CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR - Ex-Stuntman

 This is Chapter 24 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.     
 Solomon Branch’s Stunt Ranch-1979. The caramel-brown horse reared up on her hind legs at Judd’s signal.

“Okay Choosy, who do you love?” The horse neighed enthusiastically as she nodded her head, and nuzzled Judd on the shoulder. He pulled out a sugar cube and fed it to her. “Good girl.”

The young people sitting on the corral applauded. Judd addressed them while Jerry took the horse back to the barn.

“So you see kids, a stuntman’s job isn’t just jumping off tall buildings. You might be asked to work with stunt animals like Choosy there.” Judd motioned to the departing horse. “Now Choosy’s well trained, but even well trained animals can be dangerous. I know a guy who was doing a very similar gag like what you just saw with the barrel jump. The horse came down wrong and the stuntman not only broke his leg, but he caught a hoof in the face.” The class of aspiring stunt men and women moaned. “He was lucky. He just got a shattered nose and broken jaw. He could have had his skull crushed.”

“Yuk,” said a young woman in the group. 

Judd nodded solemnly. “That’s right. Yuk. Now I’m going to put you in the good hands of Jerry who will show you how to lasso a runaway bull.”

The group applauded once more as Judd limped from the corral. His back was killing him. These days even minimal movement was a major irritant. He hoped that Solomon had some of those pain pills left. 

“Pretty good,” said a voice. Judd looked up to see Goldie leaning against a covered wagon.

“Hey lady, what are you doing way out here?”

“Just got back from Chicago. I was casting a TV spot for “Quaker Oats”.”

“Sounds yummy. Follow me to the chow hall and I’ll buy you a burger.” He noticed the script in her hand. “What’s that?” She handed it to him. On the cover was the title, “The Teacher” by Paul Morgan. “If this isn’t my life story, I’m not interested,” he joked.

“It’s about our Savior.”

“Your Savior,” he corrected gently. Goldie ignored the rebuke as he thumbed through it. “Haven’t they done a couple of movies on this already?”

“Probably a couple of thousand,” she replied. “But it’s always worth re-telling.”

 He gave her a sly smile. “You don’t want me to play God, do you?” 

She returned her own sly smile. “No, but the part of Judas is open.”

 He looked uncertain. “He’s a bad guy, isn’t he.”

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t confuse him with Roy Rogers.”

“So what can I do for you love?”

“I was wondering if you could get this script to Josh Smythe.”

“Josh Smythe? I don’t know.”

“Haven’t you worked with him?”

“We did a movie down in the Bahamas a few years back. And we did one in San Francisco. He always wanted to do his own stunts. The man is a nut.”

“So he knows you.”

“Everybody knows me. I’m sure Josh would remember me, but we weren’t drinking buddies or anything. I could send it to his agent.”

“We already tried that. His agent refused to look at the script, because of the subject matter.”

“Can you blame him? It’s religious. That stuff isn’t selling too much these days.”

“Please Judd?” 

Judd stopped and leaned on the hitching post in front of the chow hall. He made the pretense of deep thought, but he was really gearing himself up to take the three steep steps that led into the eatery. Solomon had made the steps purposely high and steep to keep his stuntmen in condition. Judd had too much pride to use the ramp.

“Hmm. Maybe I could get this script to him. I don’t have his number, but I do have Mickey Yulin’s. Mickey could get it to him.”

“That would be great. I really appreciate it. Josh Smythe is the Howard Hughes of movie stars. Even Cory Stilling failed getting this to him.” Judd took her hand and led her up the steps, wincing with each stab of pain. 

He disguised his discomfort with a question. “How do you like your burger?”

“You know I like it well done with plenty of mustard.”

“Just testing,” he said through gritted teeth. He held the door for her and they entered the air-conditioned chow hall.

Anna found Senta in the lunch line after she’d gotten in from the prison library.

“Senta, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Kayla’s dead. They found her in her cell. She OD’d.”

The old Senta would have cried out in triumph, thrusting her fist in the air defiantly. Now, she felt an overwhelming loss and sadness for the soul that was Kayla’s. As if reading her thoughts, Anna said, “There’s nothing you could have done to save her.” 

Senta was taken back by this. “I didn’t realize you’re a mind reader, Anna.” 

Anna smiled sadly. “It’s in God’s hands, Senta. He knows how she became who she was and what choices she made. We are familiar with the chain of sins she forged in life, but who knows? Maybe God used her to help someone else.” 

Senta stared at Anna as she took her tray to the long lunch table. “I’ll say this for you, Anna, you always get me to see things in a different light.”

They sat at the table and bowed their heads, each giving a silent blessing. Senta raised her head first and waited for Anna to finish her prayer. She worried about her friend. Anna was a model prisoner, but she was in jail for life. She was ineligible for parole. Anna raised her head and picked up a corn muffin. “I’ve always wondered what they put in these things.” The prison baked some sort of mustard substance into the muffins. Senta found it unappealing, but Anna seemed to like them.

“I don’t know, but you can have mine. I think it might be snot.”

“Ugh. On the other hand, it’s pretty good snot,” smiled Anna. Senta put her corn muffin on Anna’s metal tray. They ate in silence, each in their own world. “So you’re up for parole in a few months. How do you feel? You think they’ll let you out?” 

Senta swallowed a mouthful of beans before she answered. “I have no idea.”

“Good. That’s the way you should think. I’ve seen gals in here make parole their first time out and they were hard cases. Then I’ve seen some really sweet ones who cause no trouble, get denied time and again.”

“I hear you, sister,” said Senta. “I’ve seen it all before. Expect the unexpected.”

Senta wanted out badly, yet she was at peace. If God wanted her to remain in prison, she knew it was for a purpose. She prayed for the strength to accept the board’s decision if they chose to deny her parole. 

Anna grasped her hand. “Don’t worry my dear. God won’t give you too much to bare, no matter what happens.” It seemed that Anna was reading her mind again.

Josh read “The Teacher” through for a second time.

“Yes,” he said to himself. He put the script down that Mickey Yulin had sent him and went straight to the phone. His excitement was mounting as he realized he hadn’t felt this way for a long time. Mickey’s phone rang, but no one answered. Mickey’s answering machine did not pick up the call. This was unusual. He hung up the phone and dialed George, who was Mickey’s assistant. He caught George at dinner.

“Hey Josh, long time, no see.”

“Hi George. I hope I didn’t disturb you. I’m trying to get a hold of Mickey.”

“He’s in Palm Springs with the new wife. They’re trying out one of those spas that put mud all over you and slices of zucchini over your eyes.”

“Do you know the name of the spa?”

“No, but he sometimes stays at Sinatra’s place.”

“Thanks George.” 

Josh tracked Mickey to a place called The Oasis. “Hey Mickey, its Josh. I got that script you sent me.”  Mickey’s voice shuddered and shook as he spoke. Josh had caught him in the middle of a massage.

“Good, how was it?”

“I think I found the role I’ve been looking for. The part of Jesus would be a challenge. Is he a man? Is he God? And the character shows a wide range of emotions.”

“Sounds intriguing. I liked Max Von Sydow’s portrayal in “The Greatest Story Ever Told”, but you could bring even more dimension to the part.”

“Right, Mickey. I mean, what other challenge is there, but to play God.  I just need to know…when do we start?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the shoot. What’s your schedule?”

“I’m not shooting this script, Josh.”

“If you’re not, then who is?”

“I have no idea. You know Judd Wagner?”

“Yeah, I know Judd.”

“He sent me the script to send to you. I didn’t read it, but Judd always had a good feel for these things.”

“Have you got his number, Mick?”

