Convent

by Sam Clemens

  “Fuck,” Cosmo said, running a hand through his hair. The blonde woman stirred. He waddled gingerly to the door and wondered what the fuck Laird could want so early.

  It was Sadie.

  “You never called,” she said. “You never called for a ride last night. Did you drive drunk?”

  Cosmo instinctively closed the door halfway. “No,” he said, exhaling. “No, I walked.”

  “What were you out doing,” she said, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I was with Laird. We were celebrating. Sades, we closed a big deal. It’s a super exciting—”

  “Just Laird?” she cut him off. “Or Laird and someone else.”

  He sighed. “Laird, mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Sades, I told you I needed space.”

  She looked at him. “But I’m your driver.”

  “I know,” he said, “and I love you for it.”

  Sadie’s eyes lit up.

  “Not like that,” he said quickly. “Like, friendly love.”

  She shrugged and readjusted, working hard to get her face under control. “Of course,” she said. “Yeah, duh.”

  “Listen, I just…a lot’s going on. Big, big things. We’re trying to finalize the convent, so in the meantime, I need a little space.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “of course. I just wanted to do my job as your driver. Make sure you had what you need. Any rides planned today?”

  “No,” he said, “thank you.” He began closing the door.

  “Cozzy?” she said.

  Cosmo paused. “Yes?”

  “When we move to the convent, will we be living together like you said?”

  He closed his eyes. He had said that. “We’ll see. I need to, um, meditate now,” he said, and closed the door.

  Cosmo’s phone buzzed. A message from Laird. It was a link to a Boulder Daily Camera article, accompanied by two words:

  THAT BITCH

  The article came hard right out of the gate.

  BOULDER COUNTY SELLS LAND TO RELIGIOUS CULT

  Cosmo blinked at the headline.

  Boulder, Colo.— In a public land auction for the famed Caribou Ranch property north of Nederland, the Boulder County Division of Land Management accepted a bid from a local extremist religious sect known as Cosmography, a city official said.

  According to Boulder County Auditor Marianne Kupp, the group Cosmography Unlimited, LLC, is owned by the cult. Public records show the group purchased four parcels of land adding up to more than 200 acres in yesterday’s auction. Kupp also alleged the group intimidated her into approving the building permit for the site that now houses Pizza by Cosmo, a popular restaurant on Baseline Road, months ago.

  “This group is dangerous, and in no way represents the values of our community,” Kupp said in an interview. “Their bids should have never been accepted, and now they need to be voided by the council.”

  Cosmo sat down on the couch and dialed Laird’s number.

  “That bitch!” his friend answered. There were loud noises in the background, as if cast iron pans were being thrown.

  “Laird,” Cosmo said. “I thought she promised to keep quiet.”

  “Oh she sure as fuck did, and she’s BREAKING THAT PROMISE.” Another crash of metal. “I swear to God I’ll kill her myself.”

  “Whoa!” Cosmo said. “Caaaalm down, dude. Just take a breath.”

  The smashing died down. Laird breathed heavily, as if he’d just gotten back from a run. “You’re right. Too far. I’ll….severely injure her.”

  “Okay,” Cosmo said. “So she got some guts and decided to talk. It doesn’t matter, right? They already sold it to us.”

  “No,” Laird said, “not exactly. I talked to Alejandro. The fucking council has to give final approval, just like every damned thing in this prissy-ass town. He said it’s usually just a formality, but guess what? NO LONGER A FORMALITY!”

  Another crash. Cosmo waited for him to calm down.

  “Sorry,” Laird.

  “No problem.”

  “Did you see what else it said about us? The article? It said we get together in the pizza place at night and have a big sex pit. Totally false!”

  “Wow,” Cosmo said. “Where’d they get that idea?”

  “I’m going to sue that reporter for libel.”

  “When’s the council meeting?” Cosmo asked.

  “Tonight, Coz!” Laird said with a laugh. “F’ing tonight. No time for bribes or anything. Just great.”

