A PORTRAIT OF OLIVIA

by J. P. Bowie

Brad grinned at Olivia as she flung the reviews in the trash with an angry curse. “Come on, baby. All of this will be forgotten in a few days. Everybody has an off-day, once in a while.”

  Olivia ground her teeth as she stared at Brad’s ruggedly handsome face.

  “You don’t understand,” she muttered. “I set myself up during that show. I didn’t control what was going on. I let that Stuart dame make me look stupid—and I was stupid, letting my feelings get the better of me!”

  “What are you talking about?” Brad looked at her, puzzled.

  “Oh, a couple of gay guys pissed me off with their high-minded moralizing about having Patricia Hastings on the show in the first place. They got mad and walked out on me after I had arranged a dinner date with them. I guess I wanted to get back at them. That’s why I used those pathetic words on the show. The two words that everyone’s picked up on to make me look like some uneducated bigot!”

  “Well…that maybe wasn’t too bright. You know how touchy everybody is these days…”

  Olivia glared at him. “Thanks for reminding me…”

  “Oh come on, babe.” He put his arms around her and pulled her to him.

  “Like I said, all of it will be history in a couple of days. Just relax and forget it…”

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  She squirmed a resistance for a moment then gave in to his embrace and his kiss. Neither one of them noticed that Brenda had entered the apartment and now stood staring at them from the doorway, a look of pure hatred and disgust on her face. Joyce, Olivia’s maid, jumped back into the safety of the kitchen as she caught a glimpse of Brenda standing there, so unmistakably angered by what she was witnessing.

  Joyce watched through the partly open door as Brenda walked to the office and slammed the door, causing Brad and Olivia to jump apart, startled by the sudden noise.

  “What’s her problem?” Joyce heard Brad ask.

  Olivia shrugged. “What isn’t, these days? I gotta tell you, she is getting on my nerves big time.”

  “I told you to get rid of her, didn’t I?” Brad scowled in the direction of the office door.

  “I can’t get rid of her…you know that. She has too much on us—on both of us.”

  “Yeah, well she wouldn’t come out of it smelling like a rose, either.”

  Olivia sighed and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower…Have Joyce fix us some breakfast. I’ll be out in a few.”

  Brad wandered into the kitchen to give Joyce her instructions. “Her lady-ship requests breakfast be served when she gets out of the shower,” he told the young woman, giving her a wink.

  Joyce giggled. She liked Brad, and was enjoying the mellower atmosphere he had brought to the household. No doubt he was a bit of a rogue, she thought, but Olivia was a lot less crabby these days. She’d told Larry, her boyfriend, just that.

  “Probably ’cause she’s getting laid regularly,” Larry had said, snidely.

  “Though he must have a strong stomach to put up with her.”

  “Will Miss Shapiro be joining you for breakfast?” Joyce now asked.

  “God, I hope not,” Brad said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Don’t think she’s in too sweet a mood this morning from the sounds of things.”

  “She did look a bit pissed when she came in.”

  “That’s her normal expression, Joyce. Then there’s this one…” He pulled his face into a fierce scowl, turning the corners of his mouth down and gnashing his teeth. “And that’s when she’s in a good mood…” They both laughed then started guiltily as the kitchen door swung open and Brenda stood there, glaring at them.

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  “Joyce, get me some coffee, willya? Bring it to the office.” She turned on her heel and left, without acknowledging Brad’s presence.

  Brad lifted his middle finger and waved it at the kitchen door. Joyce giggled again, then quickly set about getting Brenda’s coffee ready. She knew better than to keep her waiting. If there was one person who was worse to deal with than Olivia—it was Brenda. Joyce shivered slightly as she remembered the malevolent look on Brenda’s face when she’d seen Olivia and Brad together on the couch.

  “Don’t let her scare you,” Brad said gently, noticing Joyce’s trembling hand.

  “She’s all bark that one.”

  Joyce nodded, but secretly she was not quite sure that Brad was correct in thinking that. In her opinion, Brenda was probably the scariest person she’d ever met.