“Call George, he’s got it.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

When Josh tracked Bretherd Hamon down, he was not concerned about the small budget and working for scale. Money was one thing he didn’t need. He needed a role that pricked his imagination, and the role of Jesus was it. What’s more, the script was superb, gripping. The dialogue did not sound stilted, which was the usual pitfall for such a piece.

“Who is directing this, Mr. Hamon?”

“Paul Morgan is the writer/director. The budget is small, so I can’t afford some of the directors you’ve worked with, but I’ve seen Paul’s work and I assure you he knows the subject well.” 

He’s inexperienced, thought Josh. That was okay too. An inexperienced director would give him more leeway. Hamon continued.

“Paul has directed several productions at the Loaves and Fishes theatre down in the Christian Quarter.” Josh had heard of the theatre group. He’d seen an article in the Times about Cory Stilling and how she’d turned the warehouse district into an arts and entertainment center. Even though she wasn’t doing much acting, he still kept up with her.

 He was so busy thinking of Cory, he missed what Bretherd Hamon was saying. “I’m sorry Mr. Hamon, what was that?”

“I said Paul Morgan may be inexperienced, but he is a Biblical scholar. I’m sure you can see that in the script.”

“That’s good Bret…can I call you Bret?”

“Everybody does, son.”

“It’s good that the writer knows the subject. He will be a fountain of information for me. I like to do deep research on the roles I play.”

“Then you’ve got a lot of research ahead of you. Jesus is as broad a subject as Roman history or The Civil War. I would like to meet with you and Paul so we could discuss “The Teacher” thoroughly.”

“Great Bret. You name the time and place.”

After he hung up, Josh drove to the nearest bookstore and bought a Bible.

The rocky hill sloped down into the brown water of the Pecos River. George Tobin had set up his camera on the west bank and was discussing the shot with his light man.

“Let me see a cluster of people over by the large rock!” Paul shouted. He was having to yell over the activity of the “movie set”. He looked at Janie Lambert and nodded at the riverbank full of extras and equipment. “Isn’t this great?” 

Janie fanned herself with her straw hat. “You might be enjoying this, but I’m burning up.”

“I just need a few more snapshots, then you can go over and rest in the shade.”

Janie was working as a continuity person. She was taking snapshots of the actors’ positions on the hill so Paul would know where to put them after they broke for lunch. Paul pointed to an extra in a blue tunic. “Bobby, move over to the bush. Keep your hands to your side.” Bobby did so. “Great. Now let me have Josh’s stand-in.”

“I’m ready,” Josh called out. Everyone watched the star that was walking from the wardrobe trailer. His hair had not been this long since the 70’s. His beard and costume had a startling effect. He looked very much like many pictures of the way Christ had been portrayed throughout the ages. Paul met him near the riverbank.

“We really don’t need you for lighting the scene, Josh. You need to go back to the dressing room and rest.” 

Josh waved him off. “I don’t mind, Paul. The real Jesus would have been sweating along with the others out in the desert.”

 Paul thought about it. “You’re right. But I’m going to have Cheryl dab you off and keep you cool until we’re ready. We can’t afford your getting sunstroke or something that the real Jesus would not have gotten.”

“Where do you want me?” Josh asked. 

Paul pointed up the hill at two extras. “Stand behind those two guys next to the large rock. On my cue, you will emerge from between them and slowly make your way down to Steve.” Paul gestured to Steve who was lounging under an umbrella on the west bank. He was playing John the Baptist, and Cheryl, the make up person was working on his fake beard.

“Sounds good,” said Josh as he walked up the hill to take his position.

Paul was grateful for Josh’s cooperation and professionalism. He didn’t know what to expect when he met the big star at a restaurant in Beverly Hills. He had heard that Josh Smythe was difficult to work with. He didn’t throw temper tantrums on a set, but he drove directors crazy with his method acting. Josh had an obsession of “being” the character. Of course being Jesus was harder than being a drug addict.

He appreciated Josh’s research and the way he threw himself into the role. He was like a sponge, soaking up all he could about Christ, the apostles and the history of those times. By the time they had met at the restaurant, Josh amazed Paul with his recitation of the Sermon on the Mount.

“I don’t even include the entire sermon in the script,” Paul said.

 Josh shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a great speech. It helps me get into the character.”

By their first read through of the script, Josh knew all of his lines. This was unusual since most actors learned only those lines they were shooting for a given day. They held some rough rehearsals at the theatre, and Paul was stunned at how Josh seemed to create a Christ-like figure. Steve was so blown away, he had to take a break. 

He got Paul alone in the green room as the cast took a break. “Paul, is it just my imagination, or was someone shining a light on Josh’s face when we were blocking that scene?”

“I know, I know. He seems to have this…this inner spirit.”

“If the camera can catch that…” Steve shook his head. He couldn’t finish his sentence.

Paul was also pleased with how Josh handled the conditions. Here was an actor who was used to a large dressing room and luxury hotels. When the cast and crew moved into the Granger University dorm, Dean Wyatt offered Josh a room in the guest house hotel on campus. Josh insisted on rooming with Steve in the freshman dorm. The only demands Josh had made so far were to have an ice chest of bottled water near him at all times.

George Tobin had finished lighting the scene and called over to Paul. “We’re ready, Paul.”

Janie got up from under her umbrella and marked her sheet, which had the scene and take numbers and running time of the scene.

 Paul turned to the cast and crew. “Okay people, we’re ready. Everybody get into position.”

 Steve called from under his umbrella. “Am I needed for this, Paul?”

“Not in this shot. Keep cool.”

Paul wished he had a bullhorn or megaphone, but he cupped his hands over his mouth to be heard. “This is the first time the audience will see the adult Jesus. Remember your blocking and attitude. You are all focused on John the Baptist, standing in the river. Jesus will walk out from behind our two guys and head down to the riverbank. Keep your eyes forward. Do not look at him.”

The scene went smoothly and Paul got a second take for safety’s sake. “Good work everybody, let’s break for lunch!”

Senta sat in her cell, reading her New Testament. She turned to the part about the apostle Paul’s imprisonment. She empathized closely with Paul, not because he was in prison, but because he had become a believer after a life of cruelty to Christians.

“14768, out!” Senta looked up at the guard, Claresa. Funny. Claresa hadn’t called her by her number in years. The large, black woman was a no nonsense type, but fair. Her face was always a blank wall, and it took a while for Senta to learn Claresa’s body language. Right now, Claresa was all business, as she stood erect by the cell door. “Warden wants to see you.” Senta felt her stomach drop. The parole board had made a decision on her hearing. The fading scar on her neck itched. She rubbed it as she stood up.

“Do I need to bring anything with me?”

 Claresa stared at Senta’s bare feet. “Put your shoes on.”

Senta was led through several corridors and up some stairs. The only time she had been in the warden’s office was when she first arrived. The warden herself laid down some general rules and told her and the other two girls who had come in with her that “if they kept their noses clean, they’d be okay”. She remembered that meeting and at the time thought, “easier said than done”. Of course back then, she’d been an addict full of hate.

Claresa gave Senta over to another guard, a man who put their prisoner in handcuffs. When the guard saw her surprised expression, he spoke to Senta. “It’s standard procedure. All prisoners must be contained when they go to the warden’s office.”

They got on the elevator, and Senta felt sweat on her upper lip. She wanted to wipe if off, but was afraid to make any movement. She didn’t know this guard and didn’t want to cause trouble.

For the umpteenth time, she said the prayer to herself. It had become a mantra. Dear God, you know I want my freedom more than anything. If I make parole, I will do all I can to be a good steward for Thee. But if it is not Thy will that I be released, then I pray to be a good steward for Thee within the walls of this prison. This will be Thy field of which I will labor. It is in Jesus’ name that I pray to Thee. Amen”

The elevator door opened, and the guard let Senta out first. She hesitated in the long hallway and the guard pushed her firmly to the left. “This way. They moved the warden’s office last year.”

