CHAPTER TWENTY - Convicted
This is Chapter 20 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Betty came and bailed Josh out of jail. They walked down the long corridor of the police department past pictures of Officers of the Month. Betty was not happy.

“I don’t mind these late afternoon visits to the drunk tank, but could you tell me why you turned down Coppola?”

“I didn’t like the script.”

“You haven’t liked a script since “Street Shadow”.”

“I need a challenge, Betty. The last script I saw that I liked was “Bound for Glory”, but Carradine tied that one up.” Betty shook her head. Josh Smythe was on top of the world. He won an Oscar for the role of Speedo. Five of the top ten all time grossing movies starred Josh Smythe. He was briefly married to Carlise St. James, regarded by many as the world’s most beautiful woman. After six months, they had an amicable divorce, citing career interference. Josh wanted to act. Carlise wanted to continue modeling in France.

There was nothing Josh couldn’t have, but he’d become very choosy with scripts. It was becoming harder and harder to top himself.

“At least you don’t need to work,” said Betty. 

A more sober Josh looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Remember what the judge said last time? You will have your license suspended. That’s going to go on for a year. I’ll call Malibu Limo and arrange a chauffeur for you.” 

He gave her a dismissive wave. “Whatever floats your boat.”

As they came out of the station, a half dozen photographers were waiting for him. Light bulbs flashed as Josh waved at them.

“I can’t seem to lose you guys,” he said with a smile.

“This way!” shouted a photographer.

“Over here, Josh!” screamed another one.

“They must have all radios with police bands” sniffed Betty. “Let’s get you home.”

On the way to his house, Betty stopped for groceries.

“You’re going to need some solid food in you,” she said.

“Yes mother,” he replied.

While she was in the market, Josh pulled the car seat back and fell asleep. He had a hangover that was turning mean. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, Betty returned, tossing the full bags on the back seat.

“Let’s go Mr. Smythe, before the ice cream melts.” 

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in Josh’s driveway and Betty turned her engine off.

“Thanks Betty. I’ll get the groceries.” He reached into the back for a bag.

“Listen Josh, I want to thank you.”

“It’s no problem, I’ve got the light bag.”

 She shook her head. “That’s not why I’m thanking you.” There was something in her voice that got his attention.

“What is it?” 

She took a breath. “You are my biggest client. You’ve made me a millionaire several times over.  But it’s time I got out.” This was a surprise.

“You’re getting out? But you’re only in your…late forties?”  he said, taking a guess.

“More like fifty-four, but thanks. I’m going to announce it to the agency tomorrow.” Josh sat in the front seat, holding the grocery sack. This was more of a shock than a surprise.

“Nothing I’ve done I hope.” This bit of news was sobering him up fast.

“Of course not. You’ve been a lot less trouble than some I’ve had. I just want to spend time with my family and do a little traveling.”

“Who’s going to handle me?”

“Abe Firestone has been slobbering over you for years. Charles and Tina are taking over at the agency. I’d recommend you stay with them, but Abe’s good too.” 

He nodded. “I trust your advice Betty. You know I do.” On shaky legs, he hefted the groceries and got out of the car. As he got out, she started her engine. Josh didn’t miss the tears welling up in Betty’s eyes.

“Gotta go Josh. Bye.”

“So long Betty. You’re welcome here anytime.” He changed arms with the groceries and watched her drive off. Then he found his keys and entered the Malibu house. “Good old Betty,”  he said to himself.

He checked his handsome features in the entry way mirror. His head throbbed. He had become a health nut, swearing off drugs and exercising regularly. He still had his occasional drinking binges, but at thirty-three, he was in pretty good shape. Maybe I’ll grow my hair out again, he thought.

Yep, he was on top of the world. And despite dozens of affairs and a six-month marriage, he realized that his agent was the best friend he’d ever had. And while she mentioned her family, he only knew about her husband. Did Betty have any kids? How old were they? Yes sir, she was his closest friend. And she was getting out of his life.

Judd dreamed about Goldie. They were having a picnic in a meadow. He could hear children playing near by, but he couldn’t see them. In his dream, Goldie was tugging at his sleeve.

“Judd?” He turned, but Goldie wasn’t there. He could hear her voice and feel the tug at his sleeve. “Judd?” He kept looking out at the meadow, looking for Goldie. Where was she? “Judd.” 

Jerry stood over him. A doctor was also standing over him, speaking French.

“Where am I?” 

Jerry turned and spoke to someone. “He’s conscious.” Mickey Yulin and Lena Welch, the cinematographer came into view.

“How are you feeling, Judd?” Judd couldn’t clear his head. His vision was blurred. The doctor was doing something to his leg. His eyes moved to his right leg. It was heavily bandaged and in a splint.

“What happened?” Then he went back to the dream meadow.

The second time he woke up, Judd recognized Lena.

“Hey lady, why aren’t you on the location shooting?” Lena, one of the finest cinematographers from Norway, reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s Sunday,” she said in her thick, Norwegian accent. “Jerry just left. It’s my turn to watch you.” 

Judd was doing the math in his head. Sunday. Now he remembered. The stunt…gag, had been performed on Friday.

“I’ve been out three days?”

“You’ve been out for nine days. I’ll go see the doctor.”

“Hey,” he said in a weak, unfamiliar voice. She turned. “Did you get the shot?” 

She gave him a pained smile. “We had four cameras rolling. We got it.”

She left the room. He had never been so thirsty. He looked around for a glass. There was a buzzer to call the nurse. He reached for it. At least he tried to reach for it, but his arm wouldn’t move. In fact, he couldn’t even feel his arms…or anything below his neck for that matter.

“Get me some cigarettes.” Senta looked into Kayla’s dark, angry eyes. This was not a polite request. It was a demand.

When the women’s unit got a weightlifting room, Kayla was the first customer. In eighteen months, she built an already impressive figure into a super human. At five-ten and a hundred and sixty-five pounds, she was solid muscle and stronger than a lot of men. Her white, blond hair was barely a crew cut. At first glance, Kayla looked like a muscle bound male. Her temper and physicality was as strong as any male.

Senta’s only contact with the woman was drug transactions only. Now they were in the cafeteria and Kayla was sitting opposite Senta, making her demand.

“Get me some cigarettes now or you’ll regret it.” Senta looked helplessly at her fellow inmates who were suddenly interested in their food.

“Anyone here have cigarettes?” she asked those nearest her. All of a sudden, the whole table was full of non-smokers. Kayla’s nostrils flared and her eyes burned a hole in her.

“You get me some cigarettes or I’ll break your pretty little neck.”

Senta got up and looked around. Who had cigarettes on them? That new girl, the one they’d brought in yesterday. New ones always had cigarettes. She walked to a couple of tables over.

“Hey you!” Senta cried harshly. With eyes full of fear, the girl looked up. “Give me your cigarettes.” The girl started to say something and Senta took a threatening step closer. “Now!” The girl shook her head.

“I…I don’t smoke.” Great. Five hundred women and she picked the only one with clean lungs.

Senta looked desperately over to the next table. She picked out Tonia, a weak, timid woman. Tonia would give her a cigarette, or she’d be sorry.

“Hey, Tonia!” Senta felt a hand on her shoulder. She froze.

“Take mine.” Senta turned to face Anna, a woman about fifty five years old. She was bird-thin and had iron-grey hair. Her gray eyes, however, always looked soft and friendly. Senta grabbed the four cigarettes that were in Anna’s hand.

“That all you got?” 

Anna nodded. “If I had more, you could have them.” Senta gave Anna a curt nod and headed back over to Kayla. Kayla took the cigarettes with a sneer.

“These aren’t my normal brand,” said Kayla. Senta did a mental somersault. She was dealing with a violent, crazy lady. Before she could reply, Kayla turned on her heels and headed for the weight room. Senta sat back down at the table. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry.

Two days later, Senta was on mop detail in the prison library. She saw Anna working the counter, checking a book out to another inmate. The woman was a pleasant sort. Senta didn’t really know her. As she squeezed the mop out, Anna called over to her.

“Do you need any more ammonia?” Senta shook her head and continued mopping. After a few moments, Anna spoke to her again. “You’re lucky to have mop duty today.”

“Yeah? How’s that?” 

Anna gave her a broad smile. “Someone stopped up the toilets last night. Cleaning out those toilets wouldn’t be fun today. Phew!”