  “Can we at least go and argue our case?”

  “Yes,” Laird said. “That’s all we can do. That and pray. At least we’re starting off with one vote in the bag, I guess, but once the other councilmen read this story…I don’t know, man.”

  Cosmo inhaled. “I’ll do it. I’ll argue before the council.”

  “No you fucking won’t,” Laird said. “I will not expose you like that, in a public forum. It’s my job.”

  “No, it should be mine. Buck stops at the top. It’s my responsibility.”

  Laird was silent.

  “If there’s one thing I do better than you,” Cosmo said, “it’s public speaking. Just being real.”

  “Hmm,” Laird said. He couldn’t argue.

  “Plus, if you do awesome at this, too, what am I supposed to give you as a thank-you gift? I already bought a car and got you laid.”

  “Wait—”

  “Whoops!” Cosmo said. “I’ll come over to prep right away.” He ended the call and shouted toward the bedroom. “Time to get dressed, ladies.”

  Thirty-Five

  The city council meeting quickly became a circus. The news story had considerable reach—over twenty thousand shares on ContentRanch.com—and Boulder residents filled the gallery to witness the spectacle. By the time the meeting began, the place was packed, and the observers fidgeted and murmured for an hour while the council slogged through the monotonous housekeeping of school bonds and municipal trash collection. Finally, it was time to hear arguments for land use transactions. Onlookers quieted and the tension grew.

  By rule, the council gave an opportunity for citizens to argue for or against any given transaction. Generally these issues were of little or no public interest, and the community forum opportunity passed without a single argument from either side; as Laird had said, a formality. The council would then rubber stamp any sales or mergers on the docket and go home to their families. Not this time.

  Marianne Kupp stepped to the podium first. She spoke with conviction.

  “This past spring, this group sent a man to my home to threaten me,” she said, raising a finger in the air. “He broke into my house and held me hostage, and blackmailed me into approving a commercial building permit.”

  The crowd leaned in and listened.

  “The building in question is now operated by this group—Cosmography,” she said. “They are a pseudo-religious cult which preys upon its members. They use extortion and blackmail to get what they want. Their numbers are growing, and more of our residents are being brainwashed by their leader every day.”

  Cosmo swallowed hard. The woman had a lot of information.

  Marianne Kupp continued. “If this sale goes forward, this group plans to build a Manson-Family-style commune in the hills above Boulder.” Laird cringed; why did everyone go right to the Mansons? “Who knows,” Marianne Kupp said, “what kinds of things will take place up there? Is that the type of activity we want to promote in our community; Boulder, home to America’s fastest-growing cult?”

  Laird took it in. Through the volley of insults, the assertion stood out; were they really the fastest-growing cult in America? He felt a swell of pride.

  “How long until this group becomes violent?” Kupp asked. “How long before these innocent people are persuaded to drink the Kool-Aid?”

  The audience stirred; some mumbled, others raised their voices. The council chair banged his gavel for order. Marianne Kupp went on to list a litany of allegation
s; many were true, some were false—most notably the after-hours pizza place sex pit. Although, Cosmo wondered, if that were true, would it be the worst thing? A little consensual gang bang at a private establishment? Still, her testimony was convincing.

  When she finished, Cosmo Hendricks exhaled and stood up. Laird gave him a pat on the back, and the entire chamber watched as he approached the podium.

  Cosmo steadied himself and looked out. Hundreds of sets of eyes—many already predisposed to disagree—waiting for him to speak. He was nervous, much like those first few times at Copper Mine Subs, when his congregation had hovered around a dozen. He looked at the lectern, at his tan linen pants, and at the hair on the back of his hands, and remembered who he was.

  He was Cosmo Hendricks, the fucking emancipator.

  “My name is Cosmo Hendricks,” he said, his voice even and solid, “and I’m here on behalf of my congregation.”

