! It is time to summon the light of day!”

The Apollo statue bowed awkwardly to Bacchus before raising his hand. Abruptly, the domed ceiling came alive with lasers, bouncing in bright colors from cloud to cloud as Bacchus' pleased laughter filled the dry ice air. The slicing lights finally culminated in a burst of brightness that left the fake sky lit as if it was midmorning.

“Now, my friends,” Bacchus said as the other statues dimmed and died, and a pink-tinged spotlight illuminated his florid face. “Eat, drink and be merry! And remember—you must return for the special evening show at eight o'clock sharp! Until then, carpe diem!”

As his maniacal laughter faded and spontaneous applause broke out, Pamela overheard a woman wearing red sweatpants say to her friend, “Ain't it better than last time we was here?”

“Yep,” her friend replied.

“Oh, God . . .” Pamela groaned.

CHAPTER THREE

“NO, you are not to fret. I know exactly what has you looking so concerned.” Eddie patted her hand. “Money is not an issue. I will spare no expense to make my vision come to life.”

“You may trust his word, ma'am. Eddie will provide you with all the funds that you need.”

Pamela blinked woodenly up at the tall man.

“How insufferably rude of me,” Eddie said. “Pamela, let me present you to my assistant, James Ridgewood. James, this is our much esteemed interior designer, Pamela Gray.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma'am.” James took her hand in a firm, dry grip.

Eddie slapped his palms against his thick thighs. “I can hardly contain my excitement! Now that you have seen the marvelous fountain, tell me, Pamela, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Pamela stalled by repeating the question. She and Eddie were sitting beside each other on one of the faux marble benches that surrounded the now-silent fountain. Because of the author's girth, the bench that would normally have held three or even four people was full, so James stood beside them. Pamela looked helplessly from Eddie's sparkling eyes up to James, who returned her gaze with the steady, attentive expression of a schoolboy. No help there, she realized. James had bought into the decorating disaster, too.

“Yes! What do you think of fashioning the centerpiece of my home after this fountain?”

Pamela studied Eddie carefully. The big man wasn't pretending. Unfortunately, this wasn't a joke. He really wanted the wretched thing. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath before plunging into her answer.

“It is definitely an unusual idea.”

Eddie and James nodded their heads in enthusiastic agreement.

“I do, however, have some initial concerns. First”—she gestured at the enormous water fiasco—“the size. If I remember correctly, you said your home was roughly twelve thousand square feet. That is, of course, a spacious home, but I'm afraid that even an estate of that size cannot accommodate a fountain of such”—she paused, silently editing out words like
monstrous
and
grotesque
—“magnificent dimensions.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed heartily, causing several people to stop and stare at him. “Now I understand your shocked expression, my dear. I do not want the fountain
inside
my home. Rather, I want it to be a focal point in the courtyard. James, show our Pamela what I mean.”

Smiling, James lifted a beautiful burgundy leather briefcase and extracted a thick manila folder, which he handed to her. She opened it to find detailed color pictures and floor plans of an exquisite Italian-style villa. It was built in a huge U shape around a lovely marble-tiled center courtyard, which was obviously meant to be the focal point of the home. Pamela felt herself nodding in appreciation of the architectural excellence of the home. Then she blinked and took a closer look at the picture. Across the color rendition of the tasteful courtyard someone had scrawled in changes with a pencil.
Take out trees. Replace with Roman columns, gold perhaps, as in Forum?

Gold columns? Her eyes drifted to a column near them. Like a bizarre cross between a whorehouse and a funeral parlor, it was covered with tacky faux marble paint. The top of the column was encrusted with gaudy swirls of gold. She was glad she was sitting down, because her knees felt decidedly weak. She looked back at the penciled-in notes.
Instead of tiles, make floor to look like Forum streets.
Horrified, Pamela glanced down. The “streets” of The Forum were nothing more than cement that had been textured to look like cheap imitation stone, and then painted muddy brown and varnished. Surely Eddie didn't mean to exchange the fabulous travertine with
cement.

“Do you understand now? I want to transplant this fountain into the courtyard of my home.”

Pamela felt her mouth open and close, fishlike, as she struggled to find something to say.

“Of course I realize that even though my courtyard is large, it is not big enough to hold an exact replica of the fountain. So, what I have decided is that I want a miniature version. Cut out Caesar, Artemis and Apollo.” His gaze shifted fondly to the center-most statue. “You must keep Bacchus, though. God of the Vine and Fertility. In my home wine is always welcome, and fertility”—his chuckle rumbled—“well, the rules of chivalry remind me that such risqué subjects are not fit for a lady's ears, so for now I will simply say that I wish to encourage the fertility of creativity and the written word.”

Pamela ignored the mischievous glint in the big man's eyes. She certainly didn't want to get into any kind of fertility discussion with him.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. What you want is the aura of this fountain, something with its basic shape and design, only on a smaller scale.”

“Exactly!” Eddie grinned. “And, of course, I will require it to be animated.”

This time when Pamela's mouth dropped open, she didn't bother to close it.

“Ex-Excuse me, uh, M-Mr. Faust?”

Pamela turned to see three zit-faced teenage boys standing behind her. Each of them clutched a hardback copy of
Pillars of the Sword
as they stared rapturously at Eddie.

“It-it is you, isn't it?” the tallest of the three stuttered.