 Senta laughed. “I suppose you had something to do with that?”

“No ma’am,” said Anna. “A couple of girls from D Block stuffed ‘em up as a protest for the prison conditions.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll change things,” Senta muttered sarcastically. 

Anna flipped through some cards and re-organized them. “A church in Brentwood sent us some books. I can’t wait to get my hands on that Billy Graham biography.”

 Senta spoke as she mopped. “What’s so great about that book?”

“He inspires me…makes me feel good.”

“How can you be inspired in this place?”

“I don’t know. This is a good place to be inspired, I guess.”

 Senta dunked the mop into the dirty water, then squeezed it out. “You’ve been here too long.  It’s made you crazy.”

“Since 1956,” was Anna’s reply.

“What did you do, knock over a bank?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t know how you’ve survived this hole. I feel like I’ve been here all my life.” 

Anna put the card file up. “Once I accepted Jesus as my savior, it’s been a lot easier.” 

Senta put a hand on her hip and scowled at the woman. “What’s with you holy rollers? Jesus always seems to be the answer. Look at you.  Look at where you are. You’re in prison honey. What can Jesus do for you in here?”

 Anna looked Senta in the eye. Her gray eyes sparkled. “I have peace. I don’t fear the future. In fact, I look forward to being immortal.” 

Senta shook her head. “You’re a religious nut.”

Anna walked around the counter and took the mop from Senta. “Let me.”

 Senta gestured to the grey, institutional floor. “Knock yourself out.” 

As Anna mopped, she spoke softly, reverently. “I hated with all my heart. No one could help me.”  Anna looked up at her. “I wasn’t anything like you Senta. I was you.”

“You don’t even know me,” sniffed Senta. 

Anna continued mopping. “I was a lot harder case than you are sweetie. You want to know evil? You’d find my picture in the dictionary right by that word.”

Senta sat down at the table and took out some gum. She propped her feet up in a chair and popped a piece of Juicy Fruit in her mouth.

“Okay, you were a bad kitty cat, so what?” 

Anna’s voice was patient, kind. “I was given a Bible by the prison chaplain. One night, out of pure boredom, I started to read it. I read the book of Matthew. It told a wonderful story about how Jesus came to this world and taught goodness. And the part that always grabbed me was how he treated sinners.” 

Senta gave her a mean smile. “I’ll bet He gave them what for.” 

Anna shook her head. “No. That’s just it. He was kind to sinners. He opened His heart up to them.”

“Then He was a big sucker.”

“No Senta. He had such understanding, they were drawn to him.” Senta silently chewed on her gum. Anna continued. “You think cocaine’s great? I’ll tell you what’s great. I read the book of Matthew, and I wanted more. I read the other gospels, then the books written by Paul.”

At the mention of Paul, Senta’s mind instantly went to her friend of the same name.

“Paul was even worse than we were, Senta. He persecuted Christians. He was full of hate and sin. He crusaded against Christians, he held the coats of those who stoned Stephen, a servant of Christ. But Jesus changed his heart like He changed mine.”

“Paul,” Senta said thoughtfully.

“And God forgave me of my sins, Senta.” 

Senta stared at this frail woman who held the mop. “God forgave you? Well that’s great. That’s really great. Are you saying He can forgive me?”

“Of course. You just need to acknowledge Him as Lord.”

Senta felt overwhelming sadness for this woman. She was delusional. “Let me tell you something, Anna. You’re a nice lady, but your God won’t forgive me.”

“He doesn’t care about your past.”

“My past? What do you know about my past? What does He know? I was a prostitute in Vegas. During that time, I took drugs, I sold drugs, I shot drugs, inhaled them, swallowed them and I can’t begin to tell you about the other rotten things I did.” Senta let that sink in, then continued. “I’ve cheated, lied and stole money, jewelry, anything I could get my hands on.”

“God doesn’t care about any of that, Senta. You just have to confess Jesus as your savior. God will forgive you if you are truly a believer.” 

Senta tried to stifle a laugh. It came out as a snort. “Try this for size. I got pregnant. The precautions I took didn’t work. When I found out, I immediately did something. I got an abortion.” She watched Anna’s face, waiting to see shock and disgust, but Anna remained passive, sympathetic. Senta continued. “Does God forgive abortion? From what I hear, He doesn’t.”

Anna walked over to the counter and pulled out a small, tattered purse. She fished around and pulled out a picture.

“Here,” said Anna. She showed Senta the picture of a little three-year-old girl. It was black and white with wavy edges around it. The little girl was chubby and wore a ribbon in her hair. She smiled at the camera, showing deep, friendly dimples. “That was Susan. Cheerful, sweet Susan. She was deaf. Couldn’t hear a thing. When I had her, and found out she couldn’t hear, I blamed God. But I took it out on her.” Anna let Senta hold the picture of Susan. Then she turned away. “I took it out on her and I killed my little girl.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN - Prison

                                                        BOOK TWO

1977-1985

CHAPTER NINETEEN - Prison

This is Chapter 19 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

“Thou has ascended on high, thou has led captivity captive, thou has received gifts for men:yea, for the rebellious also, that the Lord God might dwell among them.”

Ps 68:18

Senta-Cell Block H. The drugs were easier to get in jail than on the outside. Unfortunately, Senta was beholden to certain individuals to get her those drugs. It was more of a “wash my back and I’ll wash yours” system.

A woman named Kayla was the Queen of the CellBlock. She made the rules and enforced them with an iron fist. She had the monopoly on the drug trade and whenever she was put into solitary confinement, which was often, the drugs stopped until she got out.

Today, Senta lay on her bed sweating. Two weeks before, Kayla had been caught with a screwdriver in the laundry. When the guards confiscated it, she spat and cursed at them. She kicked a third guard and broke the nose of another prisoner as they tried to subdue her. This earned Kayla time in solitary confinement.

Senta wasn’t going to make it. She needed a fix. But Kayla still had a week to go in the box. Senta feared Kayla. The big woman had beaten up other inmates. She was serving time for assault with intent to kill. The man she’d been living with lost an eye and would walk with a limp for the rest of his life. Apparently she’d crushed his knee with a baseball bat and tried to skewer him in the eye with an ice pick.  Although Senta feared her, she needed her. Or at least, she needed her drugs.

Dulcey, one of the guards, came by the cell.

“You’ve got a visitor.” That would be Paul. Stupid Paul. Why did he put up with her? Why did she put up with him? He wouldn’t bring her any drugs. All he wanted to do was talk to her about God.

“I don’t want to see him,” she told the guard. Dulcey noticed that Senta was sweating and shivering.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m just great. I-I need a fix.” 

Dulcey called over to a second guard. “Watch me while I check this chick out.” It was standard procedure to have another guard present when a suspected illness was being checked out. This discouraged prisoners from faking sickness and it helped monitor most of the treatment dished out by the guards.

Senta rolled over in her bed. Her eyes glazed and she started to foam at the mouth.  Her body began to shake violently.

“She’s going into shock!” cried the guard. “Let’s get her to the med unit!”

The cold wind whirled around him, threatening to blow the wig off his head. Judd was doubling for Billy Dee Williams, whose character wore a prominent afro. Now the afro was pulling at his scalp, fighting against the wind.

Judd peeked over the railing and watched the swirling waters two hundred feet below. The Devil’s Gorge emptied into Hudson Bay. Judd hoped his body wouldn’t wash down into that large body of water. He loved Canada, but he didn’t want to become a part of it.

Mickey Yulin walked up to him and put an arm on his shoulder. “Judd, if you have any doubts, now’s the time.”

“I’m ready Mickey.”

“Okay man. I really appreciate this. It’s going to be a spectacular stunt.”

“Gag,” Judd corrected. Mickey held his hand to his ear. The wind had picked up and would soon be a gigantic, howling banshee.

“What’s that you say?”

“It’s a gag, not a stunt,” Judd said with a brave smile. 

Mickey gave him a thumbs up and trotted towards the helicopter with the camera crew. Gag. This isn’t a gag, it’s suicide. It was Judd’s idea. He was trying to top himself. Judd looked over the broad expanse before him. My pride will kill me.

When Judd had seen the bridge spanning the canyon, he knew he had to try it. He spoke to Yulin about it the first day he got there.

“Look, I know that the script calls for Billy Dee’s character to roll down a hill and into the water, but what if the police had him cornered on the Skyline Bridge over Devil’s Gorge?”