In the hallway were pictures of previous wardens. Most of them looked harder than most of the inmates. The first nine wardens had been men. The rest were female. Only warden James (1957-1963) had a pleasant smile on her face. The current warden, Elizabeth Blaylock had been James’ successor. Her picture showed a stern woman with half a smile that could turn cruel to friendly, depending on her mood.

Senta was taken through a metal door with a plexi-glass window and found herself in the warden’s outer office. A trustee was filing papers and the warden’s assistant sat at a desk, typing a hundred words a minute. The assistant looked up at Senta and the guard. She pointed to a grey metal chair in the corner.

“Have a seat right there.”

Senta sat and watched the activity in the office. A young man who looked like a lawyer sat opposite her with a briefcase on his lap. Their eyes met for a moment, then they both looked away. She smelled stale coffee and noticed a piece of cardboard under one of the front legs of the desk to keep it level.

A radio was playing in the room. It was tuned to a San Diego station that played music from Mexico twenty-four hours a day. Senta looked down at her cuffed hands. For the first time she’d been in detox, her hands were trembling.

“Bergstrom, 14768!” Senta looked up. Had the assistant shouted at her or were her senses magnifying everything? The assistant was looking down at some paperwork as she spoke. “You can go in now.”

 The guard pulled Senta up by her arm. “Let’s go.”

Warden Blaylock sat at her desk, going over a file. Senta saw her prison photo that was attached to the inside of the file. The warden looked up and gave her that enigmatic smile. Would it turn cruel or friendly? She pointed to the lone chair that was in front of her desk. “Take a chair.” Senta sat. She noticed that the guard closed the door and stationed himself behind Senta. She could hear the guard breathing.

Warden Blaylock was taking her time looking through the file. Senta nervously wiggled her foot. A drop of sweat dribbled down behind her ear although the AC unit was humming along. Senta wanted to scream. Just tell me! Do I get out or stay?! Blaylock pressed the intercom. “Marie? Get me the file on 14768.” Senta wanted to tell the woman that her folder was right there on the desk. She swallowed her frustration and watched Blaylock study the folder. Then it hit her. Senta was a Christian. There was no frustration to swallow. She prayed silently for God to forgive her of her feelings and lack of faith. I know that Thou art with me. A feeling of calm came over her. She was no longer on edge.

The assistant brought in a thinner folder. She put it on the desk and quickly exited. The warden took some papers from the thinner file and attached them to the folder with her picture. Warden Blaylock looked up at Senta. “You really haven’t been here that long.” It was a statement, more than a question. 

“Yes ma’am.”

 Blaylock went back to the file, slowly turning the pages as her eyes scanned them. “A lot of time in the box.” Yes, isolation. When she first arrived, Senta had spent a lot of time in isolation. “You went to the Bin.” Yes, she had gotten clean. The warden wasn’t really looking for Senta to react, she was merely stating fact. She hit the intercom. “Marie, bring in your recording book.” Senta could hear stirring in the outer office. The assistant re-entered with a thick manual. She had a notary stamp. “Bergstrom, Senta, number 14768.”

She looked up at Senta. The warden’s shoulders sagged under her pressed suit. Did she look…sympathetic? Not a good sign, but Senta was ready for anything. She had Jesus taking the pressure off of her.

“I’m sorry Bergstrom, but the state requires that I ask you this question. Marie will you record Bergstrom’s response?” Marie stood with her form, the pen poised, ready. Senta held her breath. The warden continued. “No matter what a particular ruling is, or what the board decides, be it release or parole denied, it is my duty to ask you…do you feel that you are truly rehabilitated?” She had been asked the same question by the board. 

With as much sincerity as she could muster, Senta uttered… “Yes, I do.” Upon hearing her own voice, she thought she sounded wooden, hollow. The assistant was signing an affidavit and stamping it. She held it in front of Senta and handed her a pen.

It was hard to write her name in cuffs, but Senta scrawled her name on the paper. The assistant gave the paper to the warden, who attached it to the thick file. She motioned to the guard. “Take 14768 back to her cell.” Senta’s heart stopped. Her legs felt rubbery as she stood. It was okay. This was God’s will. God, who loved and protected her. She’d be okay. Then, the warden gave a smile, not too cruel, not too friendly. “Help her collect her belongings. In the meantime we will process your paperwork Ms. Bergstrom. You are a free woman.” The assistant and guard caught Senta as she fell forward in a faint.

CHAPTER 23 - Making Movies

This is Chapter 23 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

The Loaves and Fishes Corporation was growing faster than Cory could have imagined. She had taken an area that was pure blight and transformed it into a minor Soho-type district. It seemed like everything she touched was a success. She bought three more warehouses and found plenty of tenants.

For four square blocks, there were restaurants, shops and of course, the Loaves and Fishes theatre complex. Cory opened a shelter for the homeless and she even gave money to another shelter just outside the complex. It was called The Lighthouse that catered to homeless men.

The religious bookstore and shops attracted Christians and non-Christians alike. Trendy art galleries that featured religious art started moving in. The entire area was a phenomenon. It was dubbed, “The Christian Quarter” and it began to attract visitors not only from all over southern California, but also from all over the world.

“People are hungry for good, clean entertainment and a wholesome time.” Cory was quoted in the Times. The writer of the Times piece mused, “Without bars or nightclubs, Cory Stilling has tapped into a market that has never been explored. The Moral Dollars. When you visit the Christian Quarter, it’s like walking into a Norman Rockwell painting. And like another tourist spot, Disneyland, the streets of the Quarter are clean and neat, and so are the tourists.”

Cory was at her desk, mulling over a plan for a performance hall. Debbie Boone and the Osmonds told her they would commit to concerts when she told them of her plans. Her old cat, Doll, lounged on the windowsill, licking her paws. Cory’s office was down the hall from the costume room. Like her house, it was small, but operational. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” 

Her assistant, Davy stuck his head in. “Mr. Hamon’s here.”

 Bretherd Hamon was standing behind Davy. “Ms. Stilling.”

“Come in Mr. Hamon, and please call me Cory.” 

The man entered the small office. “Only if you’ll call me Bret.”

“Okay Bret, have a seat.” The older gentleman lowered himself into the black leather chair in front of her desk. “Paul said that “The Teacher” script is almost finished. Are you excited Mr….I mean, Bret?”

“I’m very excited. That’s why I’m here.”

“If you want me to be in it, I’m pretty busy.”

 His wizened face broke into a smile. “No, I wouldn’t think to intrude, although I’d be honored to have your talent as an actress.”

“What can I do for you, Bret?”

“As you know, The Evangelic Film Company is financing “The Teacher”. Our budget has increased about twenty percent since we started.”

“Do you need money?”

 He held up his hands and shook his head. “No, we’re okay there. The main reason for the budget increase is Goldie.”

“What did she do, convince you to shoot in Israel?”

“Close. She’s insisting we use a major star.”

“That would certainly add to the budget.”

“She’s got this bee in her bonnet that Paul should cast Josh Smythe as Jesus.” 

Cory looked over at Doll. “What do you think, Doll?  Do you see Josh Smythe as Jesus?” The old cat blinked at her lazily and went back to licking her paw. 

Bretherd continued. “I’ve been trying to get a script to Mr. Smythe, but I think I’d have better luck sending it to President Carter.”

“Did you send it to Josh’s agent?”

“They wouldn’t accept it,” Hamon said ruefully. “I thought maybe you knew him.”

“Josh?  I used to run into him at auditions before he was a super star. He even tried to give me his number once. Too bad I didn’t keep it.”

“The idea of having a big star could be a double edged sword, Cory. On one hand, Josh Smythe would sell tickets which means more people would hear God’s word.”

“True,” she agreed.

