"Hello, Cassandra," Jenkins called out.
"Hello, Uncle Stevie."
Cassandra had considered seducing the senator's handsome, single son as well, but Bradley was kind of a pain in the ass. And worse, he was Sara's friend. Every time they saw each other, the two of them gabbed for hours, ignoring Cassandra completely.
If Sara and Bradley had been lovers, Cassandra might have considered it. But they weren't. From the day of her marriage two years ago, Sara was dedicated to Michael to the point of absolute boredom.
Cassandra poured some suntan oil into her cupped hand and began to massage it onto her legs. From across the pool Senator Jenkins watched, his eyes wide and hungry.
"Stephenr Mrs. Jenkins called.
"Bradley?"
The senator looked away regretfully.
"One minute, dear."
"Hurry, everyone! Sara's on!"
The crowd moved quickly now. In a few minutes everyone was inside, watching the television. Cassandra lay back and closed her eyes. Sara was on national TV. Who gives a rat's ass?
Sara felt a knot form in her stomach. She knew that the Reverend Ernest Sanders was sitting in the next room, waiting to be interviewed.
He was good in an interview slick as a greased pig. If the Reverend Sanders did not like a question, he dodged it by an old, proven method: he ignored it. He could frustrate and fluster an interviewer with the best of them.
Most of Sara's report on Sanders and his Holy Crusade was taped, so she removed her glasses, took a deep breath, and willed herself to remain calm. She had gone over the report so many times that she knew every word by rote memory. She sung softly to herself and only listened to bits and pieces of the story.
Starting twelve years ago with only a few dozen members, the Reverend Ernest Sanders, former member of several white supremacy groups, built the Holy Crusade into a powerful movement encompassing thousands of members throughout the country. Combining what Sanders calls "deep, religious values" and "traditional American rights," the Holy Crusade has been blanketed in controversy from its inception... the IRS has confirmed that neither the Reverend Ernest Sanders nor his wife Dixie have filed income tax returns in twelve years... Reverend Sanders has spent as much as ten thousand dollars a day on himself and several young women during "missionary" trips to Caribbean islands without a single new member of the Holy Crusade to show for it... millions of dollars in Holy Crusade donations missing... the FBI is investigating corruption in the upper ranks of the Reverend Sanders... When the taped portion of the story was finished, the camera swung to pick up the familiar and comforting face of Donald Parker. Sara stopped singing all together.
"We have the Reverend Sanders here in our studio," Parker stated.
"Reverend Sanders, good evening."
Ernest Sanders appeared on a screen, rather than in person.
As on Ted Koppel's Nightline, guests rarely if ever sat in the same room as the interviewers. A toll-free number appeared below his image.
"Good evening, Donald." Sanders voice was pleasant, relaxed.
Sara felt the knot in her stomach tighten. The minister wore a light blue, three-piece suit, an obvious hairpiece, and a gold wedding band.
No watch. No other jewelry. Nothing ostentatious.
His face was gentle, trusting; the face of a dear uncle or friendly neighbor. His bright smile, one of his biggest assets, was firmly set.
"Thank you for joining us."
"Thank you, Mr. Parker." Donald Parker asked the first question.
"You saw the report, Reverend Sanders. Do you have any comments?"
Sanders' face was so damn calm that Sara wanted to scream.
"I am a man of the Lord," he said in a smooth, Southern drawl.
"I understand human desires."
"I'm not sure I follow you, sir."
"It's clear to me and the God-fearing people around the nation what is going on here. I do not think I need to lower myself to Miss. Lowell's level by answering her charges."
"No charges were leveled, Reverend Sanders," Sara broke in, putting her wire-rimmed glasses back on her face.
"Are there facts in the report you would care to dispute?"
"Do not be so sly, Miss. Lowell. I know what you are really after."
"What is that, Reverend Sanders?" He smiled.
"A name for yourself. A quick reputation. What better way than to try to drag the good name of a simple preacher through the mud? A man who preaches the Bible in all its glory, who helps those less fortunate "
"Reverend Sanders," Sara interrupted, "your personal income last year is estimated at over thirteen million dollars, yet you paid no income taxes. Can you explain this?"
The remark did not faze him.
"Unless I'm mistaken, Miss. Lowell, your family is not exactly economically strapped. I seem to recall that your father has a rather spacious mansion of his own. Should his finances be questioned, too?"
"My father declares his income every year," she replied.
"My father can explain where every penny comes from. Can you do the same?"
"Of course," he stated emphatically.
"Your lies and innuendos do not fool God's chosen people. Many have tried to distract the righteous from the path of the Lord, but the Holy Crusade will march on. The Holy Crusade will not allow Satan to succeed."
"Can you address these supposed lies?" Sara asked.
"Can you be more specific?"
Sanders looked up and shook his head.
"Satan uses words to twist goodness and righteousness and make it appear evil," he explained like a school teacher lecturing an insubordinate student, "but we will not be fooled. We live in a society today that is overrun with immorality, but we stand firm.
What has happened to family values and ethics in this country, Miss. Lowell?
God- fearing people like my wife Dixie and I can't raise our children in this society anymore. Children are forced to attend public schools where God has been expelled but homosexuals are welcome. Does the Lord not tell us "
"Excuse me, sir, but you were about to address the issues raised in our report."
"What issues? "tour show does not address the real issue in America.
I'm talking about Armageddon, Miss. Lowell. The members of the Holy Crusade understand what is happening.
They understand that we are living in an era of Sodom and Gomorrah, that heretics and infidels are attacking God. Dixie and I are doing the Lord's work, but He helps us along. He gives us signs which you choose to ignore."
"The report spoke of your financial "
"Take what you call the AIDS virus, for example," Sanders interrupted, his voice rising to a fever pitch.
"What you call the new phenomenon of AIDS is just the final chapter of Sodom and Gomorrah. God is clearly striking down the wicked, immoral homosexuals and perverts with His plague."
"Reverend Sanders "
"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" he asked quietly, his smile brighter now, his eyes twinkling.
"Most Americans believe in the Lord's work as transcribed in the Bible.
Why then is it hard to believe He can still act in our present age? We have no trouble accepting the plagues of ancient Egypt. So why is it so hard to accept the plague of modern America? And woe to him who does not take heed. The sinners, Miss. Lowell, there is no place left for them to hide. If AIDS is not a sign of what is to come, if AIDS does not make you accept the Lord as you only salvation and repent, then nothing will show you the light. You are doomed."
Sara closed her eyes and tried to keep her temper in check.