“And he jumps?!” Mickey asked incredulously. Judd nodded. Mickey didn’t look convinced. “How high is it, Judd?”

“The tourist brochure says the bridge is two hundred and twenty feet over the water. I measured it myself. It’s only two hundred and ten feet.”

“Maybe the Chamber of Commerce measured it at low tide.” Judd toed the camera stand while Mickey thought about it. The director looked out of the window of the shack where they were filming. The Skyline Bridge was about a quarter of a mile away. It looked pretty high. “I don’t think so, Judd. We really don’t need it.”

“Maybe we do. Even if this picture is a mega-hit, watching Billy Dee Williams drop two hundred feet into a freezing river could add millions to the box office.”

“Yeah, but it won’t be Billy dropping into the river.”

 Judd smiled. “Think about it Mickey. Millions.”

The offer was tempting. Mickey could see the promo in his head. “This jump will do for this film what the chase scene in “The French Connection” did for it.

“Right!” said Judd. “When people see the coming attractions and watch the bridge gag, they’ll be putting that on the “Don’t Miss” list. Everybody will be talking about this picture before it opens.”

“Judd, is this your ego talking or you head?”

“Both.”

“I’ll have to clear it with the studio. We’ll have to do some special waivers and make insurance adjustments….when can you be ready to shoot it?”

“Two weeks. I’ve got to survey the riverbed. We might need to dig some if it’s not deep enough. Do you know anyone in the Canadian Ministry of the Interior?”

“We can get permission to dig,” said Mickey. He was thinking hard. This would add to the budget, but it would be worth it. Mickey waved him off. “Do what you have to do. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

As he prepared the gag, Judd felt confident. He assembled the best stunt team and diving team available. Jerry, his assistant, developed a special padding, not unlike an air bubble-packing mat. Judd could wear it under his costume without showing a lot of bulk.

Now, as he stood over the precipice, Judd felt a shiver go up his spine. It wasn’t the freezing winds. He didn’t feel right about this. Despite having second thoughts, but it was too late to call it off now. The cameras had been set up, and sixty thousand dollars in salaries, equipment and time had already been spent for this gag. For the first time in his life, Judd felt uncertainty.

The helicopter was hovering about a hundred feet over the bridge. With the blowing wind and propellers it was hard to hear the AD as he spoke through his bullhorn.

“Alright, let’s have focus people!” Judd felt like he could see all the way to Chicago as he looked due south. The Canadian air was cold and clear. He clenched and unclenched his hands. He stomped his feet to stave off the cold. He began his mantra. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

Jerry was over to his side with a radio. If there was a change by Mickey, he would relay it to Jerry. If Jerry held up his hands, that meant abort. Cancel the gag. If Jerry pointed at him, that was his cue to jump.

It seemed to be taking hours. Judd knew that Mickey was waiting for a break in the wind. It would never die down, but every few seconds, the gusts were not as violent.

Was it possible to sweat while you’re freezing? Judd thought about it as he nervously held on to his wig. He couldn’t wear a helmet, but under the afro was extra padding for his head. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

The AD was shouting into his bullhorn. Judd could not understand him, but he did see Jerry point at him. It was a go. The gag was on.

Judd took a deep breath. He stepped up on the railing. The river looked like it was five miles down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a speck of blue on the bank below. That was Carl, the 2^nd unit cameraman, getting a view of his descent off the towering bridge. Judd tensed for a moment as he took a second breath. This was it. Then he relaxed his body. That was the first rule for such a fall. 

He was about to step out into the void. Then it happened. Just as Judd made his jump, his toe caught the edge of the railing. It turned his body at the wrong angle.

As he tumbled through the air, Judd saw the Skyline Bridge soaring away from him. Then he saw the white water of the river rushing up to meet him. He had no sense of balance or control. For a crazy instant, he thought he could see every detail of Carl’s terrified face as his body plummeted downward. Why wasn’t Carl operating the camera?

Judd never felt the impact. He was knocked out as he hit the water. He felt no cold, no wetness. He felt nothing.

The Loaves and Fishes Theatre had enjoyed a successful debut season. The Christian troupe headed up by Cory Stilling had not only entertained theatre patrons, but helped spread Christ’s message and fed many of the under privileged.

Since Ron’s death, Cory threw herself into God’s work. She paid Janie Lambert a hundred and thirty thousand dollars for the old warehouse. With the help of Ed and his carpenter friends, she converted the building into a decent show place.

The main theatre had a bill of fare that ranged from Christian plays to traditional family shows. Plays like “Harvey” and “You Can’t Take It With You” shared the stage with Christian dramas written by Paul. Cory planned on adding a Shakespeare Festival for the second season. The smaller, experimental theatre located downstairs, was used for staged theatre readings, acting classes and children’s plays.

Loaves and Fishes lived up to its reputation by feeding and clothing the hungry and homeless. Cory got Goodwill and the Southern California Samaritans involved in distribution. She laid out a blue print of surrounding Loaves and Fishes with a restaurant, a religious bookstore, a gift shop and a movie theatre that would show nothing but old movies and evangelical films.

The warehouse district had the potential to become a hybrid of chic and low rent. Cory bought two more warehouses as they became available. She had them razed and put in a well-lit parking lot, complete with security patrol. A few full-page newspaper ads assured the Los Angeles elite that they could dine and enjoy theatre in an area that was once considered dangerous. It wasn’t just for the elite. Prices were kept reasonable so a family of modest means could spend an evening of dining and entertainment.

Paul’s new play, “Price of the Cross” was slated to open the 2^nd season. As theatre director, he oversaw most of the creative elements. Using her accounting skills, Zeke helped with the financial aspects and stood in as music director for a couple of the shows.

The more they worked together, the more Paul started attending the 4^th Street Christian Church with Zeke. The more they saw of each other, the more Paul felt drawn to Zeke. He had always liked her a lot, but one night after rehearsal, it hit him. He realized he had loved her for a long time. His infatuation with Senta had clouded his thinking. He had been busy trying to save her soul so he could have her. Paul knew he’d been a fool. Over the years, the scar across his face had lessened in color. It had faded into a thin, white line. After re-constructive surgery, his drooping eye was back in a normal position. He wasn’t Robert Redford, but he no longer got the rude, curious stares from strangers. And Zeke had known him at his worst. She didn’t seem to care about his deformed face.  As he improved his looks, so did she.  Zeke no longer looked like the impish tomboy. Beauty had come with maturity. And Paul noticed this. He just hadn’t been vocal about it.

Zeke was painting a backdrop while Paul proofread the program for the show.

“This might not be a good time for a change,” said Paul. “But instead of calling it “Price of the Cross”, maybe I should re-name it “Blood of the Cross”. What do you think Zeke?” He was sitting on the front row of the empty theatre, scanning the program. He looked up at Zeke who was on the ladder up on stage.

“Let me think. Hmm. “Blood of the Cross”. Yeah, it’s a good title Paul, but is it worth reprinting all of the programs, posters and ads?” He chewed on his eraser, then crossed out the change he’d made.

“You’re right. “Price” is better.”

As Zeke painted, he looked back up at her. She had been more than a sounding board for him. Zeke had integrity. Even before he let Cory read a script, he let Zeke read it first. Her suggestions were always on target.

“How would you like to be my assistant director on the next show?” he asked. Zeke gave him an icy stare and held up her hands in mock horror.

“Are you kidding? I’m doing the books, painting scenery, handling the orchestra and sound, and on top of that, keeping you focused. No thank you.”

“That’s pretty much what an assistant director does.”

“Yeah, right.”

 He walked up on stage and put his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. “Maybe Cory should give you a raise.”

“No thanks. I’ve already got a percent of the annual gross.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that theatres lose money?”

“Not this one.” As he spoke, he admired how the lights shined through her hair. Her chestnut locks had grown down to her shoulders, and she had a widow’s peak that made her look womanly and girlish at the same time.

“Did I ever tell you how pretty you are?”

She made a move to flick paint on him. “You’re a strange man. First you’re talking economics, then you’re looking at me like I’m Cleopatra.”

“I said you were pretty, not Liz Taylor.” This time she actually flicked the brush, spraying him with green paint. “Hey!”