“On the other hand, some people might not be able to get past some of the other characters he has played…especially that drug addict, Speedo.”

“Did you think about an unknown?”

 Hamon folded his legs and leaned comfortably back in the chair. “Oh yes. I feel that’s the way to go, but Goldie keeps pushing Smythe. I respect her judgement and instinct on these matters. I did, however, like the young man who played Christ in “Price of the Cross”.”

“That was Steve. Steve Adams. He’s very good.”

“He would also be a good Peter or Matthew.”

“Steve could handle any role you’ve got.”

 Hamon looked like he made a mental decision, then uncrossed his legs. “Cory, if you could get a script to Josh Smythe, I would appreciate it. Of course, if he agreed, I could only pay him SAG minimum.  I could offer points, but that’s about it.”

“If you’re only going to pay SAG minimum, how come the budget increases?”

“I’m sure he would require a lot more perks than our usual cast members might demand.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, Bret. My agent knows his agent. We’ll give it a shot.”

The pain in his back woke him up. Judd groped for the pills on his night table and suddenly felt an invisible fist grip and twist his spinal cord.

“Oooh!” The attack of pain left immediately, but it rendered him immobile, afraid to move. When did his body start to betray him? His neck hurt, his knees ached, and his leg felt like it was curling up on him. He could feel the muscles tightening and clinching.

“Come on, Judd old boy…” he said to himself.  “…You don’t lay down and give up. Do something.”  He reached for the pills and tried to roll over to sit up. The invisible fist returned to punish his spine. “Auugh!” Judd rolled back over. The pain slowly ebbed. A tear rolled down his cheek. His entire body was throbbing. And his heart was pounding.

The beach was a large, warm potholder. The sand was soft with surface heat. Josh let his heels hang off the beach towel and dug his finger into the cool, damp sand below. “Hey lover.” He peered at Sandra through his sunglasses. She had come from off his sun deck and on to the beach.

“Was it too hot up there for you?” His new girlfriend had a martini in one hand and a Harold Robbins novel in the other. While he admired her white blond curls and Pacific blue eyes, he was already tired of her. 

“There’s a phone call for you. I think it’s your agent.” 

Josh closed his eyes. “Tell him I’m drowning in the ocean.”

“He said he’d just read a dynamite script that you’d be perfect for.” 

Josh reluctantly got off his towel. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk to him.” He was actually glad that Charlie had called. He preferred talking to his agent than Sandra who seemed a bit cloying. 

When he got to the phone, he heard Charlie talking to his secretary. “No Lisa, I can’t talk to him right now, I’ve got Josh Smythe on the line.”

“Hello, Charlie?”

“Oh, hi babe, what’s up?”

“You called me.”

“Yeah, hey, I’ve got a super script here for you.”

“So let’s hear it.”

“It’s called, “The Mac”. It’s about a hard-boiled detective in Miami. He’s tough. He’s smart. He’s handsome, but get this. He’s gay. He’s a gay detective. How’s that for breaking the stereo-type?” Josh didn’t mind playing a gay character, but it didn’t grab him like it apparently did Charlie.

“I don’t know, Charlie.”

“Come on Josh, at least let me send it over to you.” Josh hesitated. Why not? Maybe it was a good role.

“Okay Charlie. Have Lisa send it over by courier.”

“Now you’re talking kid. You’re gonna love it. Hey, let’s do lunch. Tuesday, Ciro’s.”

“See ya Charlie.”

Josh hung up the phone. He watched Sandra from the picture window. She was in the lounge chair reading Harold Robbins and sipping the martini. They had been together for a week, and already had run out of things to say.

Senta lifted her head so Paul and Zeke could see the angry red scar on her neck. Zeke felt a shudder. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“The doctor said that if the cut had been a millimeter larger, it would have hit a major artery. Then I would be dead.”

 Paul reached across the table and took Senta’s hands. “I am so glad you survived the attack.”

“Yeah, old Kayla has no surgical skills.”

Zeke shivered again, thinking of Senta’s escape. She gave a silent prayer of thanks that Senta had been spared.

“How’s your film coming Paul?” Senta asked.

“We’re still in pre-production. I’ve already cast some of the major roles. We’re still looking for a Jesus.”

“Everybody’s looking for Jesus,” Zeke added lightly. The three friends laughed.

“By the way, congratulations,” said Senta. “So he finally popped the question, eh Zeke?” Zeke looked shyly down at the table.

 Paul gave her a hug. “I had to. I couldn’t let Zeke get away.” Senta’s face softened. It was an expression Paul had rarely seen, but he was getting used to it.

“I am so happy for the both of you. Have you set a date?”

“As soon as “The Teacher” is in the can,” said Paul.

“Probably next winter,” said Zeke as she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Unless you go over-budget and get behind schedule.” Paul’s face was glowing. So was Zeke’s. Senta could feel their love across the table.

“Maybe you two should get married now. You’re both literally bursting.”

 Paul nodded, smiling ear to ear. “I just moved into a new house.” He looked deep into Zeke’s eyes. “Our house. Zeke picked it out. Until we get married, I’m adjusting to all that room. Adjusting to a new wife and shooting a movie would do me in,” he joked.

Zeke elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Actually Paul wanted to elope the night he asked me.”

“…but you wanted a big church wedding,” said Senta.

“No, not really. I was tempted to take him up on his offer, but I thought it best that he get the movie behind him.”

“She’s too level headed,” said Senta.

“Level headed, but still an artist,” he said. “Tell Senta about your new album.”

“You did another album? That’s great, Zeke.”

“It’s my twelve favorite hymns,” said Zeke. “And when you get out, I’ll be ready to do another one. Maybe you could do the vocals.” 

This stopped Senta. “I haven’t sung in years…haven’t even thought about it. That was a whole other life.” She touched the scar on her neck. “At least I still have my vocal cords, but I’ll bet they sound like rusty pipes.”

“Maybe,” said Zeke softly, regretting she’d brought up the subject. Before anything else could be said, the guard motioned to Senta.

“Time’s up. Let’s get you back to your cell.”

Paul dropped Zeke off at her father’s place. Ed had invited him to dinner, but Paul had lots of work to do on “The Teacher”. When he got to the new house he’d bought in Torrance, he couldn’t get over the size of it. Here, he had room for an office. There was a room for him and Zeke when they got married, two more bedrooms, one which could serve as a nursery, a large den, a kitchen with a butcher block island, a back patio for entertaining and luxury of luxuries, two bathrooms.

He had grown up in a small shack with an outhouse. He went to school and lived in a small dorm room with Allan. He’d spent most of his time in Viet Nam in closed up jungles and sweaty tents. Then he lived in his small apartment at Palm Harbor. He did not realize that by most standards, this new house was average sized. Like Cory, he didn’t want a ritzy mansion. He did, however, promise Zeke that if they ever did make enough money, he’d buy her a ranch house. It would be a place to raise kids in the country, away from Los Angeles. He got out his Rolodex and looked up Allan’s number. His old friend’s current address was The old Augustine Hospital in Kenya. After making connections through two operators, he heard Theresa’s voice from far away.

“Theresa? It’s Paul.”

“Paul! What a surprise!”

“How’s the equator treating you?”

“I’m wearing my sweater tonight. The temperature dropped to 102.” 

Paul suddenly realized the time difference. “Night?  Did I wake you up?”

“W e never sleep here, you know that.:

“Well I’m sorry if I did. Is Bigfoot there?”

“He’s out back, hosing down a baby elephant that wandered into the village. We hope it’s an orphan, otherwise we can expect a visit from his angry mom.”

“That’s all he needs is a three hundred pound pet to bring him his slippers.”

“Hold on Paul. I’ll get him.”

In moments, Paul heard his old friend coughing a half a world away. Then he heard Allan clearing his throat.

