The Fifth Gospel

by Grubb, Michelle

  Flic had been enjoying their conversation until now. It was the first time she’d felt at ease with Anna and she liked it. She thought that perhaps Anna had too. It was too late to remove herself from the conversation without looking like a rude bitch, so she calmly explained. “On the contrary, I hope it enhances the church, but that’s not the issue here, and from the tack you’ve taken on the marketing, I presume we’re agreeing to disagree on that. Besides the obvious, there’s a marked difference between an atheist and a religious person and that is that an atheist can understand why people are religious. We see the world and all its intricacies through many different levels. A religious person, on the other hand, can’t for the life of them fathom why an atheist has no faith. They seem incapable of understanding that some people don’t need what they need. The fact that you work in marketing is somewhat odd in that respect, so there might be hope for you yet.”

  “That’s a little generalized, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?”

  Flic wasn’t expecting an answer. If she was right, Anna was admitting her own ignorance.

  “I’d better get back to it.” Anna stood abruptly and was out the door in a matter of moments.

  Flic didn’t want her to leave this way. “Thank you,” she shouted.

  “For what?” Anna returned to the doorway.

  “For your advice. I know it’s not your job to help me with all that stuff. I appreciate it.”

  Anna’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “You’re welcome.” She left.

  *

  The church had brought Anna so much joy as a child, there was a huge part of her that didn’t understand why other people, especially those with troubles or those who had lost their way, didn’t seek solace within its loving arms. Inside the church, she had found contentment and inner peace, and it had been so simple. Even now, she felt a sense of warmth and belonging just thinking about it. It was true that she had wondered why so many others didn’t follow that path. Nevertheless, thinking about Flic’s stance on religion contributed only a fraction of the current reflection she was engaging in after their conversation. The thought of being watched while sleeping was unnerving, but it hadn’t bothered her in the slightest with Flic. In fact, it had felt pleasant not to wake up alone, and the advice she had given Flic was well intentioned. It suddenly occurred to her—God watched over her, but without faith, who watched over Flic? It certainly wasn’t her job, but it felt good to provide a little assistance.

  There was a gentle tap on her door.

  “Anna, it’s me, Flic, can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. I wasn’t trying to. Are you okay?”

  “I’m not offended. You gave me something to think about.” Anna smiled and leaned back in her chair, pleased Felicity had returned. “Your nickname is Flic?”

  “Yes. All my friends call me that. You can call me that, too, if you like.”

  Anna simply nodded and Flic turned to leave.

  “Do you like sushi?” asked Anna.

  Flic nodded.

  So did Anna. “Of course you do. Do you like jam and peanut butter sandwiches like they eat in the States?”

  Flic shook her head. “I’ve tried it, but I prefer them on their own. You?”

  “I love them. They’re my weakness.”

  “Good for you. It’s nice to have your own little indulgence sometimes.”

  “I guess we can’t all like the same things, can we?”

  Flic seemed to understand. “No. We can’t. But I reckon that’s okay.”

  Anna tidied her desk and switched off her computer. Flic took that as her cue to leave.

  “See you bright and early, Flic,” Anna called down the hall after her.

  Chapter Seven

  Although the team working on Flic’s marketing and print run schedules was exhausted and bleary eyed—sipping strong coffee and chatting excitedly—anticipation gripped the entire office. It was seven a.m. on Thursday morning, and nearly one hour ago, Griffin’s listed Holy Father, Holy Secret as a forthcoming new release on their retail webpage front and center. Word from Griffin’s IT department only minutes past six indicated their computer server was struggling with demand for prerelease orders of her book. While demand was a nightmare for IT, it was fabulous news for Flic and Griffin’s.

  Dee’s mobile rang, and the room fell silent. Everyone’s eyes fixed on the vibrating rectangle placed squarely in front of her. She answered while everyone held their breath.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She hung up.

  Flic stood, no longer able to remain still. “Well?”

  “Thirty-five thousand preorders in the first hour.”

  The room erupted.

  Flic grabbed the person closest to her for a hug. That person was Anna. She was struck by the intense unisex perfume that gave Anna a confident air, the solid embrace that held her from the waist and shoulders firmly to Anna’s body, and the faint sigh that escaped Anna’s lips as she gently squeezed Flic.

  The phone rang again, but no one except Dee bothered to take any notice of it this time. She answered, nodded, and then hushed the group. “Anna, the server’s crashed. Get an announcement on social media ASAP. You know what to do.”

  Flic froze, remaining in Anna’s arms. Momentum was important at this time surely. This was a disaster. “This isn’t good, right?”

  Anna gently touched her cheek. “It’s fine, honestly. I’ll work some magic, I promise.” Anna gathered her tablet off the table.

  Dee smiled. “On the contrary, my dear. This is extremely good. Demand for our product is so high it creates more interest and generates more sales. People will want to know what the fuss is about. The best way to find out is to buy the book. Please don’t panic.”

  “But the book isn’t even out yet. And we can’t guarantee when it will be. Won’t this just create problems if there’s a delay?”

  “Hardcover book buyers are a resilient lot. It’ll do more good for sales than harm, trust me.”