“You look like you’ve got green measles!” Paul wiped his face with the back of his hand, creating streaks and smudges. This made Zeke laugh so hard she had to grab the top step of the ladder to keep from falling off. “You’re making it worse, Paul.”

“Come on down here, I’ll show you worse.” 

She laid the paintbrush in the pan on the top and stepped down. “Let me get you a towel.”

On the third rung from the bottom, she found herself confined in his arms that held fast to the ladder.

“I’m trying to get down, sir.”

“So, who’s stopping you?” The shorter Zeke was at eye level with the six foot Paul. His eyes were a little wide. He looked like he was going to say something important. 

“Paul…I…” Before she could speak, Paul was kissing her. It was long and passionate. They both felt the electricity as Paul embraced her, holding her against the ladder.

After a few blissful moments, they broke. Now her face had green smudges too.

“Wow,” she said softly. “But you did it wrong.” Before Paul could answer, she returned the kiss with equal passion.

The silver Mercedes convertible careened around the curve on PCH 1. The winding road along the coast was treacherous enough, but this car was out of control.

The police car parked on the shoulder instantly gave chase. For three miles of hair-raising turns and break neck speed, the Mercedes refused to slow down. Just outside of Malibu, the driver reluctantly pulled over.

When the arresting officers strode up to the Mercedes, one of them looked at the driver with astonished recognition.

“Hey, it’s Speedo.” He was referring to “Street Shadow” and Josh’s most famous role. Josh put his head back on the headrest and handed the officer his license. When he spoke, the policeman was almost knocked over by the bourbon on his breath.

“How fast was I going?” Josh slurred.

“We clocked you at forty-five on the hairpin turn, and ninety-eight on the straight-aways.”

 Josh clapped his hands together. “A new land speed record!” came his drunken reply. 

The policeman shook his head. “Could you get out of the car please sir?”

“Surely,” Josh said. He stumbled out of the car and leaned against the door. Suddenly he wasn’t feeling very well.

“Could you stand up straight Mr. Smythe?” 

Josh looked at the officer and gave him a lop-sided grin. “Yeah. Yeah I can. Just give me a couple of hours.”  He tried to stand, but stumbled forward. The policeman caught him.

“You’re definitely drunk my friend,” said the officer. 

Without warning, Josh threw up on the policeman. “I’m also definitely sick,” he mumbled.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Writer to Director

This is Chapter 18 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

The Zaks morning crew was taking over. Steve ushered Paul and Brenda out.

“Another day, another dollar and eighty nine cents,” said Brenda.

“I just want to get this grease washed off,” said Steve.

“You’re right,” Paul agreed. “That’s the only thing I really don’t like about this job.”

“You’re weird,” Brenda said good-naturedly. The men walked Brenda to her car. She checked her watch. “Six a.m. I almost feel like breakfast.” She got into her car. “See you guys on the graveyard shift.”

“Not tonight,” said Steve. “We’re both off.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. I get stuck with Katie and Mona, the chattering chipmunks.”

As she drove off, Steve took out a cigarette. “So, Mr. Morgan, are you going to come watch Billie and me do our scene?”

“What time?” yawned Paul.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your beauty sleep. Be over at my place around eight tonight.” Paul peered at the sun rising over the roof of Zaks. By the time he showered and got to sleep, he could get in seven hours. He needed to wake up around four p.m. so he could get some typing done on his new script.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Does Billie have her lines memorized?”

“I hope so, or I’ll kill her.”

Steve and his girlfriend, Billie, were auditioning for a comedy troupe that was being formed. He asked Paul to write them a funny, ten-minute sketch to show the producers.

“I want you to write it, because you’re a Christian,” said Steve.

 Paul gave him a quizzical look. “That does not compute.”

“It’s simple,” said Steve. “A lot of standup material these days depends on drug jokes and profanity. To me, saying dirty words for a cheap laugh doesn’t do it. Since you can’t fall back on four letter words to get a laugh, you’ll actually have to be funny.” Somehow, Paul saw the logic and proceeded to write a short skit.

When Steve and Billie read the piece, they were very pleased. Between the laughter, they read the lines and acted out the parts.

“This is terrific,” said Billie, a Carol Burnett look-a-like.

“I think you did it Paul,” said Steve. “After we rehearse it, you can come watch and make your comments.”

Paul drove over to Steve’s place that night. Steve and Billie sat on two bar stools performing the dialogue. The scene was between a man and a woman on the telephone. The man thought he was talking to his girlfriend. He was nervously proposing. Billie was playing a housewife who thought she was talking to a jeweler trying to sell her a wedding ring.

Paul watched the two perform his material. He made some notes on the writing. After hearing it aloud, he could see places where he could improve the dialogue.

When they finished, Steve’s eyes were bright with anticipation. “Pretty good, eh Paul?”

 Billie was nodding at him, enthusiastically. “It felt right. Great stuff Paul.”

 Paul silently chewed on his pencil. He stood up and walked around the apartment. “I’m just thinking aloud here, but we could make it better.”

“We’re listening,” said Steve.

“First, the writing could be better. On some of those lines, I have the joke at the beginning of the line. It needs to be at the end of the line…give it some punch. And I could shorten that first speech you do. The set up is just too long.” Steve nodded. Paul looked over at the dining table. There was a pair of large salt and peppershakers that looked like Porky Pig and his girlfriend, Petunia. He picked them up and gave them to the actors. “Steve, you take Porky here, and Billie, you take Petunia.”

“What for?”

“Use them as telephones. It’s a little absurd, but it’s sort of funny.” Steve held the Porky Pig shaker to his ear.

 Billie laughed. “That does look funny.” 

Paul continued pacing, not looking at them as he spoke. “Pick up the pace in your dialogue at the first. You don’t have to sound like machine guns, just don’t take a breath in between each line.” Steve and Billie jotted down these notes. “And Steve, don’t be afraid to punch that line, “Who are you looking for, Superman?” And Billie, take Petunia away from your ear and give her a look like, “What’s this guy talking about?” Then hit him with your line.”

 Billie scribbled furiously on her notepad. “This is good,” she said to herself.

“Don’t anticipate laughter from the people you are auditioning for,” said Paul. “I know there are some lines you think are funny, but keep going. If they laugh, take a beat, but don’t ask for a laugh with a pause. You won’t get it.” Paul looked up from his pacing. Steve and Billie were staring at him like he’d grown another eye. “What’s the matter?” Then, Steve and Billie looked at each other.

“Did you ever think of directing?”  Steve asked.

 Paul shook his head. “I’m a writer. The last orders I ever gave were back in a jungle somewhere.” They both looked at him soberly.

The mall was packed as usual. Cory and Zeke found a bench off the food court to sip sodas after a hard day of shopping. Cory had advised Zeke on some tasteful clothing.

“I really appreciate this, Cory.”

“Hey, it’s been fun.” 

Cory had visited Zeke’s small church on Wednesday night so she could talk to Ed about painting her house. After the meeting, she asked Zeke about Paul.

“I just assumed you two were a couple, Zeke. You’re always together.”

“I wish,” said Zeke. “Paul’s got a thing for this singer.”

“Ah, the siren of show business. I never pegged Paul for a groupie.”

“It’s worse than that. The girl is a drug addict and she’s serving time for armed robbery. Actually she was just an accessory.” Cory was mildly shocked. She couldn’t tell if Zeke was joking or not.

“I can’t believe Paul would get mixed up with someone like that. What was he thinking?”

Zeke pushed back her brown page boy hair and looked sadly at some distant place. “He thinks he can save her.”

“Very noble of him,” Cory mused. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we go over to “Lady Beautiful” and get you a new hair cut.”

“You think so?”

“I know a woman there who is a make up wizard and hair stylist. She used to work for MGM.”

 Zeke was suspicious. “Does this have anything to do with attracting Paul? Because if it is, I don’t want to trap him.” 

Cory laughed. “He already likes you for who you are. I’m just talking about a little detail work…get him to notice you a little. We’re not talking major surgery here.”

Zeke took a sip of her cola. “I thought you wanted to get a hot dog.”

“We shall dine on dogs and fries, but first, let’s take you to see the hair wizard.”

Now, they sat on the bench, munching their hot dogs. The make up lady had done a superb job. Using subtle highlights and adding a pale rouge made Zeke’s tomboy features more feminine. And Zeke was thrilled with her new hair. The make up lady streaked it with lighter colors and gave her a wave. On their way to the food court, Zeke kept checking herself out in the store windows.