“You sound like you’re strangling an emu,” said Paul

“Hey pal, I was hosing an elephant and he filled his trunk up and gave me back some. How’s it going?”

“Good. How do you like Kenya?”

“It’s beautiful Paul. When you look over these vast plains and see the mountains, you know there aren’t any atheist out here.”

“I hear you brother. Listen, the reason I called was, do you still have contacts at Granger Christian College?”

“It’s Granger Christian University now. And Dr. Wyatt is still there.”

“Dean Wyatt? That’s good. I was wondering if he might have some empty dorm rooms this summer.”

“I could ask him. We speak about every month or so.”

“I’m shooting “The Teacher” in parts of New Mexico and west Texas and I’d like a place to house the cast and crew.”

“New Mexico and west Texas has places that look like the middle east two thousand years ago, but why don’t you just shoot it in Israel?”

“We’re talking low, low budget. Below the radar.  I’m using Bret’s editor.”

“Who’s Bret?”

“Bretherd Hamon, the producer.”

“Oh right, Goldie’s father. I’ve seen all of his films. We show them to people all over the world.”

“Like I said, it’s a low budget film. I’ve called my old friend, George Tobin. He’s going to be my cinematographer. Most of the cast will be from our Loaves and Fishes theatre and since I’m directing, you can be sure that this is low budget.”

“Is the Pecos River going to stand in for the River Jordan?”

“You’ve got it Ace.” 

Allan laughed. “Okay, I’ll give Dean Wyatt a call. I’m sure he can scare up some empty dorms. In fact, I’ll talk to Jolene at the theatre department. Maybe she can be of assistance.”

“We can use all the help we can get.”

“How are you and Zeke doing? Is she going crazy with the movie and all?”

“She’s pretty even keeled. If we have a really serious argument, which is practically never, the tension gets heavy and she plays the piano.”

“Wait a minute, let me write that down. I need to get Theresa some piano lessons.”  There was static on Allan’s end, and Paul missed his last comment.

“I can’t hear you Allan.” Static started on Paul’s end.

“What did you say?” Allan asked, his voice fading.

“I can’t hear you. I’ll call you next week.”

Before Paul hung up, he heard Allan’s far away voice sliced by static. He couldn’t make out the words, but he was sure they were, “Keep Christ Near You”.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO - In Limbo

This is Chapter 22 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

“Little children, keep yourselves from idols.”

1^st John 5:21

Williams/Chapman Agency Santa Monica Boulevard-1978. Charlie Chapman was Betty’s partner for thirty years. Now he was agency head and his client, Josh Smythe sat in front of his desk. Charlie slapped his hand on top of a stack of scripts two feet high.

“Josh, these scripts represent the finest writers, producers, and directors in the business. And all of the people behind these projects want you.” 

Josh looked at the stack of scripts as he sipped his bottle water. “That’s quite a stack, Charlie. It looks like the Capitol Records Building.” 

Charlie looked at him evenly. “You haven’t made a picture in three years. For most stars, that’s professional suicide. People forget you. Fans are fickle. Of course, in your case, you are as hot as ever.”

“I’m flattered Charlie, I really am.”

Charlie walked over to his big, picture window and looked out over Century City. Being on the 20^th floor offered a wide vista of concrete, glass towers, mountains and brown sky.

“I really need to move the offices to the west side of the building so I can see the ocean,” he lamented.

“Have you read all of those scripts, Charlie?”

“Every one of them. Three times over.”

“What’s your recommendation?”

 Charlie turned from the window and picked up the script that lay on top. “Here’s one about Jake La Motta, the boxer. Marty Scorsese is slated to direct.  It’s a super part, Josh.” 

Josh’s eyes focused out the window as he took another sip of water. “What else?”

“Wayne Hampton is working on a re-make of “The Third Man”. He even has Joseph Cotton and Orson Welles on board for cameos.”

“What else?” asked Josh.

 Charlie picked up a script about twice the size of the others. “Irwin Allen’s got a disaster film to end them all. It’s about a nuclear war and it will have an all star cast. He wants to cast the top ten roles with Oscar winners. Irwin’s talking about James Cagney playing the President. Cagney hasn’t made a film in eighteen years. This would be history, Josh. It’s a prestigious film. And Allen’s guaranteeing you eight million dollars, plus points. I’m not sure if Newman and McQueen got that much for “Towering Inferno.”  Peanuts compared to this.” 

Josh stifled a yawn. “Nuclear war. I guess that’s a movie asking the critics to refrain from using the word “bomb” in their reviews. Charlie, I appreciate your time, but money and prestige are no longer inducements. There’s just nothing there that excites me.”

Charlie flopped down in his plush chair, totally defeated. He had high hopes that the disaster film would intrigue Josh.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Josh. You’ve done it all. You’re far from forty, and you’re acting like your life is over.”

 Josh gave a sober nod. “I know Charlie. I thought after I laid off for a couple of years, some role would come up and slap me on the face. I would like to do another film, really. I’m just a little choosy.”

“Choosy,” Charlie sighed. “Josh, if I could write you a part, I would. I’ll keep looking for you, but this stack here is the cream of the crop. Why don’t you take some of these scripts and give them a look?” 

Josh shrugged. “I could use some reading material on the plane. Zela wants to visit the Holy Land, so we’re headed over there. I want to see some friends in Cairo. I met them when we were shooting “Sky Rockets”. He is an Israeli living in Cairo. Can you believe that? His wife is Egyptian.” Charlie’s mind was on the sexy Zela. She looked like a model, the kind that attracted Josh, but he didn’t think she had ever modeled before.

“I didn’t realize Zela was religious.”

“She’s not. She saw “Roots” on TV and now she wants to trace her own roots.” Josh had met Zela at a disco near Culver City. She was an exotic beauty with a good sense of humor. What really attracted Josh was, she didn’t seem to care that he was a big star.

“Sounds like you’ve finally found someone,” said Charlie, probing. 

Josh shrugged again. “Zela’s fun. She’s still all shiny and new to me.” Josh got up and grabbed two or three scripts. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll just retire from show business, Charlie.”

He left a pale and shaken Charlie popping a valium and chasing it with a shot of bourbon.

The streets were dusty and dirty. It was old Jerusalem and Zela was having a ball.

“Look Josh, that stone building over there must be two thousand years old! Just think of the people who walked by it.”

“Yeah, it’s old alright.”

This had been a big mistake. Josh was bored out of his mind. Zela was discovering her ancestry and he was itching to get to Egypt. The Wailing Wall did not impress him. The idea that Jesus and the apostles used to hang out in this area did not intrigue him.

When he shot “Sky Rockets”, he played an Israeli pilot. To research his role, he took flying lessons from Youssari, a commander in the Israeli Army. Josh spent a lot of time with Youssari and his Egyptian wife during the filming. They had visited Josh in Los Angeles, bringing their kids to see Disneyland.

Josh was not close to anyone. He kept his distance with most people. Even his affairs were distant. Few and far between. Youssari and his family were probably his closest friends and they were half a world away. Maybe that was why Josh liked that. He could keep his distance.

“Josh, look!” Zela exclaimed. “There’s the temple!” She took his hand and dragged him down the narrow street. There was a gauntlet of vendors selling trinkets and Zela stopped short of the temple entrance to buy some jewelry.

“That’s your third Star of David,” he observed dryly. Zela’s dark beauty had a true glow.

“Isn’t it exquisite?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said with no enthusiasm.

“I’ll give it to my aunt Letka.” She pulled him towards the entrance.

“Hold on Zela.”

“What is it?”

 Josh pulled a wad of bills out of his wallet. “You are really enjoying yourself. Here’s a plenty of money to keep you busy.” He started back up the dusty road. Zela couldn’t keep the surprise off her face.

