To further complicate matters, David could not be certain he was not imagining it all. Guilty consciences frequently played tricks like this. David knew that to be so. And he was guilty, about that there was no doubt whatever. But it was this very guilt that was making him a better man, a better priest, a better writer.
In the end he leaned toward the theory that it was all in his mind. This was by far the more comfortable supposition. To speculate otherwise was to admit that his affair with Pamela threatened to bring him down, write finis to his ecclesial profession, his literary career, his marriage, to a most satisfying life that was getting better by the day.
Nonetheless, doubts lingered, sometimes haunting, his waking hours, occasionally invading his dreams.
Enter Klaus Krieg.
At first blush, David was flattered. It is one thing-and a marvelously wonderful thing-to be accepted by a publishing house. It is an even more heady experience to be sought after by a publishing house. And, beyond doubt, P.G. Press wanted him. Nor was P.G. Enterprises unknown to David.
He had watched the televised Reverend Krieg more than once. It was a professional interest. While David had no inclination to indulge in an Elmer Gantry-like fire-and-brimstone ministry, he was fascinated by Krieg’s ability to manipulate a diversified crowd.
David might never have paid any attention to the publications arm of P.G. Enterprises had it not been for that television ministry. As it was, he was barely aware that Krieg published books of a religious nature. Occasionally he’d seen some in bookstores and markets, but the garish covers had discouraged investigation.
When the contractual overture came from Krieg, David began looking into P.G. Press. He had been around long enough and had enough worldly experience to know about the nonexistence of the free lunch.
Among his upwardly mobile parishioners were representatives of many diverse professions. One in particular was a sales representative for a large commercial publishing house. David talked with this gentleman about the P.G. offer and was strongly advised against signing the contract. So he sent Krieg a brief, cordial, one-man-of-religion-to-another letter declining the offer without stating any reason for the rejection.
And that, David thought, was that.
But it wasn’t.
Evidently Krieg had some sort of inability to take no for an answer. Periodically, he would write David, always finding a fresh angle on which to hang another invitation. David began deliberately postponing a response to such proposals, hoping Krieg would get discouraged or resigned, or lose interest, or experience any reaction that would cause him to cease and desist. But nothing seemed to work.
Things got even more intense after the publication of David’s third and latest book nearly a year ago. Father Emrich and the Reluctant Convert received nearly unanimous favorable criticism in the periodicals that deigned to review it. And, though sales were only slightly better than that of his previous work, that was satisfactory.
David’s continued success triggered an increased effort by Krieg to sign him. But oddly, the Reverend’s communications no longer called for a formal reply. In fact, Krieg’s missives now consisted almost entirely of propaganda highlighting P.G. Press’s achievements. Krieg made quite clear what manner of success he envisioned for David once he were to enter the fold. His overtures required no reply; they merely overflowed with information about the rosy future beckoning David.
Under the weight of all this literature, and freed of the necessity to respond, David read all or most of what he was sent from P.G. Press, then filed it all in the wastebasket. But he had to wonder where all this was leading.
The other shoe had dropped some six months ago with an invitation to the Reverend and Mrs. Benbow to visit P.G. Enterprises just outside Mission Viejo, California.
Martha said it was quite out of the question for her. She had several major closings scheduled, and trusted no one else to handle them. But she strongly encouraged him to go. It would be a nice break for him; he needed one; no sense waiting for her to have time for a vacation, not with sales doing so well.
Finally, with many misgivings, David accepted the invitation. All that Martha said was true. He needed the refreshment of some time off and away. And in truth, he was curious to see for himself the complex institution that was P.G. Enterprises. The compelling argument he gave himself was that the visit might end Krieg’s full-court press to sign him to a contract. David had said no to the proposition in every possible way but face to face.
It was at the end of March-not a bad time to trade Illinois weather for that of Southern California-that David Benbow visited P.G. Enterprises, all expenses paid.
On arrival, David was given a complete tour of the vast complex. He was properly impressed. He had no reason to doubt Krieg’s characterization of the television studios as state-of-the-art. The cathedral itself was a gigantic atrium that ascended endlessly toward heaven.
During that extended weekend, David was ushered about by interchangeably bright, mostly blond, young men and women, who seemed never to stop smiling. His quarters were flawless. His every want was seen to, in many cases anticipated.
Friday and Saturday evenings he dined with the Reverend and Mrs. Klaus Krieg. Mrs. Krieg-“just call me Betsy”-seemed to dote on every word that fell from anyone’s lips, but especially those of her husband. As far as David could determine, Betsy had no original thoughts-nor, for that matter, many thoughts at all. But she was gorgeous and well kept. David quickly learned to enjoy looking at her and to expect nothing of substance from her. Betsy and her husband appeared to get on wonderfully. He treasured her and she appreciated him and all he provided for her.
Sunday night, David’s final evening in this lavish complex, was memorable. He sensed it would be even before he learned he would be dining alone with the Reverend Krieg.
If everything, particularly the meals, during these three days had been without flaw, tonight’s dinner was as close to perfection as one could come this side of heaven. It seemed that Krieg had somehow researched Benbow’s eating habits. Nearly all David’s favorites were served: vichyssoise, Caesar salad, lamb (medium-rare), new red potatoes, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, red fruit gelatin, double chocolate cake.
The preludial white wine gave way to a fine red with the meat. Coffee was served, and a bottle of cognac placed on the table.
Krieg lit a cigar and contentedly exhaled a thick cloud of aromatic smoke. As far as Benbow was able to tell, Krieg smoked cigars at every opportunity except when someone present would be offended. Although he was not a smoker, David enjoyed the aroma of both pipe and cigar. Krieg apparently knew that. Not once did he ask David; somehow he knew.
Krieg seemed to examine the cigar as he spoke. “Have you enjoyed the weekend?”
David smiled. “That has to be a rhetorical question.”
Krieg returned the smile. “Good, good. I was hoping it would be restful. It pays to get away from the grind from time to time.”
“How about yourself, Klaus?” They had been on a first-name basis from the moment David arrived. He knew some referred to Krieg as “Blitz” but this privilege of so addressing him had not been extended.
“Me?”
“Yes, there’s no sign that you ever take a break.”
“This. .” Krieg’s expansive gesture seemed to encompass the entire P.G. kingdom, “. . this is my vacation. It’s all I wanted. All I ever aimed for.”
If this is the whole ball of wax, David thought; if this is everything you want, why have you been bugging me to work for you? But, to remain the gracious visitor, he said only, “Well, it does seem to have just about everything a man could want.” He drained his coffee cup.