Grins akimbo, they were handing me a jackpot: legitimacy, a bright, shiny career, high profile success. If the show was a hit I’d be able to buy and sell Magnus Moloke a dozen times over.
“Again, we don’t want a radical,” McFarlane said. “But we do want radical comedy. Hmmmm. Radical Comedy.”
“Got it,” Mitsuko Leavenworth said, typing away. Her eyes flashed toward Yuri. Whatever their connection was it had very little to do with comedy. Unless it was a sex comedy.
“I want to see you live,” McFarlane said. “I heart YouTube, but I want to see you in front of a crowd.”
Yuri nodded. “I told Jeff and Ted about the Up and Comers at the Ha Ha Room, Wednesday night.”
“I have to check my schedule,” McFarlane said. “I’m only in Chicago till Thursday morning. But I want to see you do your thing on the real. You feel me?”
“Roll on through,” I said. McFarlane’s corporate hiphop speak was contagious as a flesh eating virus. “Check me out. You won’t be disappointed… yo.”
Yuri beamed. “Foshizzle, my nizzles!”
“Funky fresh, homies!” Corroder tweeted. “Well, LC, you ready to reach for the stars?”
“Where do I sign up?”
Everyone high-fived. Yuri bought a round of iced teas and produced a flask filled with bourbon to add a “little snap” to the toasting. I stuck with my iced tea, confident that I was on my way; the future was mine.
Later, lost and betrayed, I would remember that moment.
And damn myself for a fool.
CHAPTER XV
LONDON CALLING… AGAIN, CONNIE FINDS RELIGION, BARBARA.
“I miss you, babe. London sucks.”
Relief washed over me like a wave from a cool sea. I trembled as an adrenaline surge sent starbursts sizzling along my nerve endings. I’d spent the two days since lunch with Yuri and Corroder preparing for the Goldie Kiebler’s Up and Comers’ contest later that night, and fantasizing about what I’d say if Surabhi called. Now I couldn’t think of anything funny to say.
“I miss you too. I can’t stop thinking about last week. I’m so sorry I made such a mess of things.”
“Well, my dad was being an even bigger idiot.”
“Wow. I’m so glad you said that. I mean…”
“What did you think, Lando? That I’d let my father make up my mind for me?”
“No, of course not.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Mister Cooper.”
“I know.”
“Lando, we’ve got things to clear up before we can get on with… whatever this is.”
“I know. And you’re right. About me, I meant. I have been hiding things from you. But I want to tell you everything.”
“God, that’s scary. Now I’m all nervous.”
“Why?”
“You’re not a serial killer or anything are you?”
“Nothing so serious.”
“We’re flying back tomorrow. Mum and Dad are going on to New York. I plan to be in your arms by no later than midnight tomorrow. Being here these last few days… I’ve just really missed you. Can you forgive me for being such a mad cow?”
“I love you, Surabhi. There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Will you meet me at the airport with flowers and your most charming grin? The one I like, that curls up on one end?”
“Done. Tell your father congratulations for me?”
“How about I just say ‘Anonymous Friends from America Send Salutations Upon The Occasion of Your Imperial Recognition?’”
“Sounds very British. Email me your flight information?”
“That’s a ‘can do’ on that one, Big Poppa.”
“Hiphop, British Accent. And a little grossed out by the ‘Big Poppa’.”
“Hmmm,” Surabhi purred. “Freud would have a field day. I gotta go. Dad’s royal carriage is here: knighthood awaits. Can’t believe I’m actually wearing a dress my mother bought for me. Bare arms. Oy. I blame Michelle Obama.”
“Your arms are ten times more buffed than Michelle Obama’s.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls you want to marry. See you soon?”
“Not soon enough.”
“Remember now: full disclosure. The Real Story of Lando Cooper.”
“Followed by late dinner and violent make-up sex?”
“We’ll see. Bye, babe.”
“Bye.”