  Flic relaxed. Anna gently squeezed her shoulder. “The server will be back soon, and in the meantime our customers will wait, chat about it on social media, or even shop at another retailer. Either way, it’s good for us. We use system crashes like this all the time in marketing to our advantage. This is no different.”

  Flic felt a pang of cold reality. Soon everyone would have access to her work, to the thoughts in her mind. Anna had been right. The thought of people having an opinion on her work was daunting.

  Flic called her parents and then Laura with the good news. Laura was disappointed she was missing all the fun, but she’d remained in constant contact, offering moral support and an ear or a shoulder for when the times got tough.

  Flic poured another coffee and stared at the projector screen. The finished product was simply stunning. The cover encapsulated Rome, the Vatican, and other religious imagery. Her book was a modest 270 pages, but it was well paced, well polished, and extremely professional.

  The marketing campaign was being executed to perfection. Anna had worked tirelessly with unwavering dedication. After the announcement of an impending novel emulating current events surrounding the pope’s sexuality, the media, both TV and print, ran with it beyond even Griffin’s expectations. They had skillfully created an air of mystery surrounding Flic, electing not to expose publicly her tour dates until the day after the book release. That way, Anna hoped to exploit sales on day one, create speculation about the author, and then produce Flic in the ensuing days. Obviously, with information available at the click of button on the Net, people would be able to research Flic as the author, but Anna relied on the media wanting to get hold of the real deal, and for that, they’d have to wait. It was a gamble, news only ever lasted a short time on the front page, or any page for that matter, but given the subject, she was willing to bet Flic would remain a hot commodity on day two.

  After a week of determined effort to the point of near exhaustion, Flic found it
odd to be sitting around watching and waiting for updates. She had nothing else to do, no more publicity tour decisions to make, and for the remainder of the morning, her only job was to sit and relax and let Griffin’s marketing machine work its magic.

  Anna’s team had released some preliminary sales numbers to media outlets, and by mid morning, when sales reached fifty thousand, radio, TV, and Internet broadcasters had published or broadcast the news of an exciting New Vatican exposé, poignant in the current climate.

  The speed at which consumers were reserving and paying for her book was overwhelming, and in the end, Flic was pleased to leave the boardroom for some last-minute media training and publicity photos in preparation for the following days.

  After the training, the photos, and nearly an entire week indoors, pure relief struck her. She understood that the journey had only really just begun, but to have the book finalized and on sale in a prerelease was indescribable. Not quite ready to face the confines of the boardroom, she caught sight of the small park diagonally across the road. The opportunity for precious moments to herself was too tempting.

  Big mistake.

  She made it no more than five steps into the crisp sunlight before a reporter recognized her and pounced, a camera operator close behind him. In no time, that reporter and camera operator grew to about ten, surrounding Flic.

  “Miss Bastone, what do you make of the presale figures for your book?”

  “Miss Bastone, are you religious? Do you discount the Catholic faith as an ancient cult?”

  “Is your book fact or fiction?”

  “Miss Bastone, are you yourself gay?”

  “Miss Bastone, you can’t expect us to believe the release of your book is purely coincidental?”

  Flic had nowhere to go. The words and questions surrounded her, bombarded her, and until she felt the solid arm of Dee Macintosh expertly usher her to the rear of the group, she was convinced she would faint again. Anna took Flic by the hand and led her inside, leaving Dee to fend off the reporters.

  Flic watched behind mirrored glass as Dee capably addressed the gathered press. Realizing she was still holding Anna’s hand, she left it in her grasp, content to wait until Anna was ready to relinquish their connection. She hadn’t felt such soft skin for a long time. Of course, Laura hugged and kissed her every time they met, but it wasn’t the same. She savored the sensation.

  “After your media trainer left, she called to tell me reporters were gathering. I was already on my way down to see just how many when she called back to say you’d inadvertently walked right into them.” Anna briefly glanced at their entwined hands and quickly severed the contact.

  “Sorry.” Flic felt terrible. “Have I stuffed things up?”

  Anna smiled, flexing her fingers and staring at her hand before gathering herself. “In this game, you’ll soon learn that unless you get arrested for murder, most press is good press. There are so many variables in publicity and marketing, that over the years we’ve created ways to turn just about any situation to our advantage.”

  Flic shook her head and smiled back.

  “In actual fact, a murder charge could work for us at this stage, but I’m not advocating such extreme measures.”

  “No. Murder is a sin.”

  Anna raised her eyebrows.

  “And I’d go to jail for it.”

  Anna raised her eyebrows even further.

  “And it’s morally wrong, and to be honest, I just don’t have it in me and it would make me a very bad person.”

  “That’s better.” Anna smiled.

  “Thought so.”

  The early evening news broadcast played in the boardroom when Flic, Dee, and Anna returned. Dee was a master at convincing people they wanted what they couldn’t have. The media were running the story on the book, but they wanted Flic. Predictably, they behaved like a petulant child; the more they were told they couldn’t have her, the more they wanted her. The only mystery that surrounded Felicity Bastone was the one Anna created, and it was working brilliantly.