“I can’t believe the change. I’ve had this face all along and didn’t even know it. Look at those cheekbones.”

“You’re beautiful Zeke. Without the makeup, you would still look good to the eye of a camera.”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to attract a camera.”

 Cory saw some TV’s in an electronics store playing a Josh Smythe interview. “I’ll tell you a little secret Zeke. Paul’s noticed you, he just hasn’t realized it. Maybe his mind is blocked by this singer that he likes. Your new makeover won’t change the way he feels about you, but it might get him to think about you.”

“Are you saying that Paul could be in love with me too?” 

Cory held up her hands. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m just saying that he looks at you as a special friend. There could be more there. We'll see.”

Zeke felt a shiver of pleasure. Maybe there was a chance. She was a grown woman though. Even if she looked like a teenager, she didn’t think like a teenager. Putting a little rouge on was one thing, but she wasn’t going to go much further. Paul had to come to her.

“Hey, are you Cory Stilling?”

A couple of teenage boys and a girl approached them. The one who had recognized her looked like he’d just discovered gold in his backyard. “Miss Stilling, you are my favorite star.

“You’re the best,” said the girl.

“Thank you very much,” said Cory. “But I’m not a star.” 

The boy pulled a paperback out of his Walden’s sack and offered it to her. “I’ve seen everything you’ve done. Could you autograph my book?” Cory looked at the title. It was a paperback sci-fi.

“I would hate to ruin your book.”

 Zeke fished around in her purse. “I’ve got some paper and pen.” She handed Cory the paper.

“Who should I sign this for?” asked Cory.

“To Wade!” said the beaming boy.

“Okay, to my friend, Wade.” Cory signed the paper and handed it to the boy. His friends looked at the autograph from over his shoulder.

“Wow, thanks Ms. Stilling.”

 Cory looked at the girl and the other boy. “Would you like one too?” 

The other boy smiled shyly and shook his head. “Nah. You’re pretty good, but I’m a John Wayne fan.”

“Robert Redford,” The girl volunteered. Both women laughed. Then Wade looked at Zeke.

“Are you anybody?” 

Zeke offered Wade her hand. “I’m Olivia-Newton John. Pleased to meet you.”

“Really?” said the girl. “I think you are so cool.”

“Sing us a song,” Wade requested.

“Do you want my autograph?” she asked all three.

“No ma’am,” said the other boy. “We like KISS.”

The three kids headed for the food court, chatting happily about their encounter.

“Fickle fans,” muttered Zeke. 

Cory grabbed her hand. “Come on, Olivia. I’ve got to get to the airport.” They headed for the mall exit.

“When does Ron’s plane arrive?”

“In about an hour. Flight 647, ETA is 3:30.” 

Zeke had a broad smile on her face. “Flight 647?  Did you memorize the gate number too?”

“That hasn’t been decided yet.”

As they left the mall, all of the TV’s in the electronics store were still carrying the Josh Smythe interview. Then, the screens went blank for a moment. The ABC news special report logo appeared. There was a shot of the Franklin mountain range near El Paso. Transwest Flight 647 had crashed into the side of a mountain. There were no survivors.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - The Right Man

This is Chapter 17 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Her house needed a makeover. When Cory bought it, the modest little house had a new coat of white paint, and had been rewired to 1970’s standards. Built in 1920, the house was in a good location near The Farmer’s Market. It wasn’t Beverly Hills or Bel-Air, although she could afford any house in southern California. In fact, she could live anywhere in the world, but she preferred the simple, white frame structure. She’d even included a picket fence.

A minor renovation was in order, but there was something else. Ever thrifty, Cory considered saving the money until she knew for sure about Ron. He was doing a lot of flying between L.A. and Dallas.  Cory had spent more time with him than any man she’d known. When he came back from Hawaii, he brought her a petrified coconut. On it were the carved words, “I go nutty for you.”

“Got it from an inactive volcano,” said Ron. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, do they have gift shops in inactive volcanoes?”

“Actually, the gift shop was at the airport in Honolulu.”

“That’s more like it.” She held the coconut out and squinted at it. “Very classy,” she said sarcastically.

 He then presented her with a diamond necklace. “I found this between the magazine rack and the cola machine in the gift shop.” Cory was speechless. Her eyes glistened. “Well? Do you like it?”

“Ron…I can’t…” He immediately took the necklace and put it around her neck. She touched it delicately. Diamonds were not her usual style.

“I…it’s…” She just couldn’t get the words out.

 Ron stepped back, examining the necklace on her neck. “It looked so plain in the showcase. Now it looks stunning.” Maybe she could get used to wearing diamonds. Cory decided that she would only wear it for Ron and only when she was with him. 

She put the coconut on a table by her bed. The silly souvenir made her happy. That’s how she knew. She was in love with him. She prayed that this would work out.

They had a lot of long walks on the beach. Cory fixed dinner for him every time he flew in from Dallas. Sometimes he cooked dinner for her. When she was in Venezuela filming, he called her every night.

Along with the dinners and long walks, they discussed each other’s lives, where they were going, what they hoped to achieve. They talked about everything but marriage, yet, as they learned more about each other, the idea of marriage loomed happily over them.

There were two major concerns for Cory. First, their careers were incompatible. If Ron wasn’t in Los Angeles or Dallas, he was in New York or on location, shooting commercials. The same with Cory, except they weren’t always in the same town at the same time. She would give up her career for the marriage. That would help solve the problem.

Second. Ron wasn’t religious. He wasn’t anti-religious. While he had not accepted Jesus as his savior, he practiced Christian principles. He was a decent person. He didn’t drink or swear. He was honest.  He was romantic, but didn’t push her to have sex. At times, Cory was a little more aggressive than normal, and it was Ron who discouraged further involvement.

Plus, they had talked about religion and Ron seemed receptive. She invited him to church and he seemed to enjoy the Bible study.

Should I renovate this house? Or see what’s going to happen with Ron? If Ron asked her to marry him, the house would be too small if they wanted a family.

Cory sighed as she looked at the little house. She would at least call Ed Rosnowsky to come over and repaint it. 

She was fixing herself a sandwich when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s me, your worldly globetrotter.”

 Her heart skipped a beat when she heard Ron’s voice. “How’s Saratoga?”

 His voice sounded far off. “We got the spot in the can before the blizzard hit. I’m in the motel now, safe and warm.”

“That’s good. When are you coming back?”

“I’ve got to stop in Dallas and take care of some business. I thought I’d catch a flight out there on Thursday.”

“Sounds good Sweetheart. I’ll make you lasagna.”

“That’s cruel. I have to wait for that one.”

“Sorry. Don’t spend time at Riggio’s in Buffalo.” Riggio’s was a popular Italian spot that Ron bragged about.

“Riggio’s doesn’t hold a candle to your lasagna. And I have some good news.” He hesitated a moment. 

“What? Tell me.” He didn’t talk. “Ron, tell me.”

“You are so impatient.”

“So tell me!” she cried impatiently.

“When I get back to Los Angeles, I want to see Minister Dowling. I want to be baptized.”

 Cory’s eyes clinched shut. Yes! Her heart rate sped up. She was suddenly elated. “Ron, that’s so great! I’m very, very happy!”

“Me too. I feel so lucky to have met you. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d never have met Jesus.”

“I am thrilled I finally got you two together.” 

“You don’t know how I feel, Cory…well, maybe you do. The pressure of the shoot and making the deadline seemed to lift off me when I made my decision. I want to serve God.”

“I do know the feeling, Ron. I truly do.”

“And I want to talk to you when I get there Cory. We need to talk.”

“I’d like that.”

“But I’ve got to go now. My cameraman just walked in with a huge pepperoni pizza. I think it’s from Riggio’s.”

“Go eat,” she said. “I’ll be here.”

“I love you Cory,” he said softly.

“I love you too. Very much.”

When she hung up, Cory went into the bedroom and picked up the coconut. She read the words, “I go nutty for you”. Her eyes filled with tears. Thank you God. Thank you so much.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Businesswoman

This is Chapter 16 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

“As you can see, the walls need painting and we probably need to get a new a/c unit.” Janie pointed out. Cory and Janie fought through the dust of the old warehouse. Janie used a key to get into the office. The place smelled like mildew. It was hot and Cory could hear rats in the walls.