“Josh? Where are you going?”

“Back to the hotel. I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“But I thought you were having fun.”

“You know the old saying. Too much fun makes Josh a dull boy.” He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the hurt on her face. Josh walked back to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “I need to call Youssari. And no, I’m not having fun. This is your history, your people, Zela. I want you to have a good time discovering your roots.” Her eyes grew wet. She gestured at the street activity.

“Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

 Josh looked around at the history that surrounded them. “To a boy from New Mexico? No.” He touched her gently under the chin. “Enjoy yourself, Zela. We’ll have dinner later.”

The next day, Josh flew to Egypt, leaving Zela with enough money to stay in Jerusalem for three months. While he was in Cairo, Zela flew back to Los Angeles and moved out of Josh’s Malibu house.

Solomon Branch rolled the smoking sausages over the grill. The Bee Gees played loudly from the pool cabana and competed with the hum of the partygoers. Solomon’s wife, Sharon, quietly came up behind him and gave him a hug.

“Happy Birthday, Darling.” Solomon pecked her on the cheek.

“I enjoy being fifty seven with you,” she said. Sharon took a long fork from him and started moving sausages around the grill. “I’ll take care of these. You go have fun.”

“Hey Sol!” shouted Jerry. “You got any Glenn Miller? Doc Wilson said he’s leaving if you play “How Deep Is Your Love” one more time.”

 Doc Wilson came out of the house with a plate of chips and hamburger buns. “Don’t believe him, Solomon. I love the Bee Gees.” With a hint of sarcasm, Doc Wilson added, “I saw “Saturday Night Fever” seven times.”

Solomon’s fourteen-year-old daughter, Trisha, who sat on the edge of the pool, gave a low, impressed whistle.

“Really Doc? I’ve only seen it three times. Isn’t John Travolta creamy?”

“Yeah, creamy,” Doc replied. Trisha looked across the pool to the man in the white suit.

“Now there’s my John Travolta!” The man in the white suit tossed his jacket behind him and struck a dance pose like the famous poster for “Saturday Night Fever”. As he posed, Goldie handed Judd his cane. 

“You better take this Mr. Travolta, before you fall.” 

Judd took his hand off the bar and shifted his weight to the cane. He limped over to a lounge chair by the pool. Goldie handed him a diet soda.

“Here, don’t spill it on your suit.”

“Yes ma’am,” Judd said obediently. Goldie sat by him and watched the festive activity around them.

“I need a decision Judd. I’m flying to New York tonight to cast a sit-com. I can’t wait much longer.” 

Judd shouted across the pool to Solomon’s daughter. “Hey Trish! Could you do an old man a favor and bring us some of those tortilla chips over on the  table?”

The girl grabbed a large plate of chips and hot sauce off the buffet table. She skipped around the guests, balancing the large plate and bowl of sauce. “Here you are Uncle Judd. Do you like my new bathing suit?” She twirled her colt-like legs, modeling her blue, one-piece suit.

“You’ll break John Travolta’s heart someday,” said Judd. “What do you think, Goldie?”

“Definitely a heart breaker,” she said.

Trisha spotted Jerry who was just inside the living room filing through the record albums.

“Hey Jerry. I’m coming in there to break your heart!” She dove into the pool and swam gracefully across it towards the house. 

Judd laughed softly to himself. “Kids.”

 Goldie nudged him. “You’re a kid yourself. You keep avoiding me.” 

Judd put his hand on her arm. “Sorry. I’m still thinking about your proposal.”

“I heard Jerry is going to be the stunt coordinator on that new Clint Eastwood film,” said Goldie.

“Yes, he’s going to Arizona next week I think. Eastwood is really going to like him.”

“He should. You trained him.”

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the activity around the pool.

“Solomon’s offered me a position at his stunt school.”

“That would be good.”

“But I’m still thinking about your proposal.”

“It’s your decision, Judd.” He sat in silence. A sharp pain shot up his leg. The nerves were still sensitive, even after his long recovery.

“The logical choice is to stay in the business. I can still be a stunt coordinator.”

“Yes you can,” Goldie agreed.

“On the other hand, with this bum leg, it wouldn’t be the same.” His eyes scanned the partygoers as he thought out loud. “And lecturing at Solomon’s ranch wouldn’t be the same either.”

Goldie had offered Judd a job with her casting company. He wasn’t much of an actor, but he had displayed a good eye for talent. Two years before, he’d suggested Trisha for the role of William Devane’s daughter in “Countdown to Armageddon”. Trisha proved to be a natural and got great reviews. To Solomon’s relief, his daughter wasn’t interested in pursuing an acting career. For Trish, pursuing boys and driving lessons were her main interests.

When Judd saw an unknown Christopher Walken in a play in New York, he told Goldie that he was destined for stardom. Judd had been right. Walken was a hot commodity in Hollywood, having wowed the critics with his performance in “The Deer Hunter”.

“So what do you think? Would you like to try your hand in the casting game?” Judd tried to ignore the pain shooting up his leg. He tried to avoid painkillers and kept it at low doses. It was getting harder.

“Go on to New York, Goldie. I’m not sure what I want to do.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “But I’d sure like to have you up there with me.”

 He gave her an apologetic shrug. “Sorry to leave you hanging.” She patted his knee lightly, not realizing it was sending new tremors of pain up his leg.

“I know you’ll make the right decision Judd.”

What he didn’t want to tell her was, he felt that her offer was an act of charity. Judd Wagner was a self-made man. He didn’t need her or anyone else to give him something he hadn’t earned. He would stick with the stunt world and ignore the pain rampaging through his body.

Senta sat up in bed, spooning hot soup down her wounded throat. The bandage would be coming off in a couple of days and she was now able to talk without breaking the stitches. The prison nurse brought her a letter.

“You’ve got mail, Senta.” Senta nodded, still not confident enough to do much talking. She took the letter and saw that it was from Paul. She put down her spoon and opened the letter.

DEAR SENTA,

I HOPE YOUR RECOVERY IS GOING WELL. YOU DON’T KNOW HOW HAPPY I WAS TO FIND OUT ABOUT YOUR BAPTISM. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE ANGELS SINGING EVERYWHERE. ANNA IS A REAL SWEETHEART. SINCE YOU’RE LAID UP, ZEKE AND I HAVE BEEN VISITING HER AND PRAYING FOR HER TOO.

I’M GLAD THEY TRANSFERRED THAT WOMAN WHO TRIED TO CUT YOUR THROAT. SHE SOUNDED CRAZY. LET ME KNOW WHEN THE PRISON HOSPITAL RELEASES YOU AND WE’LL COME SEE YOU.

I SENT THOSE BOOKS YOU REQUESTED AND HOPE THE PRISON LIBRARY CAN PUT THEM TO GOOD USE. ZEKE ADDED ON TWO MORE THAT YOU MIGHT LIKE.

ANNA MIGHT HAVE TOLD YOU ABOUT THE FILM I’M WORKING ON. OUR WORKING TITLE IS “THE TEACHER”, BUT I STILL LIKE THE TITLE, “JESUS”. THE SCRIPT IS HARD TO WRITE. HOW CAN YOU IMPROVE ON THE BIBLE? BRETHERD HAMON, THE PRODUCER, KNOWS THE BIBLE BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS. SO FAR, HE LIKES WHAT I’VE WRITTEN. I’M TRYING TO STAY AS SCRIPTURAL AS POSSIBLE, BUT SOMETIMES YOU’VE GOT TO FILL IN THE BLANKS. GOLDIE HAMON IS THE CASTING DIRECTOR. WHEN THE SCRIPT IS FINISHED, SHE WANTS TO SEND IT TO AL PACINO, JOHN TRAVOLTA AND JOSH SMYTHE. SHE MIGHT EVEN SEND IT TO JEFF FENHOLT. HE TOURED AS JESUS IN “JESUS CHRIS:SUPERSTAR”. UNFORTUNATELY, THIS IS A LOW BUDGET PICTURE, BUT GOLDIE WOULD STILL LIKE TO GET A BIG STAR IF SHE COULD.