  Peter looked at Anthony over the brim of his coffee mug and felt reassured that his friend was in a fairly decent frame of mind. It had been several days since his mother’s funeral, and although Peter knew Anthony was still grieving for her, he could intuit that there was a sense of relief that it was all over.

  “So, how are you and Justin doing?” Peter asked, putting down his coffee cup.

  “Just fine.” A flicker of a smile crossed Anthony’s face. “This will most likely sound way too mushy, but I really don’t know how I’d have made it through without him. He has been so understanding—even when things got really nasty.”

  “He’s a keeper, all right…” Peter paused for a moment, then said, “I get the feeling there’s something else on your mind…”

  “There you go again with that psychic stuff,” Anthony said, with a half chuckle. “You’re right…Johnny’s been handling Mom’s estate for us since she…um, since the funeral…and he came up with a couple of items that have been kinda bugging me…”

  “Go on…”

  “Well, there are a couple of checks of sizeable amounts that have been paid to a Reverend Fellows…”

  “That charlatan?” Peter exclaimed.

  “You know him?”

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  “Only by reputation. He’s one of those television evangelist characters. Jeff told me he used to be really popular, then he lost a lot of credibility when he said Elmo—or some puppet or other, was gay.”

  “What?” Anthony looked at Peter in amazement. “Why on earth would my mother be sending him checks?”

  “Well, he was very anti-Olivia,” Peter said, remembering a conversation with Andrew. “He’s been on TV recently urging people to boycott her show.”

  “Right…” Anthony thought for a moment. “That could be the connection.

  My mother was most likely paying him to do just that. It seems she would have gone to any lengths to get people to listen to her.”

  Peter frowned. “But getting mixed up with a flake like Jack Fellows…isn’t that a bit extreme?”

  “I don’t think my mother was thinking rationally towards the end,”

  Anthony sighed. “I’m afraid she would have been easily swayed by anyone who agreed with her religious beliefs.”

  “And Fellows would fall into that category,” Peter mused. “According to Jeff, he’s virulently homophobic—thinks we should all be locked up and gassed.”

  “Nice.” Anthony looked at Peter, a glint in his eye. “I think I just might have to pay this guy a visit.”

  “Uh, Anthony…” Peter was suddenly remembering a time when he and Jeff had suspected that Anthony had visited his father’s doctor buddy—the man who had sodomized Anthony when he was a child. That doctor had ended up committing suicide. “D’you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Probably not…it’ll most likely end up in a free-for-all, but it will bring me a degree of satisfaction to tell him just what I think of him and his gay-bashing doctrine.” He paused then grinned at Peter. “And I’ll ask him to return the money my mother paid him. After all, he didn’t come through, now did he?

  Olivia’s still got a show.”

  “Anthony…if you want to do this, let me go with you. If it gets nasty you should have a witness so he can’t sue or have you arrested.”

  “Great idea…” Anthony jumped to his feet. “Let’s go!”

  “What?” Peter yelped. “Now? How do you know where he lives?”


  “I have his address and phone number right here.” He waved a business card at Peter. “I’ll call and make an appointment—tell him it’s urgent and that I have to talk with him right away.”

  The Reverend Fellows smoothed the lapels of his black jacket with the palms of his pudgy hands and smiled at his reflection in the hall mirror. So the J.P. Bowie

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  young son of the late Mrs. Hastings— dear Mrs. Hastings—wanted to donate a large sum of money toward the Fellowship Church in memory of his mother.

  Fellows smirked as he straightened his dark red tie—then shuddered as his wife’s raucous voice reached his ears.

  “Hey Jack! Who’re the two hunks getting out of the car? Shit! Will ya get a load of these two? They must be fairies…Hey! The blond one—I seen him on that talk show. You know, Olivia what’s-her-name—the black bitch you can’t stand!”

  “Christina!” Fellows yelled, rushing into the living room. “Get away from that window. I don’t want them to see you. They must not see you.”

  “Whad’ya mean?” Christina narrowed her blood-shot eyes at her husband.

  “What are you up to this time?”

