Sam could also provide Dov with another, perhaps stronger sort of influence: Having one of Edwina's old lover's on his side could only help Dov's chances for persuading her to give him the company. It was a win-win situation, and both of the winners were Dov, just the way he liked it.
Eyes on the prize, Dov took action.
Amazing how fast he was able to slip out of his clothes and stand there naked under the startled eyes of Sam's little group of Seekers. The hardest part of his impromptu striptease was kicking free of his lace-up running shoes and yanking off the socks beneath, but he managed to do so and to make it look like part of a ceremonial dance step. Now, as bare as a lizard, he proceeded to leap and stomp and cavort all around the earth circle, raising his voice in the nearest thing he could remember to a genuine Indian chant. (Could he help it if it was the lyrics to an Israeli rain dance, left over from Edwina's days of full immersion in folk culture studies?)
As he completed his orbit, Dov was pleased to note that Mimsy and Courtney had dropped their feud in favor of gaping at him like a pair of beached halibut. Objective number one achieved, he thought gleefully. Commence accomplishment attempt on objective number two.
Flinging himself at Courtney's feet, despite the grit that scraped his bare knees raw, Dov bowed his head, raised his arms, and declared, "Hail, Woman-Who-Is-Worthy. I am he who is sent from the Great Spirit to bring you word that you have been chosen. From this day forth, your spirit guide shall be Great Goo-ga-li-moo-ga-li, the White Otter, and your tribal name shall be Lives-Long-and-Prospers."
"Yeah?" Courtney brightened. "Nifty!"
"No fair!" Mimsy wailed. "She didn't get a Vision! How come she gets a spirit guide and a name and everything like this? Like it's— it's— like it's some kinda pizza delivery or something? And how come she gets an otter for her spirit guide? Otters are way cuter than buffalo! I want the otter!"
"Behold!" Dov shouted, leaping to his feet. Naked as he was, there was plenty of beholding for the assembled Seekers to do. "Behold that your mighty shaman, Master Sam Turkey Feather, has used his powers to summon me from the realm of the Great Spirit through long hours of self-sacrifice, fasting, and chanting. He has placed me within this body so that your eyes may see me and so that I may walk among you and give you the spiritual gifts which all of you have earned. Verily, even those of you who have already been vouchsafed a Vision of your spirit guides shall have these same Visions confirmed and sanctified. So decrees the Great Spirit, for never in countless generations has he ever known a group as worthy of this special blessing as all of you!"
A chorus of approving murmurs ran through the group. Why wouldn't they approve? The Great Spirit had just confirmed their own inflated opinions of themselves. Dov took that opportunity to duck into one of the dome tents and leave it to Sam to handle the loose ends. Alone in the dark he smiled, more than satisfied with how well he'd handled the situation. He'd saved Sam's bacon and now Sam would have to give him his approval and backing. It was that simple.
The tent flap lifted.
* * *
"You," Dov said as the Jeep jounced down the road heading back for the Blue Coyote Diner. He sounded as prickly as a giant saguaro cactus. "You, Sam Turkey Plucker, are one sneaky son of a bitch."
"Compliment accepted," Sam replied, grinning ear to ear. "Don't blame me. Did I make you take off all your clothing and declare yourself the Great Spirit's messenger boy?"
"No, but you're the one who told that nest of yuppie toad-lickers that the reason I'd appeared to them in the form of a naked man instead of an animal was because there was only one way for me to confer the Great Spirit's official tribal names on them."
"I didn't hear you complaining when you were conferring Courtney and Pookie and Heather and—"
"Yeah, but how about when you sent Gerald in to see me? Not only was I half dead from conferring Nicole—let me tell you, it's no wonder her spirit guide's a bunny rabbit!—but I do not swing that way."
"Neither does Gerald. Trust me, he was just as relieved as you when the Great Spirit beeped you to report back to headquarters ASAP, though I think Prescott was a little disappointed."
"Prescott? He the one doing the air show?"
Sam nodded. "I'll go back and give him his tribal name myself, with no conferring, thanks. Now if I could only remember what kind of bird he saw in his Vision, hawk or eagle."
"It couldn't have been a turkey buzzard?"
"Not if I want him to tell all his friends to come see me for all their gen-yoo-wine authentic Native American spiritual needs. How would it sound? 'Hey, man, it's the greatest thing: I just paid some old injun three thousand bucks to tell me that my spirit guide is a turkey buzzard! You should try it. Maybe he'll tell you that your spirit guide is a muskrat.' I don't think so. That kind of money changes hands, you give the customer eagles, hawks, bears, buffalo, wolves, like that, or you go back to the reservation."
"Glaminals," Dov mumbled.
"Say what?"
"Glaminals," he repeated. "The glamorous animals. The ones the customers can casually mention at cocktail parties and get all their friends staring at them enviously instead of rolling on the floor laughing. You know what I mean."
"You bet I do."
"So ..." Dov tapped his chin. "Three thousand dollars a pop. Impressive."
Sam dismissed Dov's admiration. "That's a low-end package. No frills. My high-end Vision Quests go for up to five and a half K, all major credit cards accepted. Discounts for senior citizens, not that any of the buyers I attract would ever willingly admit to being over thirty-five, let alone fifty."
Dov whistled long and low. Now he really was impressed with Sam's setup. "Is that why you tossed me to the wolves? Afraid I was going to muscle in on your market share?"
"Kid, I couldn't let you steal all my thunder. What if you had been able to 'confer' all of them? They'd tell their friends and then everyone who came to me for a Vision Quest Weekend Package would be expecting the same treatment. I had to do something so they'd understand it was a one-time-only experience. I mean, have some mercy: I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Who is?"
Dov intended his flip response as a joke. Sam didn't take it that way.
"No one is," he said. "Least of all your mother. She and I— Well, it was a long time ago, but still, I'll never forget it, or her." He lapsed into a silence that did not permit interruption. The sun-washed miles rolled past outside the Jeep. In a while he spoke again: "You see me as just a hustler, don't you?"
"I see you as a businessman," Dov said calmly. He was picking up some odd vibes from this man and he wasn't sure what to make of them. It was true: He did think of Sam as little more than a snake-oil salesman, peddling Enlightenment to the terminally trendy, yet every instinct in him screamed that he was wrong, that this man held some of the true power within him.
Mom would never have wasted her time with him if not, he thought. Even when she was still in her teens, she knew where to look for the real magic.
"A businessman," Dov repeated, "who actually happens to be a shaman, too. A real one."
Sam nodded. He seemed pleased, though he didn't crack a smile. "Kid, I'd like to come with you, see your mama, put everything I've got into trying to heal her."
Dov fidgeted uneasily. "I— I appreciate the offer, Sam, but when I leave you, I'm heading for Los Angeles."
"Your mama's dying and you're heading in the opposite direction?" Sam's brow looked like a thunderhead. "And there I was, wishing that you were my son."