ANNA TELLS ME YOU COULD BE UP FOR PAROLE IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS. WE WILL KEEP PRAYING FOR YOU WHILE YOU’RE IN THERE. I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU, BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING THOSE WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES ABOUT GOD.

                                                                               KEEP CHRIST NEAR YOU,

                                                                                LOVE, PAUL

Senta put the letter down. Paul. What a good person. He’d stood by her even after she’d stolen from him and accused him of dealing drugs. Why didn’t she see his goodness back then? She had been so blind. But Senta had one objective. Get out of jail. Get out of jail and she would pay her brother Paul back. That’s what he was to her. A brother. Family. Something she’d never had.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - God in L.A.

This is Chapter 21 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Anna told her about life as a frustrated young mother. Her husband left her when they found out about Susan’s deafness. As she spoke, tears streamed down her face.

“She wasn’t minding me that day. Susan had gotten into some chocolate ice cream. I kept putting it back into the refrigerator. I went to do laundry. When I got back, she had chocolate all over her. I went crazy. I kicked her. I kicked her and she fell down the stairs.” Anna stopped talking. She was biting her lip. “I killed my little girl. She was so sweet. All she wanted was some chocolate ice cream.”

Senta felt her own tears stinging her eyes. Without thinking, she reached over and hugged Anna. And she held her.

“I will carry the guilt all my life, Senta. I can’t fix that. And I cry for my child every day.” Anna broke away from her and blinked back her tears. “But I know God has forgiven me, even if I can’t forgive myself at times. And I know that He’s taking care of my Susan…and I’m doing everything I can so I can see her in heaven.” 

Everything at the moment stopped. Senta felt a chill down her spine. Somehow she made a connection. For a flash, she felt the pain and rejection that little Susan felt. Maybe there was something to this Jesus who changed people’s lives. Like a runaway train, her life flashed before her. Her wasted, useless, tortured life. What was the purpose of it all? Suddenly, she could see clearly what Anna was talking about. In that moment, she totally understood her friend, Paul and how he had forgiven her. Senta smiled through her tears. The words flowed out of her mouth. 

“Anna…you’re right. This is a good place for you to be. Maybe God put you here through Susan…so He could talk to me.”

Doc Wilson had stayed behind in Canada while the movie company went back to Hollywood to finish the Billy Dee Williams picture. He consulted with the French doctors at the little Coeur De Salvation Hospital. He wanted to know all there was about Judd’s condition so that when he talked to him, he’d have the answers.

The French doctor had a rudimentary knowledge of English. He spoke to Doc in a halting manner.

“He will get feeling in his limbs. Your stuntman…uhm…minor spinal damage, a warning.”

 Doc Wilson nodded. “I understand.”

“If he continues his stunting…a slight bump will paralyze him from the neck down. Or it could kill him.” Doc Wilson kept nodding, wondering how he was going to tell Judd that his career was over. “His leg will heal, but he will walk with a limp.”

The doctor’s English was too weak to be medically technical, but Doc understood Judd’s condition.

The nurse adjusted the tubes that sent various fluids through Judd’s veins. She heard how the stuntman was injured. It had been a straight, two hundred-foot drop into icy water.

“What was the movie they were filming?” she’d asked a friend.

“I think it’s called “The Last Dove”. It stars Burt Reynolds and Billy Dee Williams.” Her friend told her.

Now, as the nurse stood over the broken body of Judd Wagner, she made a mental note to go see “The Last Dove” when it was released.

Since his movement was limited, she didn’t notice that he was now awake. His eyes had shifted to hers and the glass of water on the table.

“Are you thirsty, mon aimee?” She dumped the warm water and got ice from the hallway. She returned with a fresh glass of cold water and a straw.

“Your doctor friend is still here. He wanted me to call him when you wake up.” As she held the glass, Judd sucked the ice water down with extreme greed. He felt like he’d been lying in the Sahara for the past three weeks.

“What time is it?” he croaked. His eyes shifted to the nurse who had hurried out. He tried moving his finger. First things first. Nothing. He tried to wiggle  his toe. There just wasn’t any feeling at all. 

Doc Wilson walked in and closed the door. He was smiling.

“So you’re awake now.”

“Go ahead Doc. Tell me the worst. I’m prepared.” 

Doc’s smile was fixed on his face. “You’ll be getting your feeling back in a few days.” Judd closed his eyes. Relief flooded over him. He thought he’d done himself in good. The smile was still frozen on Doc’s face. There was something else.

“Don’t lie to me, Doc.”

“I’m not. Soon, you’ll get your feeling back.”

“I thought I felt a tingle in my left calf last night.”

 Doc nodded. “You probably did. Your right leg has a bad compound fracture. It might not heal the way you want it.”

“Am I going to lose it?”

“You don’t have to if you follow doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t like that smile on your face Doc. I’m going to get my feeling back and my leg is going to heal to a certain extent. What else? What are you not telling me?” 

The tight smile melted as Doc pulled up a chair and sat. “Judd, your career is over.” Judd felt a muscle spasm in his neck as he assimilated the bad news. My career is over. That can’t be.

“How about getting a second opinion?”

“Sorry Judd. Doctor Lennard and I concur. And that was the rosy prognosis.” Judd tried to nod, but his neck muscles weren’t responding.

The neon sign on the side of Loaves and Fishes proclaimed that “Price of the Cross” was in its seventeenth hit week. Originally scheduled for a six week run, Cory had to add performances and moved the next play, “Barefoot in the Park” to the experimental theatre downstairs.

The Christian Science Monitor and Crossroads had given Paul’s play rave reviews. The Los Angeles Times and California Magazine had ignored Loaves and Fishes, but because the word of mouth was so strong, they sent their religious editors to give it a look. Both editors came back with glowing praise, but the Times and Magazine would not send their theatre critics. There was a piece in the Calendar section of the Times about “Price of the Cross” including a brief interview with Paul. That was pretty much it.

Word of mouth was what really kept the ticket office humming. At first, it was mostly church people, but word spread throughout the theatre community. Several movie stars attended the performances, along with prominent politicians. A “whatever became of…” article on Cory was written up in the San Diego Union. This article was picked up nationally and before she knew it, Cory’s theatre was flooded with reservations from across the country.

“It’s not me they’re coming to see,” Cory told Paul. “It’s your play. I told you, it was dynamite.”

“I think it’s a combination of things,” said Paul. “Steve’s performance is brilliant. Zeke’s music captures the mood and sets the tone…

“…and your direction was creative, visually compelling, fresh and flawless,” Cory added, finishing his sentence for him.

He shook his head. “I was going to say the director didn’t do it any harm.”

Steve, Paul’s acting friend from Zaks had become a believer in the last year. He had been in most of the plays produced at Loaves and Fishes, sometimes starring in them, sometimes appearing in smaller, supporting roles. He married Billie, who was also baptized. Cory gave her a job as box office manager and head of ticket sales. Billie also appeared in shows as well. They both told Paul that just being around the Christians in the Loaves and Fishes company had influenced their views on God.

“I used to make fun of you behind your back at Zaks,” Steve confessed. “All of your religious talk was a joke to me. But when we went out and fed those people down in the barrio, my heart just melted, man. I could see what you were talking about when you spoke of Jesus’ love for the poor.” Paul had put a brotherly hand on Steve’s head and mussed his hair.

“I know you made fun of me at Zaks. But I also knew you had a good heart.”