I disconnected. I entered her arrival time on a small PostIt note and stuck it to my laptop screen. Nothing short of the return of the Titans would keep me from meeting her plane on time.
It’s working, I congratulated myself. The Plan is back on schedule.
“Sometimes I can’t tell if you love Surabhi or your all-important Plan”, Connie piped in from my brain.
“Surabhi, of course. Where have you been?”
The air in front of my desk shimmered, and Connie stepped out of a slit in the local Fabric. She had changed again. Now she was wearing the body of a stooped, old woman with flowing, floor length white hair. It was another of her Aspects, Winter Woman, dressed in long deerskin tunic and soft moccasins. A string of beads and small shells dangled noisily from a leather string tied around her neck. She looked oddly beautiful in this, her most ancient Aspect.
“You on the warpath?”
“Funny. Save the racist jokes for your lousy TV show.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
Connie shrugged her old lady shoulders.
“Oh, I’m just preoccupied. I went to check up on that group of new followers I told you about.”
“Esmeralda Sanchez. In New Mexico.”
“Yup. She’s developing quite a movement. They’re calling it the ‘New Redemption Spritwalker Fellowship.’ It’s attracting attention from other Indian tribes across the Southwest.
“Esmeralda prayed for a Vision. The prayers were particularly powerful and I was curious. When I visited her, I was shocked to see that she had gathered nearly two thousand people to hear her message. I slipped into the mind of one of her acolytes, her twin sister, Evelyn. I watched Esmeralda perform the ancient rites. She sang with such authority that I got all emotional. It reminded me of when my family was in charge.”
Connie sighed.
“I kept looking for some sign of Sun, my husband, or Shelly… that’s my sister, White Shell Woman. But neither of them could be bothered – too busy with their little casino projects for a family reunion I guess. Anyway, I missed a response to Esmeralda’s songs. That’s what drew her attention. She glanced over her shoulder at me. Then she stopped singing and fell to her knees. She recognized me.”
“Impossible. She couldn’t have.”
“‘Onihima is here! She has heard our songs! Changing Woman honors us with a Visitation! The Earth Mother is with us!’ That’s what she said.”
“But that would make her…”
“Yup. A prophet.”
“But that’s…”
“A big pain in the butt.”
“There aren’t supposed to be any more prophets, Connie. Because there aren’t supposed to be any more gods – at least no confirmation of godly presences.”
“I know that. You think I don’t know that?”
“If all those people saw you that would be confirmation, Connie. Confirmation flies in the face of the Plan. They have to believe they’re on their own! This Sanchez woman could stir up all kinds of trouble! She could single-handedly set the Plan back a hundred years. If her following grows large enough she could coax your pantheon out of retirement.”
“I guess I should also tell you that my son Monster Slayer has been sniffing around for a way to regain his station.”
“What?”
“You try shaking down losers and bouncing card counters for forty years. My son used to slaughter the enemies of the gods. Now he sits on a barstool all day, staring into video monitors and eating pancakes from the All You Can Stuff Buffalo Bar.”
“What did you do, Connie?”
<
br /> “Well… when she saw me… recognized me… in front of all those people…”
“No. Tell me you didn’t…”
“There were hundreds of people there, Lando… thousands, all chanting my name.”
“Connie!”
“I figured one tiny miracle…”
“One tiny miracle? There are no ‘tiny’ miracles, Connie!”
Connie folded her flabby arms and stuck out her chin.
“Well… no one’s parting the Red Sea or anything like that.”
“You know that was blown out of proportion.”
“And anyway… why should your believers be the only ones to get a little hope, a little encouragement? You realize how desperate my peoples’ situation has become?”
“Connie, we had a deal! No miracles! No confirmation!”
“Oh poop,” she replied, waving away my objections. “It was just a little rain.”
“You made it rain?”
“Yes. That’s why they were all gathered there. They were having this big Indian arts festival. There’s been a major drought across the Southwest for the last three years...”