  Dee switched off the footage. “We’ll be printing this in all corners of the world.” She eyed Flic who must have looked clueless because she explained. “Why print and ship when we can print right where we need to distribute.”

  It made perfect sense and Griffin’s was a big publisher. It wasn’t surprising to learn their strategy was global.

  Dee’s phone rang. She nodded, smiled, said thank you, and hung up.

  Dee then dialed her PA. “Bring it in now, please.”

  Ethan wheeled in a trolley filled with champagne and fancy platters of food. Everyone was summoned to the boardroom.

  “Preliminary reports from sales and marketing are just to hand.” She waited until everyone had a full glass. “Worldwide presales have exceeded two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  A huge cheer erupted as everyone raised their glass.

  Flic was astounded. A quarter of a million people had bought her book before it was officially released. Occasionally, she was overcome with the sensation of floating outside her body and peering in. This was one of those moments. She could hardly believe the impact her book was having and how much time and resources Griffin’s were pouring into it, not only in the UK, but globally. She felt elated, receiving congratulatory hugs and kisses from colleagues, some she’d never even met. As the group toasted their newest sensation, all she could do was smile. Her achievement was outstanding, but it all felt so mind-numbing.

  Flic invited Laura to the office to share in the celebrations, and late that evening when everyone except Dee, Anna, Flic, and Laura had gone home, they sat quietly drinking in Dee’s office lounging on the sofas periodically receiving global updates on book sales. It was anticipated that the first twenty-four hours could yield sales of up to a million copies worldwide.

  At midnight, Dee canceled all Flic’s media engagements for the following day, creating even more hype. She announced to the media that the first glimpse of Felicity Bastone speaking about her book in public would be in Dublin, Ireland, the following Tuesday evening. While sales figures soared, pressure mounted on the printers and distributors. A dedicated team was established simply to manage companies all over the world to meet the deadline.

  On Monday, as long as everything went smoothly, Flic and the team at Griffin would celebrate the release of her book. The throngs of people who purchased it during the presale would finally see what all the fuss was about. Flic hoped it lived up to expectation. She felt nervous and exposed. Her work was about to be revealed to the world. The thought terrified her.

  She felt relieved not to have to face the media the following day, but it did place more pressure on the bookshop appearance Tuesday.

  Exhausted and barely able to keep her eyes open, Flic allowed Laura to call a cab and take her home.

  The journey was mostly silent with Flic resting her head on the seat behind her. Laura’s shrill voice startled her.

  “Stop!” yelled Laura.

  Flic’s eyes snapped open. She recognized her surroundings. “What is it?”

  “When have you ever seen so many vans in your street?” She directed the next comment at the driver. “Change of plan, I’m sorry. We need to go back.”

  The driver seemed to understand the urgency and swiftly turned the vehicle.

  Flic rubbed her eyes and scanned her street. She counted at least seven vans, and as the cab exited the street, at least a dozen people streamed onto the footpath, all eyes trained on the car they knew contained Felicity Bastone.

  Flic phoned Dee immediately. All she wanted, tonight of all nights, was a decent sleep in a comfortable bed. Her bed.

  Dee was clearly annoyed with herself. “I’m sorry, Flic. I thought of everything except the probability that reporters would have discovered where you lived and would be lying in wait.”

  Flic couldn’t tell, but she guessed Dee was already in bed.

  “My mind has been so focused on printing and marketing your book, as has
everyone else’s, that something so downright obvious was overlooked. I’m truly sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I can stay with Laura tonight.” It wasn’t ideal; Laura lived in a small one-bedroom apartment.

  “Nonsense. I’ll make a call and get right back to you.” She hung up and within a minute had called back. She was sending her to the Safire, one of London’s most exclusive and contemporary hotels. Dee would arrange a car to take her to the house in the morning, collect what she needed, and return her to the office where they were scheduled to meet at eleven.

  Upon arrival at the hotel, Flic sent Laura home; she was wooing a new client first thing and needed all the energy she could muster to deal with him.

  Flic felt alone. It was an odd feeling compared to the constant interaction she’d had with Griffin’s staff this last week.

  Nearing the end of the most exciting and hectic two weeks of her life, Flic was asleep as soon as her head nestled into the expensive feather and down pillows. Her last thought was the hope that the media weren’t causing her neighbors too much grief. When they realized she wasn’t coming home, she hoped they would bugger off and find something better to do. But then, that wasn’t really what her publicity campaign needed. She needed those reporters, every single one of them. Dee and Anna had made it clear that the media were an ally and the enemy all rolled into one. Nevertheless, like everything else, she was assured they could be manipulated; that’s what marketing geniuses like Anna were for. Why then, thought Flic, did she feel like the one being manipulated?

  Chapter Eight

  “I didn’t think of it. I can’t think of everything.” Dee sat reclined at her desk while Anna stood explaining herself. She hadn’t yet been invited to sit, and that alone annoyed her. The fact that no one had thought of reporters at Flic’s house was an oversight, but the blame lay squarely with both of them, not her alone.

  “That’s your excuse?”