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.

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.”