  Thirty-Six

  As Cosmo spoke, he picked up steam, and began his trademark pace behind the podium. He employed a trick he’d learned from an online public speaking course and made eye contact with as many individuals in the crowd as he could. It was a way to make it personal; people had a harder time hating you when you looked right at them. Slowly, as he spoke, he watched those faces turn from standoffish, to skeptical, to approachable.

  “What are we?” he asked, speaking directly to the city council. “Why, we’re a group of like-minded people who enjoy deep conversation about the mysteries of the universe.” He pointed across the room, where Marianne Kupp sat. “Ms. Kupp has done a commendable job of framing us as a boogeyman. ‘Manson family,’ I believe were her words. My friends, nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Cosmo adjusted his belt. “Let me tell you the truth, then: no one in our group has joined on anything other than their own volition. Rather, no one in our group has even been actively recruited. Most of our members sought us out on their own, without initial contact from me or anyone else. The farthest we’ve ever gone is distributing pamphlets with information about our cause. Hardly a strong-arm tactic. Hardly brainwashing.

  “After-hours sex parties?” Cosmo scoffed. “Please. The allegation is so outrageous—so reckless—that I will be asking Ms. Kupp to issue a full retraction. She has no evidence these exist—or have ever existed—because they don’t. It’s patently false. I don’t know where Ms. Kupp came up with the idea, but you know what they say: the more depraved the lie, the more depraved the mind.”

  Commotion in the crowd. Marianne Kupp’s face went sour. From where he sat, Laird smiled.

  “So we sit here today,” Cosmo said, clasping his hands behind his back and switchbacking behind the lectern, “and vilify a group of adults who choose to get together and eat pizza and discuss the mysteries of the cosmos? May I ask, then, how far will we go in legislating conversation? Will the council be passing a resolution limiting what others can discuss? When they can discuss it? Where they discuss it?”

  Cosmo looked at the crowd. A few nods. One man whispered to the person next to him.

  “For my money, we should be encouraging stimulating conversation,” the emancipator said. “Fostering learning. Curiosity! That’s what our group is about, and last time I checked, that’s what this community was about. Last time I checked,” he put his hands on his hips, “that’s what America was about!”

  A cheer from the audience, then. One woman clapped. The council chair banged his gavel. Cosmo Hendricks gained momentum.

  “And to Ms. Kupp’s other defamatory assertion, may I ask: where is the evidence?” He turned to face her. “Where is the police report, Ms. Kupp? Where are the news articles? If a breaking-and-entering, followed by assault, occurred as you said it did—especially in our fair community—surely there would be record of such things, no?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Ms. Kupp doesn’t have these things because the story is a lie!” he said, pointing his index finger directly at her. “A lie formulated by a bitter woman on the grounds of religious discrimination.”

  Commotion in the chamber. Shouts from the crowd. Pandemonium! The council chair banged the gavel repeatedly, but order was hard to restore.

  Cosmo went on. “Now, I understand our religious practice may differ from many of yours. It may differ from the norm. But I thought the job of our democracy was to protect all religions, not only the mainstream ones.” He strode from side to side, making eye contact with each and every member of the audience. “I know Boulder County isn’t the most religious place on earth, and I respect that. But my friends, I ask you: is it a discriminatory place? Is that what we stand for? Discrimination?”

  The crowd was in an uproar. Cosmo Hendricks had struck a chord. It was true that Boulder, Colorado, was not a religious place—rather, it was about as godless a town as they came, with its community of aging, childless hippies and inebriated college kids running trains on each other on their parents’ dimes. But as cool as they were to churches, one thing the city of Boulder most certainly would not stand for was discrimination. The community had a long, rich civil rights history and regularly bent over backward to ensure any theoretically marginalized group wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. And now to be accused of religious discrimination in a public forum? It was simply too much.

  “What do we want with the land?” Cosmo asked with gusto. “The same thing any of us want. A place to lay our heads at night. A place we can call our home, where we will be free to do as we wish. Where we will respect the land, appreciate each other, and contemplate the wonders of the natural world. And Ms. Kupp, if that sounds dangerous to you, I suggest you have a lot to learn.”