“This was the main office,” said Janie. She opened up the rusty, portable refrigerator. It was empty. “Good. I was afraid they had left food in here.”

 Cory held her nose. “Smells like it’s still in here.”

“A little,” said Janie as she waved the air. Well, what do you think?” Cory walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. There was a pop of air and the pipes shuttered as brown water came out in sporadic bursts.

“You didn’t have the water turned off?” 

Janie shrugged. “I guess not. I kept getting a water bill, and since it wasn’t too much, I figured it would be cheaper to keep it on, then to get it started back up for a new tenant.”

 Cory nodded. “Good thinking.” 

At first, Janie looked surprised, then beamed at the unexpected praise. “I did good?”

“You did perfect.”

“So what do you think Cory?”

Cory made a quick mental assessment. This property wasn’t in Beverly Hills, but it was definitely worth a lot more than the thirty thousand dollars that the real estate agent was offering Janie.

“I think I’d like to go visit this Mr. Devaney, the real estate agent.”

Devaney Realty was located on Temple, near downtown. Cory had Janie make an appointment during the morning hours. She found that in most cases, it was the best time to talk to people, especially since she was wearing a blond wig, sunglasses and special make up.

When she drove up to Janie, who was waiting on the corner, Cory had to honk, because Janie had not recognized her.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” said Janie as she got into the car. “Nice suit.”

Cory had a makeup artist give her red blotches and blemishes on her left cheek and forehead. She also dressed in a very business-like suit. No-nonsense kind of stuff. Janie held the sunglasses on Cory’s head over her eyes and peered at the makeup job.

“It looks real. Now tell me again why you’re in disguise?”

 Cory laughed since she hadn’t told Janie about the makeup. “I don’t want Mr. Devaney to recognize me. Sometimes I can walk around the mall and no one says “boo”. Other times, I’ll be shopping or getting gas and everybody knows me. Especially when a movie I’ve done has just been shown on TV.”

“And you don’t want Mr. Devaney to recognize you?”

“No, I want him wondering who I am.”

“But why?” 

Cory pulled out the sheet of paper that Janie had given her. It was the letter from Devaney saying that he would like to buy the warehouse for thirty thousand dollars. “Here’s why. We have it in writing on his letterhead an offer of thirty thousand dollars. When we go in there, don’t introduce me. Let him wonder who or what I am. And then you’ll ask him how much he thinks that property is worth.”

“But we already know,” said Janie.

 Cory shook her head. “He offered you thirty thousand, but I have a feeling he’ll give you a higher figure. He might think I’m another real estate agent or maybe even your lawyer, and he’ll think twice before he gives you some song and dance.”

“But what if he asks you who you are?”

“He won’t. He will be intensely curious about me, but he won’t say a word.”

“You aren’t going to say anything to him?”

“The less I say, the better. For that matter, the same applies to you. Just go in there, shake his hand, and after an exchange of pleasantries, ask Mr. Devaney how much he thinks the warehouse is worth. That’s all you have to do.”

When they were ushered into Devaney’s office, Cory saw the man sizing her up, even though he was shaking hands with Janie.

“Good to meet you, Mrs. Lambert.”  He looked at Cory, inviting an introduction, but Janie did not take the bait. Good girl. He indicated a seat across from his desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Devaney.” As they sat, Devaney gave Cory a curious nod. She could tell by his expression that he didn’t want anyone else in the room except Janie Lambert, but there was nothing he could do.

“So Mrs. Lambert, have you thought about selling your property to us?”

“I just have one question Mr. Devaney. How much would you say that property is worth?” Cory was proud of the way the meek Janie made direct eye contact with Mr. Devaney. He looked at her for a stunned instant, then his eyes shifted to Cory, who was looking at him evenly through her sunglasses. Then he looked down at his desk.

“I would say…about a hundred thousand,” he said quietly. 

Cory and Janie leaned forward. “What was that Mr. Devaney?” Janie asked.

“About a hundred thousand dollars,” he said a little louder.

Cory gave Janie a sidelong glance. Janie’s face registered nothing, but her hands that lay on her purse were shaking. The woman was speechless at the figure Devaney had given. Cory finally spoke up.

“Thank you, Mr. Devaney. We’ll call you if we decide to deal with you.” By the look on his face, she knew he had gotten her message. As Cory hustled the mute Janie out of his office, he knew he would never hear from her. And he knew he wasn’t getting his hands on that property.

The jailhouse smelled like ammonia. The acidity burned his eyes as Paul made his way to the visitor’s area. After signing in, he had to submit to a second search. He knew the routine as he emptied his pockets and put the contents in a tray. He then walked through the sensor under the stern eyes of a prison guard.

This place could use some smiles, he thought. And it wasn’t just the prisoners…even the guards looked unhappy. He was buzzed through a narrow entry and waited for the door behind him to close. When he heard the click, he opened the door in front of him. This led him into an ample room of long tables and a TV set. It reminded him of the sterile cafeteria at Granger Christian College, except at Granger, they didn’t have a television set.

There were people talking to their incarcerated friends and relatives dressed in orange. Paul went to the far end of the fifth table. This was usually where he met Senta, unless it was too crowded. Then, they would have to stand next to the wall and talk.

“14768!” was the number called over the loud speaker.

A few minutes later, Senta came through a door at the other end of the room, accompanied by a guard. She was not cuffed, but she held her hands in front of her like a pair of invisible cuffs were on them.

Paul stood up when she got there. He wanted to embrace her, but she stiffened as he stood.

“Hey kiddo. How ya doing?”

“It’s a barrel of laughs,” Senta said, unsmiling. She swatted at a fly that buzzed around her face. “You bring any cigarettes?”

“Sorry. Fresh out,” said Paul. He never brought her cigarettes. “I might have some Dentyne.” He felt into his pockets. 

Senta shook her head and stretched. “Nah, keep ‘em.”

Senta Bergstrom looked like a broken woman. Her hair and eyes had no luster. Sometimes she came out stoned. Even her teeth were turning yellow. It looked like she’d given up.

“You know Senta, another guy named Paul was in prison once. And he did a lot of good. He was a real world shaker.” 

She looked at him dully. “I don’t know why you come to see me after what I did to you.” 

Paul reached across the table for her, but she pulled her hands away. “I forgave you, Senta.”  Her head started to roll to the side before she straightened up. Her eyelids fluttered. “Are you high on something?”

“Oh yeah,” she said sleepily. “I’m flying.” 

Paul didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t know how to help her. “Senta, listen to me…I know how you feel about religion. You think it’s square and corny.” She suddenly let out a laugh that sounded like a shriek. Several people nearby turned their heads.

“Paul, using words like “square” and “corny” is square and corny.” She slid down in her seat laughing. Her nose began to run, but she didn’t wipe it off.

 Paul ignored her outburst. “And I also know you hate yourself, but Jesus is real. And He’s a great and powerful force.”

“Like the great and powerful Oz?” she cracked.

He continued gamely on. “All you have to do is let Him into your heart. He doesn’t hate you. I don’t hate you.” For a moment, she focused on him. “Jesus loves you Senta. He’s right here with you and He can help you.”

Senta looked around the crowded room, searching for a face. Her eyes stopped on a prisoner she knew as Pam. Pam’s husband had brought their eighteen-month-old baby to the prison for a visit. Pam was bouncing the baby on her knee. Senta thought about the baby that never was.  Had it been a boy or a girl?

“You might have forgiven me Paul, but your God can’t forgive me.”

“Why?”

 She slowly shook her head. “You are so innocent Paul. So blind. I’ve done things…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“God forgives all sins, Senta.”

“I don’t believe that. No one is that good. But if this God of yours knows everything, He knows what I’ve done, right?”

“Yes.” 

She gave him a lazy, triumphant smile. “Then He’s not going to forgive me. Ever.” 

Paul took out a small Testament and pushed it across the table. “Here. I know you’ve got time to read. Just read Mark 11:25. That’s all.” She looked at the white Testament with the gold cross on it.

“Is it ticking?”

 He laughed. “It’s a time bomb alright…exploding with all sorts of good stuff.”

“There’s not a hacksaw in it, is there?”

“No,” he said soberly. “But read it and it’ll set you free in more ways than you can count.”