One Friday night after a performance, Paul saw a familiar face backstage. It was Goldie Hamon from City of Angels Church.

“Hey Goldie, you finally made it”.

 Goldie’s deep, brown almond eyes were shining. “I think this is the best play you’ve ever written, Paul. I got cold chills.” Goldie was a casting director and kept a busy schedule.

“You must have been real busy casting movies, Goldie. I figured you’d be here on opening night.”

“Oh, I’ve been up in Canada seeing a friend of mine. He was hurt in an accident and I think he needed me."

“I hope it’s not serious,” said Paul.

“It’s not life threatening. He lost feeling in all of his limbs, but he’s getting it back and recuperating.”

“That’s good, Goldie. Zeke and I will pray for him.”

Paul noticed an older man standing at the door. He was tall and thin. He wore thick glasses and had a fringe of grey hair around his baldpate. Goldie turned to him.

“Oh Paul, this is my dad. Papa, this is Paul Morgan, the writer-director.” The man had a firm handshake. Paul could see where Goldie got her no nonsense, direct gaze.

“Mr. Morgan, an honor. I’m Bretherd Hamon.” The name jogged something in Paul’s memory.

“Are you an agent sir? I think I might have sent you one of my movie scripts to you.” 

Bretherd and Goldie laughed. “Hardly young man. I produce religious films for churches.” 

Then Paul remembered. “Oh. You did “Road to Salvation”.”

“Among others,” smiled Bretherd.

“And the one about the young man who was brainwashed by a religious cult…”

“”The Other Side of Heaven”,” said Goldie.

Paul pointed emphatically at her. “That was it! Those films were great Mr. Hamon. They were very inspiring. I saw “Road to Salvation” when I first attended City of Angels and ten people were baptized after seeing that one.”

“It’s nice to know we’re doing a good job.”

“Papa’s a pretty good preacher himself.” Goldie said proudly.

“I’d love to hear you sometime Mr. Hamon.”

“Thank you son. Now I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Anything sir, just name it.”

 Bretherd Hamon looked around the crowded backstage area. “Uh, is there some place we could talk in private?”

“Yes sir. My office is upstairs.”

Later, as the crew cleared the stage to ready it for the next evening’s show, Paul told Zeke of Bretherd Hamon’s proposal. They sat on the back row, watching the activity on stage.

“He’s going to produce a film on the life of Christ.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t done that one already,” said Zeke.

“He has. But this time he’s going all the way. This will be a film playing in regular cinemas across the country. He found a distributor of minor standing, but has a major link to the big theatres.”

“Wow, that’d be great Paul. If he could get Christ’s message into the mainstream like that…just think of how many people would see it.”

“No telling how many souls might be saved by seeing it.”

“Didn’t television do a mini-series on Christ last Easter?”

“Yeah, Mr. Hamon said the ratings went through the roof. That’s what convinced him to do this one.” 

 Zeke looked at him curiously. “So what does that have to do with us?”

“He already spoke to Cory. He wants to use our actors in key roles. After all, it will be a low budget production.”

“Makes sense.”

“And he wants me to write the script and direct it.” Zeke looked stunned. She tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out. Paul was smiling and nodding. “Can you stand it?”

“I can’t believe it,” said Zeke. “Four years ago you were flipping burgers at Zaks. Now you’ll be directing Al Pacino.”

“I don’t know about Al Pacino.”

“Hey, how about Jack Palance as Pontius Pilate?”

“I was thinking of Farrah Fawcett as Mary.” 

Zeke gave him a hard nudge in the ribs. “If you cast Farrah, I want you casting Lee Majors as a major apostle.”

Prison had an anti-drug program instituted during Senta’s fifth year there. Inmates came and went. Most of them were clean for a short period of time, but were soon back on the drugs.

Senta spoke to the chaplain about the program. It was an eight-week trial of withdrawal and counseling. Senta was determined to get clean, sober and stay that way.

When she came out of the program, Anna was there to help her. “Stay away from the druggies during breaks.”

“Yeah, that’s when they do their dealing.” Then Senta laughed. “Of course, practically everybody here is a druggie.” 

Anna shook her head. “I’m not. Sheila’s not. And that new girl, I don’t know her name. Stick with us. We’ll even eat together.” 

Senta clasped Anna’s hands warmly. “Thank you, Anna. I appreciate your advice and support. I really do.”

During breaks, Senta started having Bible study with Anna, Sheila and the new girl whose name was Tiwana. Senta still had the Testament that Paul had given her and she was stunned to learn the life lessons she’d been stowing under her bunk.

“Even if Jesus was merely a prophet like the Muslims say…” said Tiwana, “…He was a genius.  Look at how He answers all those smart priests and government officials.” 

Sheila looked insulted. “Jesus was the Son of God. I truly believe it.” 

Tiwana shrugged. “I’m open to that. I just want to know more.”

 Senta was deep in thought. “I believe that He actually existed and came back to life after the crucifixion.” The other three women looked at her. 

Anna smiled. “Why do you think that, Senta?”

“Just everything about it rings true. His birth, His life, His death makes sense when you consider the history and attitudes at the time.” 

Sheila cocked her head. “You’ve been spending more time in the library I see.”

“I told Senta about that book called, “The Middle East, A Living History”, said Anna.

“All of those Herods and Caesars existed”, Senta added enthusiastically. “And the governments and religions were just like the Bible says.”

Ever since she discovered Jesus, Senta wasn’t only hungry for religious knowledge. She started spending time in the prison library reading everything she could, concerning the times and customs of the Bible. Senta was learning the geo-politics and the cultural terrain of those ancient days. Anna had made out a list of books and Paul was going to order them for her. She was particularly interested in the evolution of the Bible, from the ancient texts, to the King James version, to the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Anna was delighted and proud of Senta’s spiritual awakening. As the ladies continued their Bible study, Anna said, “I believe if she could, Senta would learn Aramaic so she could read some of the research in its native tongue.”

“That reminds me, can you get me a book on Latin?” Senta asked.

“We have some books on basic Latin in the library.”

When the break was over, Senta had laundry duty. She bade her friends goodbye and headed downstairs to the prison laundry.

There was a long, dark tunnel that led from the yard to the basement. As she walked through the tunnel, she heard footsteps padding behind her. Just as she turned, a rough hand slapped over her mouth and a massive arm caught her throat, pinning her against the wall.

Senta’s eyes widened in terror as she saw the nasty blade Kayla held to her face.

“Hello Sweetness.” Senta’s head couldn’t move.  She tried to scream, but Kayla held her fast. “You haven’t bought any coke from me lately.”  Senta felt the knife under her chin. The blade was sharp and stung like a wasp. She was afraid to move. “How much do you need Sweetness? A bag? Two bags?  More?” Kayla took her hand off Senta’s mouth, but kept the blade under her chin. 

“I…I don’t want any drugs.”

 For a second, Kayla’s pupils got larger. She gave Senta a mean grimace. “Yeah. I heard you went into The Bin.” The Bin was the name of the drug rehab program.

“I need to stay…to stay clean.” Senta was shivering. What did this mad woman have in mind for her?

“I know you need to stay clean, but I need to stay in business. Now how much do you want?” Although it was phrased as such, it was not a question. With the knife pressing into her flesh, Senta couldn’t move her head.

“No.  I can’t.” Kayla put her face closer. The smell of cigarettes, bad breath and body sweat assaulted Senta’s nostrils.

“Yes you can!” Kayla spat. “You will!”

“No Kayla. Jesus wouldn’t like…” Before Senta could say anything else, she felt the air leave her throat. The floor fell out from under her and she was staring up at Kayla with the bloody knife in her hand.

“See ya in hell, Sweetness.”

Senta couldn’t scream. She was gagging on blood. She put her hands to her throat and felt the wetness. The tunnel got darker.