  The audience rose in a standing ovation. The council chair’s gavel was drowned out by the sounds of support. Through the roar, Cosmo made eye contact with his lieutenant, who smiled widely.

  The council voted 7-0 to approve the sale.

  Part Three

  Thirty-Seven

  Construction began immediately. Semis and backhoes drove down the dusty road to their new 200-acre compound, and crews worked around the clock to renovate the current buildings and erect additional cabins. Laird oversaw it all.

  Retha and Roy would continue to run the pizza place, with Laird staying on as the CFO, remotely. The cooks would commute daily from the compound, a role they willingly accepted as their contribution to the cause.

  Initially, the exposure from the council meeting had made Laird nervous. They’d undoubtedly won the evening with Cosmo’s rousing speech, but still, once the image of a gigantic sex pit inside the pizza kitchen got in someone’s head, would they really want to eat there? Apparently yes. Pizza by Cosmo was busier than ever, and exposure from the council meeting snowballed into numerous interview requests from all the big hitters—the Times, the Camera, Content Ranch, and WorldBuzz—which Laird fielded with aplomb.

  Marianne Kupp quietly left her job as the Boulder County Auditor, which was rumored to be a forced resignation. Laird felt bad about her public disgrace—and for the record, he had nothing to do with the threats she received—but what was he to do? They had an agreement and she’d broken it. The woman had known there were consequences for noncompliance.

  When moving day arrived, Cosmo rented four coach buses to transport the congregation. Their numbers were over 100. Laird and Cosmo had spent months discussing logistics; food, parking, activities to keep the masses engaged. The growing population meant more mouths to feed—more of everything—but also more donations. They were bringing in so much money that Laird was having trouble laundering it all through the pizza place and was considering pursuing a second business venture. Cosmo gave him the green light.

  The cabins were mostly identical—eight bedrooms apiece (four upstairs, four down) plus three bathrooms and a kitchen—and arranged in a circular pattern, each one facing a giant shared meadow. Dirt paths led from one building to the next. The horse barn had been converted into a gigantic fellowship hall for sermons, Sunday dinners, and other group-wide activities
.

  It was fall when they arrived, and while the moving trucks were still unloading, Cosmo and Laird wore flannels and hiked up to the very spot that Laird had looked down upon the property on that first day of scouting. Their land went as far as the eye could see, well beyond where the meadow met the woods. The aspen leaves were a brilliant yellow, and they quivered in the cool breeze.

  Cosmo Hendricks looked down on his kingdom and saw the people moving about. Choosing cabins, moving in, and beginning new lives. It was a brand- new community, created by a simple misunderstanding at a sub shop long ago. He turned to his friend and raised his eyebrows.

  “What now?” he said.

  Housing arrangements were mostly socialistic—as the vast majority of the rooms were the same—though concessions were made for special cases. Cosmo, of course, got the best place; the building that had originally housed the Caribou Ranch recording studio had been converted into a one-man mansion. The emancipator had the 8,000-square-foot residence to himself, complete with vaulted ceilings, grand arched windows, a gourmet commercial kitchen, a five-car garage—stocked with a BMW and Jeep Wrangler—and a movie theater.

  Laird’s plot was also choice; not as large as Cosmo’s but still much more than one man could ever need. An entire cabin just down the hill from the leader with a sprawling master bedroom and en-suite fireplace and hot tub, a wrap-around deck, a hibachi grill, and a cellar full of expensive wines, for which Laird had developed a taste. The lieutenant could not complain.

  As rewards for their longevity and tremendous loyalty, Retha and Roy were moved into a chic chateau nestled next to a clear-water pond that Laird had named after himself. Laird Pond Chateau had five bedrooms, two jetted tubs, a commercial pizza kitchen (for tinkering with new recipes, deep dish expressly excluded), a two-car garage, and a dock for fishing.