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”.