 Senta looked over at a nearby guard who had the name “S. Jensen” on her uniform. “Miss Jensen?” The guard looked over at her. Senta held up the small Bible and looked at Paul. “Miss Jensen has to approve this.” The guard came over and took the Testament. She flipped through the pages, checking to make sure it didn’t have any illegal contraband inside.

“This looks harmless,” she said. “You can have it.”  Miss Jensen handed it back to Senta. Paul nodded to the guard gratefully.

“You don’t have to come see me Paul. I’m going to be here for twenty more years.”

“You were sentenced for twenty years. You’ll be up for parole in seven.” She gave a bitter laugh and stood up, stuffing the tiny Testament in her shirt pocket.

“I’ll be an old woman before I get out of here. Goodbye Paul.”

She motioned to the guard, who unlocked the door that led to the cells. Miss Jensen escorted Senta away. Paul sat at the table for a few moments and prayed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Missionaries

This is Chapter 15 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

City of Angels Church, 1975. Minister Reb Dowling dismissed the group and everyone walked over to the fellowship hall for a buffet. About two hundred of the congregation had shown up to listen to Paul’s old roommate, Allan James, speak about his mission work in Venezuela.

Paul steered Allan and his wife, Theresa through the crowd, making introductions to those he knew. Zeke was helping a few of the ladies set up the food.

“Paul, over here!” she cried. Paul, Allan, and Theresa headed over to the table with paper plates stacked in two high mounds.

“I really enjoyed your film, Allan,” said Zeke. When it came to physique, Allan was still a beach ball compared to the taller, lanky Paul. In fact, he’d gained more weight over the years.

 Paul poked him in his ample belly. “I hope you’re sharing some of that food that our church sends you.” 

Allan turned red and looked at Theresa. “Theresa will tell you that I lost twenty pounds in Taiwan.”

“He did,” said Theresa. “Then he found them again in South America.”

“Well come on Bigfoot, let’s go load your plate full of spaghetti.”

The next day, more eating was on the schedule. Paul picked Allan and Theresa up at their hotel and headed over to Zeke’s.

They drove up to the small church on 4^th Street, where Zeke was helping her father paint the steeple.

 Paul waved from the car. “Come on Zeke, we’re burning daylight!” Zeke had finished painting the bottom of the steeple and she called down to her father who was repairing a windowpane.

“Almost done on this side, Dad. Paul said he’d come back tomorrow and help us finish.” She was holding out a wet brush and white paint dripped down on him. Ed Rosnowsky wiped paint off his nose. “Sorry Dad.”

“Go on honey. I’m going to finish the door, the panes and then go home.” 

By now, Paul was out of his car and walking up to them. “Afternoon Mr. Rosnowsky.”

 Ed shook his hand and looked over at the car. “Hello Paul. Did your friends arrive okay?”

“Yes sir, last Friday. I’d introduce you, but I don’t want to interrupt.” Ed waved at Allan and Theresa who were waving from the car.

“I expect a good show tomorrow night!” Ed shouted towards the car. “Zeke tells me you’re a dynamic speaker.”

“We try!” Allan yelled back.

“I’ll be sitting on the front row!” Ed called out.

“Allan brought along some slides and home movies of the mission, Mr. Rosnowsky. I think you’re really going to enjoy it.”

Ed was giving him an even stare. “Now enough of this “Mr. Rosnowsky” talk. I am Ed to you.”

Paul looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes sir…Ed.”

Zeke came out of the front door. She had shed her overalls and now wore a simple purple dress. “I hope the restaurant won’t throw me out in this rag.”

“It’s a good looking rag,” said Paul.

 She turned around 360 degrees. “Any paint on me?”

“Not unless it’s purple. Let’s go.” 

As they headed for the car, Zeke turned back to Ed. “We’ll be back tomorrow Dad with all of our brushes and ready to work.”

“You kids have a good time.” Ed smiled to himself. He liked Paul. He had misjudged the young man. He was a square shooter. He just hoped that Paul wouldn’t break Zeke’s heart. She loved him, but did Paul love her?

Paul, Zeke, Allan and Theresa went out to dinner, then headed back to Paul’s apartment. They played “Monopoly”, talked about the mission, Paul’s struggle as a writer and Zeke’s music. Paul put on Zeke’s album while they played the board game.

“You’re really good, Zeke,” said Theresa. “I’d like to buy a copy of each of your albums and take them back to the kids in Cualo. There’s a little girl there who loves playing the piano. She’s a prodigy.”

“By the way, thanks for the piano,” said Allan. “City of Angels has taken very good care of us.” 

Paul held his hands up mockingly. “Wait a minute. My money paid for a piano? I thought I was buying Bibles.”

“Oh, we got the Bibles too,” said Theresa. “And they’ll get as much a workout as the piano.”

“It sounds wonderful,” said Zeke. “Maybe I could fly down there and give a concert with your prodigy.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” said Allan.

The next evening, Allan and Theresa spoke about the mission in Cualo. The four hundred members, who showed up, were treated to the film about the mission and the people there. Theresa spoke about the young man who had grown up worshipping a stone statue in the jungle. When he learned of God, he not only converted, but also set up a jungle ministry where he traveled the villages and told people about Jesus.

Like the two nights before, a buffet was set up in the fellowship hall. As everyone sat around eating, Cory Stilling walked up to Paul.

“Hi Paul.”

“Oh, hi Cory.” Paul introduced Allan and Theresa. “Allan, you might recognize Cory from the movies and TV.” Allan shook her hand warmly.

“I saw you in that space thing.” 

Cory blushed. “Out There” was about a young woman who thinks aliens have abducted her, but actually she was lost in an amusement park with a space theme. “Out There” was supposed to be a comedy, but it was universally panned.

“Guilty,” said Cory. “I’m not going to try and defend myself for that one.”

“Oh no, you were great. It was the script that was bad.”

“You said it, not me.”

Paul had finally gotten the nerve to introduce himself to Cory. She was so down to earth and he felt very comfortable around her. He still hadn’t gotten up the courage to show her his screenplay. They worked together on a Christmas pageant for the church. She directed, and he wrote the narration which was mostly the 2^nd chapter of Luke. Zeke wrote some songs for Mary and  Joseph and the wise men.

“I plan on going down to Venezuela to shoot a film,” said Cory. “I would love to visit the mission.”

“When are you coming down?” Theresa asked.

“This summer. It’s a low budget feature based on Sister Cammeron, the nun who worked in Peru.”

“Why aren’t they shooting it in Peru?”

“Like I said, it’s low budget.

“Then why don’t they shoot it in Mexico?” Paul asked.

“It’s cheaper to shoot in Venezuela,” replied Cory.

“Give us a call when you come down,” said Allan.

“Are you playing Sister Cammeron?” Theresa asked. 

Cory shook her head, “No, I have a co-starring role. I play a teacher.”

Not long before she took the Venezuela picture, Mickey Yulin had offered Cory the part of Edie Bronson in “Street Shadow”. It was a good part, starring opposite Josh Smythe. Mickey had called her from London with the offer.

“I’ll be honest Cory…” said Mickey. “…I want you to do a nude scene. I know how you feel about that, but let me say, it will be done very tastefully with lots of shadows and muted lighting.”

“I believe you, Mickey. You gave me my first good role. And I don’t mind playing a recovering drug addict...”

 Mickey did not let her continue. “…But no nudity, right?”

“That’s how I feel,” she replied. 

There was a brief pause. The long distance lines crackled across the Atlantic. Cory could almost hear Mickey thinking. Then he spoke. “What if I guaranteed you a piece of the action? This film is going to make a bundle. For six months filming you could clear a couple of million.”

For the fastest one millionth of a second in history, Cory thought about it. Think of the good she could do. A couple of million dollars could really spread God’s word, feed many people, and Mickey was always honest with her, but…

“I don’t think so Mickey. I’m flattered you think enough of my talent to offer, but I just can’t do it.”

“I admire your principles kid. If you change your mind, give me a call. I won’t be casting for two months.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

Cory didn’t expect to get too many offers like that, but with Jesus, it was really an easy decision. It was nothing for her to regret.

When the buffet broke up, Cory tried to rush to her car without appearing so. Ron said he was going to call from Hawaii where he was shooting a Pineapple Delight spot. She heard a voice calling to her.

“Cory!”  She turned to see Janie Lambert coming down the walk. Janie was a timid bank clerk who had a beautiful singing voice, but didn’t talk a lot. They were in the same Bible study group. Cory liked Janie. She was a mousy little woman who had lost her husband of twenty years to cancer. They had no children, and when Alvin, her husband died, the shy woman reached out to the Bible study group.