“Three years?”
“Yes. Sorry… four years.”
“You’re killing me.”
“They were all there, the People. Not just Navajos either. Other tribes, white folks, black folks… Japanese tourists, Mexicans… all singing Navajo songs. Esmeralda instructed them to pray for rain. They even had a Junior Rain Dancers competition. Those little buggers were so cute!”
“I’m getting a sick headache, Connie…”
“So I thought, ‘What the hell? What’s it going to hurt now?’ So when Esmeralda recognized me in the body of her sister, she called upon the bond between all sisters, reminding me of the love between me and my sister, White Shell Woman – the little slut – I guess I was feeling nostalgic for the old days, the Old Ways. She asked for my favor and I granted it. I called the winds… and they answered me! It was so lovely to see them again! Then I summoned the rains and they came!”
“You’re making me meshugga, Connie.”
“Oh, you only speak Yiddish when you’re feeling intolerant. Don’t get all Old Testament on me, mister. Alright… so I got a little crazy. They sang my favorite songs and danced the ancient dances. They’re still dancing.”
“It’s still raining there?”
“Yes, Mister Poopy Paws. Look at me. Don’t I look different?”
Changing Woman was growing younger, her hair darkening toward black, the lines in her face fading away even as her back straightened and she stood taller.
“I know what you have to do,” she said.
“Connie. I have to.”
“It was sure nice while it lasted though. Now I have to go lie down. I’m gonna be so hungover in the morning. Sorry. But not really.”
“Goodnight, Connie.”
She waved, a giggling beautiful teenager, and faded away.
“Nightie night, Grampa.”
Man, I hate it when she goes walkabout.
I felt the comforting esoteric weight of her as she settled into my brain for what I hoped would be a long nap. Then I closed my eyes and rummaged around for an Aspect. After Africa and the ersatz angelic rebellion I could no longer trust the archangels to ferry me around: who knew who else Gabriel had corrupted? I was going to have to use my own reserves to get me to New Mexico. I reached into the Eshuum and was greeted immediately by Sky Daddy.
“Hello, Lando,” it rattled. Its voice was light for so large and diffuse an Aspect; a shriek in a wind tunnel; the howl of a hurricane rushing through a keyhole. “We’ve missed you.”
I was shrugging Sky Daddy on over my shoulders when the door to my bedroom flew open and Barbara stumbled into the room.
“Ma!”
My voice struck echoes of elemental fury from the air. I shoved Sky Daddy back into my pocket.
“Ooopsh, sorry.”
Barbara stepped out into the hall, slammed the door, waited four seconds, then knocked.
“May I come in?”
“No!”
She came in. “What are you doing? Christ, open a window. It smells like balls in here.”
“I’m busy!”
“Who were you talking to? What were those weird lights?”
“I was rehearsing for my gig tonight. Do you mind?”
“I hope I’m not pissing in my diapers the day you drop this comedy crap and get a real job.”
“That’s insulting.”
“I know. What are you doing for the next hour?”
“Rehearsing.”
And re-routing the stream of inappropriate Creation cascading across New Mexico… as soon as you leave.
“Take me to church.”
“No. I’ve got to–”
“Don’t care. I’ve got to go to church but I can’t drive myself.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I closed the Silver Fox last night. I couldn’t sleep when I got home so I popped a valium, but I had to get up early to go meet my exterminator. Rats. So I took a vitamin B shot to perk me up, but then I met Andrea Cash and the girls at the Art Museum to see that Chinese body cadaver exhibit thing and that was so boring I needed a gimlet just to keep from strangling that bitch Tawndra Wilson who speaks Cantonese better than a goddamn Chinaman, and when I got back home I was so tired because I hadn’t slept, but I still had too much excitement coursing through my veins, so I took a vicodin and a muscle relaxer but they mixed badly with the cranberry margueritas and now I have to go meet Owen, and me operating heavy machinery constitutes a threat to national security…”
“People coming to my gig tonight. Important people.”
