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.
She also realized that this choice of furnishings gave the Reverend Everything a tacit psychological advantage over all his guests. He could get out of his chair with ease and, if he so chose, come over to the sofa/quicksand pit and loom over a captive audience. Peez didn't care for the idea of being helpless—she'd already experienced the reality of it too many times, in too many different situations, including but not limited to social, financial, and childhood. She began hauling herself towards the armrest, bent on seizing hold of it and hauling herself free of the cushiony morass.
Her exertions were not lost on the Reverend Everything. "My dear, aren't you comfortable?" he asked as if he really cared.
"Actually, I'm a little too comfortable," she said. She flashed him a charming smile. It packed nowhere near the power and versatility of his own toothy weapon of choice, but it was pretty good for a beginner. "I'd hate to doze off in the middle of our conversation, but who could blame me? This is such a lovely couch."
"Comfort is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Reverend Everything winked at her. "But it can be a snare, too. That's one principle I learned a long time ago, back when I was just starting out. People need rituals. They give us a sense of continuity, security, and dependability in a world that often offers us none of the above. On the other hand, if you do the same thing in the same way for too long, it's more than likely you'll stop paying attention to the meaning behind what you're doing and just switch to autopilot. That's why I keep changing the format of worship services—to say nothing of the decor—for my followers. Is that what's bothering you? All the, well, showmanship, for want of a better word?"
"Oh, I can think of a much better word," Peez replied. "How about phoniness? Or superficiality? That's a good one! I can swallow a certain amount of snake oil, Reverend, but I think I've finally reached my limit. It was different when I was just doing long- distance administration work, pushing buttons, crunching numbers, filling out forms. Ever since I've hit the road and seen some of Mother's clients face to face, I've learned some hard truths that make it impossible for me to go on without getting disgusted with myself."
"As well as with us?" The Reverend Everything raised one ashy brow. "But what have you really seen of us, Ms. Godz? The flash, the spangles, the dolphins, yes, but what about the truth? Did you try to catch up to any of my congregation, to talk to them, to ask them about why they come here instead of some other house of worship?"
"That's pretty obvious," Peez said confidently. "You're the only one who gives them a show."
The Reverend Everything chuckled. "Remind me to take you on a tour of several churches I could name. No, Ms. Godz: If a show was all they wanted, they could get that elsewhere. For most of them, their lives are a show, their careers are all lighting tricks and special effects. What they come for here is something with a little more substance, something enduring, something that will last longer than their most recent hairstyle, or lift-and-tuck, or collagen injection, or producer's promise."
"Faith?" Peez still sounded dubious, but there was something about the Reverend Everything's tone and expression that was convincing. Either he really meant what he was saying or he was putting on a show so convincing that he'd even persuaded himself to believe it was true.
"If you like." He laid his hands on the desktop. "We spend our lives in the pursuit of what we call solid things, practical things: a big house, a fast car, a spouse who matches the drapes. We don't realize that these are the things we can lose most easily. The truth is, while some people say that keeping in touch with our spiritual side is frivolous, it's actually one of the most necessary things in our lives."