  “One of them is the son of Patricia Hastings. He wants to donate a large sum to the church in his mother’s memory…”

  “What is he—nuts?” Christina pushed Fellows aside as she made for the door. “I guess I’ll just have to let them know exactly where that money will go!”

  Fellows grabbed her by the arm and slammed her viciously against the wall.

  “You will keep your mouth shut!”

  “Ow!” Christina howled, wrenching herself from Fellows’ grasp. “You son-of-a-bitch!” She put a hand up to the back of her head…it came away sticky with blood. “Look what you did, you bastard…”

  “I’ll do a lot more if you don’t get upstairs to your room and stay there.” He raised a threatening hand, and despite herself, Christina flinched as she saw the murderous look in her husband’s eyes. “Now go—and stay out of sight until I say you can come back down.”

  Christina staggered away as the doorbell sounded. Taking a deep breath, straightening his jacket and fixing a large smile on his face, Fellows strode to the door and swung it wide open.

  “Welcome, gentlemen, welcome!” He beamed at the two young men who looked back at him with unsmiling faces. “Come in, come in,” Fellows boomed. “Now tell me…which of you is dear Mrs. Hastings’ son?”

  “I am,” Anthony said, ignoring Fellows’ outstretched hand. “This is my friend, Peter Brandon.”

  “Of course,” Fellows muttered, his smile slipping as again his proffered hand was ignored. “Please, come into my office. Please…uh, sit down.” There was something about the two men’s demeanor that was making him nervous.

  He slid his ample frame behind his desk and sat down heavily, causing the J.P. Bowie

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  leather chair to groan in seeming protest. “Now, ah…you wished to see me about a donation?”

  “You come straight to the point, don’t you?” Anthony remarked, with a raised eyebrow. “No niceties…no commiserations about my mother’s death…no asking after my family’s welfare. Just straight out going for the scam.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Fellows’ swollen cheeks flushed with anger. “Scam?

  What scam? I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

  “Oh please,” Anthony sneered. “You were scamming my mother for thousands of dollars. Our attorney found evidence of it when he was going through her bank statements.”

  Fellows blanched. “Your attorney?”

  “That’s right. He thought it looked a little strange—you know, a bit on the excessive side, so he ordered copies of the checks from the bank. They were made out to you, Mr. Fellows.”

  “It’s Reverend,” Fellows snapped. He narrowed his eyes at Anthony as he continued. “Your mother gave my church two very generous donations. She was more than happy to, I might add. Her beliefs and mine were, shall we say, compatible. She was in agreement with my uncompromising stand against homosexuality and…”

  “I am only too aware of my mother’s thoughts on that subject,” Anthony interrupted. “But let me ask you this. Did it ever occur to you that the more Christian way would be to have counseled my mother, and suggest that she reach out to her family with love and compassion?”

  “She felt you were beyond redemption,” Fellows hissed. “There can be no compassion for you, and your kind. You are an abomination in the eyes of the Lord! The bible says…”

  “Oh, cut the crap, you charlatan.” Peter, who had so far remained silent, could no longer restrain himself. “You’re the kind of double-dealing, hypocrit-ical, self-righteous bigot who gives the church a bad name. You’re only in this for the money. There isn’t an ounce of spirituality in you.”

  “How dare you!” Fellows lurched to his feet, his face like thunder.

  “No—how dare you.” Anthony rose to his feet, leaned across Fellows’ desk and stared the man down. “Listen to me, Mr. Fellows. You will repay the money my mother gave you. You will make out a check to the charity of my choice and you will do so before Peter and I leave here today.”

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  “You can’t make me do this,” Fellows spluttered. “She intended that as a donation to the Fellowship Church. It was a totally legal transaction. What you are doing is extortion. I’m calling the police, and I shall…”

  “Go right ahead,” Anthony said, interrupting the shaken pastor as he sat down again. “While they’re on their way here, you might think up a story as to why those checks were paid into your personal bank account and not the Fellowship Church’s business account.”

