"Of course it will," Peez muttered, still blushing.
And so it did.
—for a freak show, Peez thought. No, that's too harsh. For a circus, then, or an aquacade, or whatever the hell this extravaganza is. She took another pull at the loop-de- loop pink plastic straw protruding from her sacramental pina colada and took in the scene before her with a jaundiced eye.
Services were nearly over—the drinks had been distributed when Reverend Everything called his followers to partake in the "refreshment of the soul"—but plenty was still going on. It was standing room only in the dolphin tank, for one thing.
No, not the tank; the Immersionarium, Peez mentally corrected herself. Where the suckers go to get a real soaking.
Less than fifteen minutes ago she had sat back and listened while the Reverend Everything told the congregation that the way to become One with the Universe was to let your soul float free. Money was the ballast holding you down on the bottom of the great Cosmic Sea where the Crabs of Crotchetyness would nibble your toes and the Remoras of Remorse stood poised to suck the good karma out of you. The people groaned and made bubbling noises with their lips on hearing this.
Yet there was hope. Or, in the Reverend's own words, "But wait! There's more!" He then called upon his lovely assistants to bring forth those worshipers who had given up the most ballast at the previous week's service. These finny handmaidens too were dressed like rejects from a Las Vegas-based road company of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid. Their fishtails made walking up and down the aisles a chore, so they settled for announcing the names of the favored through microphones disguised as lobsters.
With joyous sounds last heard on episodes of Flipper, the chosen ones came forward, walking down the center aisle and up the steps to the deck surrounding the dolphin tank. One by one they were taken behind a dressing screen only to emerge shortly thereafter wearing swimsuits. Peez was impressed to see so many people mastering Reverend Everything's own talent for doing a quick change act until she noticed that the screen also concealed a picked team of additional assistants who could get the clothes off a body faster than a horny sixteen-year-old.
As soon as a worshiper emerged from behind the screen, he or she was escorted to the edge of the dolphin tank where the Reverend Everything was waiting, crystal trident in hand. He said a few words about there being a tide in the affairs of men, going with the flow, life as a river, the fount of all knowledge, sinners being pond scum, and brooking no arguments from any outsiders who decried the methods of the Soulhaven Retreat and Starchild Immersionarium because such drips were spiritual wet blankets.
Then he used his trident to swat the Seeker into the pool. The dolphins, aka Starchildren, swam around each new visitor happily, sometimes taking an interest, sometimes ignoring him completely. That was all right, though, because the Reverend's earlier preachings had made sure to point out that it was the Seeker's soul that the Starchildren would touch, and every person emerging from the tank insisted that he or she had been very touched indeed.
It was all deeply moving. In fact, it moved those members of the congregation who had not been chosen this week to renew their charitable zeal and fill the collection baskets to overflowing.
Afterwards, a fishnet curtain descended from on high, veiling the tank as the congregation made their exit while the organ played selections from Handel's Water Music over a tape recording of whale songs. These sounds mingled sweetly with the squish, squish, squish of improperly dried feet ruining costly Italian leather shoes. As the great doors of the sanctuary closed behind the departing Seekers, the Reverend Everything removed his shell tiara and fake beard. He ducked behind the dressing screen with a happy sigh whose meaning might have signified either satisfaction in a ministry well fulfilled or Thank God that's over!
Peez had her own convictions as to which one it was.
"That does it," she told the air. "I quit."
"What did you say?" Reverend Everything stuck his head out from behind the screen. He looked sincerely concerned.
"You heard me," Peez said. "I quit. This is not the right line of work for me. If the future of E. Godz, Inc. is going to depend on someone who's able to put up with watching this kind of hijinks with a big old Miss America smile on her face, I'm out. I'm leaving the field to my brother, Dov. Let him hitch a ride on the hurdy-gurdy, but I'm getting off now." She stood up and headed for the steps leading down from the tank deck.
The crystal trident drove into the wooden stair tread just an inch ahead of her poised foot. She jerked her head back to stare at the Reverend Everything, who had thrown the shining weapon with such extraordinary accuracy. Her expression was one of complete surprise seasoned with grudging admiration for such speed, panache, and marksmanship. He shrugged it all away.
"I used to work in the movies," he said.
"Really." This was old news to Peez, who had read up on the Reverend's background on the flight to L.A. Teddy Tumtum had provided plenty of additional insights for dealing with the man, all of which now seemed silly since Peez had decided to quit dealing with him and all of the other E. Godz subsidiaries on her list altogether.
"Yes, really," Reverend Everything said. "I know about quitting. I quit when they stopped having happy endings." He came forward and took her by the arm. "Come with me, please." It sounded like a courteous invitation, but the firmness of his grip on her wrist told her that it was more in the line of a command.
Peez was too weary to put up a fight. Why bother? As soon as she left this temple to theatricality, she was going back to the airport to catch the next flight to New York City. When she got back to the office, she'd tell Edwina about her decision to pull out of the race. Maybe she'd even go up to Poughkeepsie and deliver the news in person, then stay on to see if there was anything helpful she could do to ease her mother's last days on earth. Surely whatever she'd find to occupy herself would have to be more helpful than this ridiculous competition with Dov.
The Reverend Everything took her through a door leading from the tank deck to a behind-the-scenes hallway. Peez passed one office after another, all of them bustling with the noises of computers, fax machines, telephones, and cheerful people in the throes of reaching out to the spiritual Seeker. Or was that "sucker"?
There was a small elevator at the end of the hall which took them up to the topmost floor of the building. Here was the nerve center of the Reverend Everything's empire, his private office. Peez took it all in with the practiced eye of a woman who actually adored good interior decoration but who would sooner die than admit it lest she be tarred with the counterfeminist brush. Peez was smart and sensible: She knew it was possible to want equality between the sexes and monogrammed sheets (400 count Egyptian cotton, for preference) but she also knew that there were precious few people out there willing to accept that.
Reverend Everything settled into the tawny leather chair behind the burled oak desk and motioned for Peez to have a seat as well. The only furniture available for the purpose was a sofa of the same rich upholstery. When sat upon, it offered all the resistance and support of a toasted marshmallow. Peez found herself sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions. It was a pleasurable sensation, only marred by the revelation that she would need a winch to haul herself out of there should the need arise.