“I mean it, Lando. I’ll slaughter a dozen people…”
Barbara batted her eyelids and spoke in her “ubsywubsy” voice, the voice she used when she wanted me to think she liked me.
“Can my big strong son dwive his sick old mama to her bible study cwass? Pweeeease?”
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I said pweeeease…”
“Ma!”
“Pwetty pweeease?”
“Let’s go.”
Human continuity may have been endangered, but I would have destroyed New Jersey to stop her from doing that voice.
Barbara smiled. “Good. And comb your hair. You look like a goddamn bushbaby.”
“I think Owen is falling in love with me.”
Barbara was applying a fresh coat of make-up, studying herself in the passengerside visor’s mirror, alternately smoking, sucking in her cheeks and pouting.
“You two seemed pretty chummy the other night. How did you meet him anyway?”
“He came into Barb’s six months ago.”
“He didn’t strike me as a drinking man.”
“Oh, Owen drinks. He likes scotch, like your father used to before he met Crouching Tiger, Hide Your Wallet.”
Herb’s obsession with clean living was a source of constant aggravation for Barbara, who had drunk Old Fashioneds since her thirteenth birthday.
“Why does his commitment to staying in shape bother you so much?”
“Please. If some people are too lazy to move their fat asses enough to keep trim without running like freed slaves, they deserve every disease they get. I’ve maintained the same weight since high school.”
“You smoke.”
“Occasionally.”
“Barbara, you collect cigarettes the way white separatists hoard baked beans. I’ve seen hummingbirds put more food in their mouths. Remember Atticus’ Christmas party? While the rest of us ate, you smoked, drank and insulted his children.”
“I happen to have a ladylike appetite, smartass. Anyway, back in December Owen came in with one of my regulars. They took the back table near the rear exit. That’s usually where people go when they’re having affairs: it’s dark and it attracts whores. Lindvall, my customer, was crying. Owen was pouring booze down his gullet while he cried and cried. I though
t they were fags. Then somebody told me they were having an intervention. I grabbed my taser and went over there. But when Owen looked at me…”
Barbara settled back into the passenger seat, her eyes dreamily focused in the distance out the front windshield.
“There’s something about him. He’s got this crazy charisma. Like Jackie Wilson and JFK all rolled into one. He’s religious, but not a pain in the ass about it. He lets you make up your own mind. He tells me to trust my fear.”
“Trust your fear.”
“Owen says fear is highly underrated. That it’s God’s way of telling us how ineffectual we are.”
“He preaches fear?”
“All the time. Owen says our society has become arrogant. He says we should embrace our fears, let them guide us through life’s uncertainties: if more people operated consciously out of fear we’d all progress toward ‘gentler, more pragmatic solutions for the ills that plague modern man’.”
“That’s different.”
“Well I think it’s refreshing. I mean haven’t you had enough of all this ‘follow your dreams’ horseshit? If I hear one more menopausal hausfrau whining on Oprah about ‘following her dreams’ I’ll snap. My ‘dream’ is to bust a cap in every broad who drops her panties for Oprah.”
“You love Oprah.”
“I’m a glutton for punishment. That’s why I married your father, the bastard. Get off here… right now.”
I swooped across three lanes of traffic, accompanied by an angry chorus of horns as drivers swerved to avoid Barbara’s brand new Jaguar. The driver I cut off swerved into the slow lane and slammed on her brakes just as the driver behind her attempted to jam his car into the exact space at that same moment. More squealing brakes followed by the sound of crunching metal. The “screw you” chorus of horns retreated into the rear distance as we sped up the exit ramp.
“I can’t imagine how you got a driver’s license. Anyway, when Owen looked me in the eye it was like he was looking at me. Not the glamorous creature I present to you and your gay friends. He saw the real me.”
“He saw all that with one look?”
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