  From the other side of the office door there came the sound of a high-pitched cackle. Christina had ventured downstairs after hearing the raised voices. She had guessed that all was not going according to her husband’s expectations, and now she gave vent to the laughter that had been building up inside her since she overheard the conversation. Fellows’ expression changed from one of consternation to one of almost maniacal malice. Both Peter and Anthony gaped at Christina as she practically fell into the room, still doubled up with laughter.

  “Oh, Jackie boy,” she wheezed as her laughter subsided. “They gotcha, they gotcha.” She turned her red-rimmed eyes on the two friends. “You guys are great. Hey…” She did a little shimmy. “Wanna give an old lady a tumble?” She let out another raucous bray of laughter. “Oh wait, I forgot—you’re both gay, aintcha?”

  “Christina,” Fellows seethed. “Get out of here— now.”

  “What are you gonna do?” his wife asked with a sneer. “Beat me up again?

  This time I’ve got witnesses. These guys have you nailed, husband mine. See, not everyone’s as stupid as you think.”

  For a moment, Peter and Anthony sat transfixed by the scene in front of them, then with a quick look at one another they stood up. “Well, we’ll be on our way, I think…” Anthony said with a smile. “After you’ve written that check, Mr. Fellows…from your personal account, of course.”

  The preacher fell back into his chair. He gazed up at them, not quite sure how all of this had happened. “I…I don’t think I have quite enough in that account…” he stammered.

  “’Course you do, Jackie,” his wife crowed. “Now, who should he make it out to?”

  “Save the Children,” Anthony told her.

  “Oh, isn’t that nice?” Christina gloated. “Isn’t that nice, Jackie?”

  Fellows seized his checkbook and scribbled on it quickly. “Here,” he snarled.

  “Take it and get out.”

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  “I’ll see you to the door, fellas.” Christina gave them what she hoped was a coquettish smile.

  “Did he really hit you?” Peter asked as she opened the door for them.

  “Yup. But don’t let that bother you. I can look after myself.”


  Peter and Anthony could quite believe that, but as they left, Anthony touched her arm and said gently; “Don’t put up with that any longer. If he gives you grief for what happened here today, let us know. We will be your witnesses.”

  “Thanks…” Christina’s rheumy eyes filled with tears. “You guys are great…” She closed the door quietly behind them.

  “Well…what did you make of all that?” Peter asked as he pulled out of the Fellows’ driveway. “That was quite a scene, wasn’t it?”

  “Sure was…” Anthony was quiet for a moment. “I feel so sorry for his wife.

  She’s a wreck.”

  “A drunk, from all accounts,” Peter remarked.

  “If it hadn’t been for her though, I don’t think my bluff would have worked.”

  Peter looked at him sharply. “Bluff? You mean about the bank accounts?”

  Anthony smiled at him. “‘Fraid so. I was only guessing that he’d pull that one—just as well he didn’t ask to see the checks ’cause I don’t have them.

  Lucky for me that his wife blew the whole thing at the right moment.”

  “Jeez, you’ve got some nerve,” Peter said with admiration. “Wait till I tell Jeff this—he’s going to want to hire you!”

  Orange County Times

  Report by Linda Carter

  The Reverend Jack Fellows, leader of the Fellowship Church, was arrested yesterday for alleged spousal abuse. Neighbors called the police when Mrs. Fellows was seen rushing from her home, screaming for help. Fellows refutes her claims that he had beaten her, but said he had been under considerable stress of late. The Reverend was the subject of controversy two years ago when he claimed that several puppet and animated characters were, in fact, gay in nature and should be banned from television. A police spokesperson said Fellows would remain in jail, as he was not able to meet bail…

  c h a p t e r 1 9

  s

  Peter sighed as he gazed at the portrait of Olivia that still stood in his studio.

  He was not sure what he should do with it. Would she still want it? It was good; he couldn’t deny that—some of his best work—but he knew he didn’t want to keep it. Could he put it up for sale in his gallery? The phone ringing in the bedroom interrupted his thoughts. He let the answering machine click on, then on hearing Winifred’s voice, ran to answer it.