“Hi Janie.  Did you get enough to eat?” 

Janie patted her stomach. “More than enough, I’m afraid. Uh, may I talk to you?” Cory did some mental figuring. It would take her twenty minutes to get home. She didn’t want to miss Ron’s call, but Janie was a woman of few words.

“Sure Janie. What do you need?” 

The short, spare woman kept her eyes on her shoes as she spoke. “Someone told me you had a pretty good business head on you.” 

Cory swiveled her head. “It’s still here. I guess it’s okay.”

“Uh, Minister Dowling said you suggested the recent church expansion and even negotiated the sale on the property across the street.”

“Yeah, I helped, but it was mostly the elders who did the negotiating.” 

Janie shook her head and smiled. “Reb Dowling said you seemed to know all about the drainage and right of way and stuff like that. And he said you had a good handle on permits.”

“I know a little. My father is a minister in Minneapolis and when we moved to a new church ten years ago, I was the church secretary’s assistant. A lot of facts came across my desk.” 

Janie kept her eyes on the ground, looking more embarrassed by the moment. “Well…since Alvin died, I’ve been at a loss. He handled all the business.”

“I understand,” said Cory.

“And…well…we owned some property in the downtown area and I need some help.”

“What kind of help, Janie?”

“There’s this building that’s been in my husband’s family for years. When Alvin died, it became mine. It’s a beat up old warehouse really. A family ran a wholesale business there and they paid us rent. When the lease was up, they moved out.”

“Are you looking for new tenants?”

“Not really. Mr. Devaney, the real estate agent who handles warehouses in that area wants to buy it.”

“For how much?”

“Thirty thousand.” That didn’t sound like very much, even for an old beat up warehouse.

“How big is it in square footage?”

“Oh dear, I have no idea.”

“Can you give me a ball park figure?”

“Oh no, it’s not as big as a ball park.”

“I mean in general, how big is it? As big as say…our church?” Janie looked back up at the large edifice.

“Oh no, not that big. Maybe it’s about half the size of the church.” That was pretty big. Cory wasn’t familiar with the warehouse district near downtown, but a building that big was probably worth a lot more than thirty thousand dollars. The property might even be worth more if the building wasn’t standing on it.

“I’d like to see it, Janie. Why don’t we go over there on Tuesday and give it a look”

Janie raised her head and smiled. “You’d do that for me, Cory?”

 Cory put an arm around her. “Of course I would. We are sisters in Christ.”

Judd gunned the Harley one last time for luck. The canyon spread out before him as an unending vista of greens and browns. In Wyoming, the air was fresh and clear. The mountains formed a purple backdrop against the fifty-foot gap that lay before him. I can do this. It’s going to be a tough one. I did it back at The Ranch. I can do this. The mental mantra of “I can do this” was born out of confidence and habit. Judd always repeated it to himself on an especially difficult stunt. When I did it back at the ranch, it was a flawless feat, he thought.

The Ranch was a training area for stuntmen north of L.A.  Solomon Branch had set it up just before he retired. The Ranch had five towers, cliffs, a river with rapids, a one lane paved strip that went half a mile to a dead end, and all the tools a stuntman needed for his trade. Solomon was working on a building that could burn over and over. He had some of the best special effects people and carpenters working on it. Solomon had even contacted the Disney engineers to help him out.

Back on The Ranch, Judd marked off eighty feet on the paved strip and set up a ramp. He went over the stunt several times, adjusting his speed. Then he shortened the eighty feet to sixty feet. He jumped the cycle easily at that length. Now, all he had to do was jump the fifty feet over the canyon. The bad news was, it was a two hundred-foot drop if he didn’t make it. Or if he pulled short, he could crash into the cliff on the other side.

“Ready!” yelled the A.D.

Judd nodded and pulled the visor down from his helmet. There were three cameras set up to catch the stunt. He could see the helicopter whirring near the canyon, staying in position. Here goes.

If he wasn’t an atheist, he’d probably be praying to God, but Judd believed in just one thing. Himself. He was in control. He had walked the path that the cycle would pursue. He cleared away the small pebbles that could be trouble. He checked and re-checked his landing area, assigning a younger stuntman to keep it clear of debris. He had a team with push brooms to clear the area to his satisfaction. Judd depended on no one but himself to make this stunt work. God would not lift his motorcycle across the canyon. He had gone over the cycle forty different times, checking the engine, keeping it in good tune. He took the tire pressure once more and made sure he had just enough gas to accomplish the gag. Now, his hard work was about to pay off. Judd signaled the A.D. that he was ready. He was confident now, relishing the familiar adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins.

He tensed forward. Other than the helicopter, everyone was standing still, looking at him. There was a little wind, but it would be okay. Judd felt right about it. This was going to be a fantastic jump. The world suddenly slowed down. He let his body relax. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the A.D. waving a flag and shouting into his bullhorn.

“Go! Go! Go!” shouted the A.D.

Judd hit the gas and shot off towards the canyon. The motor roared in his ears as he gave it more gas. The cliff was rushing up to him at fifty-five miles per hour. If he hit it too slow, he could crash into the other side. If he went too fast, he’d lose control on the landing.

The needle moved up to sixty. He would hold it steady when it hit sixty-two miles per hour. The gap loomed ahead and for a moment, it looked like a mile wide. The needle hit sixty-one mph. Judd’s eyes moved from his speedometer to the horizon. He was looking for dust blowing. A sudden gust or an updraft could kill him. He had planted a windsock on the other side out of camera range. It was blowing a little. So far, so good. The needle hit sixty-two mph. He crossed a faint line he’d drawn in the dirt with his toe. That was it. The point of no return. If he braked hard, the bike would continue forward, over the lip of the canyon. If he leaped off the cycle he could be killed, or dragged off the cliff. His momentum would take him over the cliff with the cycle.

The ramp was buried in the dirt near the edge. It was not high enough to show up on camera, but the angle allowed the required arch of the motor cycle. He hit it at sixty-three miles per hour. Judd felt the earth leave from under his wheels. For a second, he felt like he was suspended in mid air. Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on your landing point.

The cycle flew in a broad arc, gaining altitude. The opposite side of rock was barreling towards him. For just a brief moment, he thought he’d miscalculated. He was going to be short! It was the angle. It looked like he would hit the side of the cliff, but the cycle would make it. He braced himself for the landing.

The other side of the canyon seemed to scoop under him. Whack! The cycle hit the other side and swerved into a fish tail. Judd fought for balance and was able to get it under control. He kept going for two hundred more feet before slowing down.

The crew applauded wildly as he rode up to them.

“Beautiful!” shouted his stunt assistant.

“You’re the best, Judd!” screamed Alex Sand, whom moviegoers would think actually did the canyon leap. Alex was the hot new action star. Everyone had come out to watch the stunt.

Judd made a mock bow, low and long. He took off his helmet and accepted some cold lemonade that an assistant brought him.

Goldie, who was working with the continuity woman walked up to him and gave him a hug. “You are a wild man.”

“I’ve been telling you,” said Judd. “Aren’t you glad I got you this job?”

“Yeah, I want to be there when you splatter your beautiful black body against Snake Canyon.”

“I was in control all along.”

“I still prayed for you.”

 He touched her face softly. “Thanks Goldie.”

In the past few months, they had seen each other, but Goldie was dating a man from her church. Judd was pretty busy. He’d been seeing a costume assistant at one of the studios. At times, he tried to get something going with Goldie of a more intimate nature. She gently, but sternly rejected his advances.

“I’m proud to be a twenty seven year old virgin, Judd. As far as I’m concerned, there’s one man out there for me. And so far, you aren’t him.”

The rejections hurt, but he knew it was true. In an attempt to meet her halfway, Judd went to church down in Compton. He didn’t tell Goldie. He didn’t want her to know and get her hopes up, so he secretly attended a service.

As he sat in the back pew, listening to the minister’s message about Saul on the road to Damascus, Judd found his mind questioning every verse. He mentally took the story of Paul’s conversion apart. Being blinded and hearing the voice of God could be symptoms of epilepsy or maybe a minor stroke. It was illogical to be anything spiritual. As the congregation stood to sing the invitation song, Judd slipped quietly out the back.