"Excuse me," Julie said, her voice still lowered respectfully. "I'd like to introduce you all to some new friends. Tom is a very successful businessman" – a low hum of impressed voices – "and Shanna's a very cool girl we met."
The others, all in their late teens and early twenties, rose to greet them. Handshakes were coupled with lots of friendly touching -elbow grasps, rubs on the back by the girls, shoulder squeezes by the guys. They smiled continuously, enigmatically, as if sharing a secret.
Tim felt a keen disappointment that Leah wasn't there. A small group of kids this age was easy to control – he could've flashed tin, thrown around some copspeak, and hustled her out the door before anyone knew what was going on.
A sleek black-ash table against the wall housed a few of the myriad candles and trays of cookies and drinks. No chairs or couches – just a lot of blank carpet and colorful throw pillows. Tim noted the sole bathroom off a short hall that terminated in a closed door.
Everyone milled around, snacking and focusing on the newcomers.
"So, Tom, we'd love to know more about you."
"Shanna, are you from here?"
"You remind me of my older brother."
"Great new goatee. You wear change well."
"You have the exact eyes of this childhood friend who I loved."
When Tim or Shanna spoke, an awed hush filled the room. Lots of eye contact, sympathetic coos, encouraging exclamations. Tim couldn't readily distinguish between the other members – their intonations and facial expressions were remarkably similar. Though the responses were creepy and transparently manipulative, he had to confess there was also something pleasurable in being the center of such concerted attention. He felt buoyant and happy; his head hummed with a caffeine high.
His buzz was undercut by the sudden awareness that not only was he standing barefoot and mimicking the soft tones of those around him, but he was wearing a matching smile. He pictured Leah drifting into a room such as this, dissolving into the warmth and acceptance.
He excused himself to go to the bathroom, finding two crisp hand towels and three seashell soaps, all unused. On his way back, he peeked behind the closed door. A completely bare bedroom, as he'd suspected. Just a vacuumed square of carpet.
He returned to the group and mingled. When he tried to press Julie on specifics about the group, she smiled indulgently. "But we want to hear more about you."
Finally Lorraine interrupted the festivities, dinging a Cross pen against her water glass. She perched on her cushion with her flexible legs interwoven, a pose the others tried to mimic. When she faced Tim and Shanna, her entire bearing had changed. Her posture was tense, her facial muscles rigid, and her eyes had gone glassy, as if she were staring through them. Her speech was robotic, regurgitated, the intensity and volume lending a cadence different from her own.
"No matter how successful we are, we all have things in our lives that we're not happy with. Do you have things you're not happy with? Tom? Shanna?"
They nodded.
"Have you taken steps to change those things you're not happy with?"
"I guess not really." Shanna studied the floor, embarrassed. "I mean, I try things now and then, but none of them have really worked."
"Well, then you're giving those things the power to control your life. There's a colloquium that Julie and I have gone to that's given us some incredible insights. We'd really like your opinion on it."
Shanna fussed with a hangnail, her face uncomfortable.
"Do you want your insecurities to have power over you forever?"
Shanna kept her eyes lowered. "No."
"Well, by not going to this colloquium, you're doing just that."
Tim thought that a smart guy like Tom Altman might have a few objections at this point. "Is this colloquium the only way to avoid that?"
"Not at all. We just like you and want to share this with you. We're presenting a solution that could change your life and bring you a ton of fulfillment." She dealt with Tom's question but got right back to the script.
Julie picked up. "We figured you might appreciate a new option."
"I don't know. It just sounds a little like…I don't know" – Tom Altman paused, fearful of alienating his new companions – "like you're recruiting us or something."
Flutters of laughter from around the circle. Not a hint of defensiveness.
"Like into a brainwashing cult?" Julie smiled.
"Well, I've heard those groups get people to go to seminars and stuff."
"And so do universities," Lorraine said. "That doesn't make them cults. And besides, if you look at it that way, everything's a cult. We all breathe air, so anyone who breathes air is in the air-breathing cult."
Tom Altman, wanting to be convinced, let the point go.
"This colloquium rocks. I'm telling you, it changed my life, gave me direction. You strike me as pretty worldly. We wouldn't waste your time – or ours – inviting you to something lame. You came here today, so obviously you're open to new ideas."
"I guess I am," Tom Altman admitted.
"So which colloquium do you want to go to? Tomorrow's or next week's?"
From the back – "I want to go tomorrow!"
The others scrambled to sign up for the next day.
Julie cast an eye at the clipboard. "Tomorrow's almost full."
Shanna nibbled on her nails. "I'll do it," she said in a rush. "I can cut classes."
"Tom? How 'bout you?" The clipboard was handed around the circle, landing in his lap. Thirteen sets of eyes fixed on him.
A glance at the clipboard revealed only one listed option. The proceedings began at five tomorrow morning, leaving recruits virtually no time to rethink their decisions and back out. His frustration rose – he still hadn't confirmed that this was Leah's cult, and he didn't have time to waste in an unrelated colloquium. "Can you tell me a little more about it?"
"It's amazing." Julie had an irksome habit of clasping her hands to her chest when she spoke.
"Who's gonna run the colloquium?" He received a round of confused looks. "Usually there's one person who steers the ship. An instructor or something."
"Well, we all participate together. What's really important is the experience you're gonna have. It's about you and your growth."
Too self-conscious to make eye contact, Tom Altman gazed down at the sign-up sheet. A single remaining blank line awaited his name. In less than an hour, someone with moderate Internet sophistication could uncover Tom Altman's $90 million portfolio, his hydrofoil in the Marina, his Lear at the Burbank airport, his recently sold Bel Air mansion, liquidated during the divorce.
"I'm just anxious about what happens if I go and run into problems. I mean, something someone ordinary can't solve."
"Oh." Lorraine grinned. "Don't worry. There'll be lots of Neos at your stage."
Tim leaned over and signed. "I think tomorrow works just fine."
Chapter eighteen
It's in a Radisson, Bear. How sinister can something in a Radisson be?"
"My date with Lenora Delarusso from Metro wound up there. That's how sinister."
At the wheel of his truck, Bear coasted about a half block behind Reggie Rondell, who was heading east on foot. They'd pulled into the RestWell parking lot just as he'd struck out from the front desk, a little after 11:00 P.M. Boston rested his head on Tim's thigh, the warm drool just starting to work its way through Tim's pants. At Tim's respectful push, Boston aimed a baleful gaze his way, then curled around, redirecting his attentions beneath a flared hind leg.
"This won't be a roomful of easily cowed kids – it's a huge cult seminar. If the girl's there, you can't just flash badge and walk her out anymore. You've got adults, hotel staff, a shitload of cult higher-ups. If you make a scene, someone is bound to inquire, and you've got dick to back up an arrest." Bear sighed weightily. "You can't risk that."