He wouldn’t make her feel any better. That wasn’t really his thing.
So instead, she asked herself a question she never in a million years would have considered asking before, because she was so, so desperate not to walk in this particular person’s footsteps.
What would Jesus do?
The answer came immediately. She put a hand on Courtney’s shoulder, trying to make a little physical contact without inviting a full hug—after all, she wasn’t actually Jesus. “I’m not asking you not to love him, Courtney. He’s about to get his ass handed to him by the media and all of his undoubtedly shitty friends. The church that he’s committed himself to since he was a kid, really gone all-in with, is going to toss him out on his ass in a big, public way. If you ask me, he’s about to need your love more than ever. But if you want to stay associated with this group, I’m going to need you to speak out against his actions when the day comes. If you think you can do that and still love him, I’m okay with you staying.”
Courtney’s mouth was lolling open slightly. “You’re not kicking me out?”
“Not yet.”
Courtney’s shoulders dropped away from her ears like they were lowering on hydraulics. “I thought for sure you would.”
“I probably should. But I’ve been spending too much time with Jesus.”
“Jesus?”
Oh right. “Figure of speech.”
Courtney nodded, but there was a clearly defined crease running between her brows. “Right. Well, thanks.”
“And do me a favor. Tell me the minute the story on Trent breaks.” She wanted to watch it live and be sure to follow the tweets as they poured in.
Courtney Wurst nodded solemnly, her little snub nose bobbing obnoxiously before she turned and walked away.
Jessica pulled out her phone as soon as she was alone and typed up the message, Don’t tell anyone, but Trent Wurst is about to be implicated in pigfucking. It’s not even my birthday. That last sentence was obvious enough, because if it were her birthday, only terrible things would be happening. Not great and exciting things like this.
She read it over once more then sent the text to her old childhood friend, Christopher Riley.
Chapter Thirty-Two
205:13:02:55 until Doomsday
It wasn’t easy picking out charities to support, especially around Christmas when every charity was behaving like it’d just done three lines of coke before closing the biggest deal of its life.
Then there was also the question of which ones followed most closely with Jessica’s mission.
Mission. Ha! They think I have a mission. Cute.
Wendy had already instructed her that it couldn’t all go to wildlife conservation groups … but that didn’t mean some or even most couldn’t go there.
So far, it was an even split between wildlife, homeless services, animal shelters, women empowerment initiatives, elderly care, and aid for natural disasters in Asia.
When Wendy had asked why that last was so important to her, she’d simply said it was close to the heart. It was also close to the conscience, but instead of mentioning that, she reminded the publicist that one of the new priestesses had committed most of her life to that cause and had a good knowledge of the best ways to help and make the money go further.
In total, Jessica had donated nearly ten million dollars over the past few months.
It had become a full-time job, since the money needed to go out as quickly as it came in for the purposes of not amassing any wealth the Devil could claim in the lawsuit. While the new 501(c)(3) status of the church only made for murkier waters in ongoing legal matters—the tax exemption and the First Amendment freedoms that went along with it had been righteously bestowed upon her by the IRS after the Devil’s suit had already been filed—one thing was clear: this money could burn a hole in her soul if she held on to it too long.
The matter of money management and who was technically attached to which dollars was a complicated dance that, thankfully, Jessica was not in charge of. They’d brought someone new on for that, a specialist Wendy knew, and assurances were made that there were perfectly legal ways to hide large sums of money, since most laws were designed by people with money specifically to benefit people with money. Money laundering, turned out, was for the nouveau riche, the unrefined.
She tried not to think about any of it.
But this truth remained: Money was no longer an issue. She could get it whenever she wanted it, pay large amounts to all the groups she cared about, and finally pay people what they deserved, or, following Jimmy’s advice, double what they deserved.
And yet, nothing felt any easier.
Though, she supposed she hadn’t gone without in years. There was Chris and Jameson’s generosity, and before that, the scratch-off lottery tickets from God. And before that, she’d lived in Mooretown where the cost of living was easily one tenth of what it was in Austin, meaning even Destinee’s pharmacy pay had mostly made ends meet.
Her phone vibrated on the kitchen island next to where she sat with her laptop open. She checked it and found a message from Wendy. The lawsuit was scheduled to go to court sometime after the new year, assuming they didn’t settle, which seemed more unlikely by the day, despite Wendy’s insistence that such a resolution was par for the course with legal matters involving religious figures.
WOMEN SHOULD NEVER SETTLE. THAT’S WHAT I ALWAYS SAY.
Perhaps it was her morning of sending off massive donations, but God’s voice was higher than she’d heard it yet.
What are you talking about? Always say to who? Jesus? Who else are you talking to?
I TALK TO ALL SORTS OF PEOPLE. JUST BECAUSE THEY DON’T LISTEN DOESN’T MEAN I’M NOT TALKING. YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES, THE LORD JUST… OH, NEVER MIND.
What?
NOTHING.
No, what is it?
IT’S NOTHING, OKAY?
Are you … are you mad at me?
NO.
It seems like you’re upset.
I’M FINE. THE LORD IS JUST FINE.
She didn’t believe that, but far be it from her to argue with the Lord when She was in one of Her moods.
Her phone buzzed again, and she grabbed it without thinking, expecting another text from Wendy.
But it wasn’t Wendy’s name on her screen.
It was Miranda’s.
The message was, You home?
After months of radio silence, after having concluded that her birthday party the year before was going to be the last time she ever saw her old best friend again, suddenly she had dropped back in. Jess knew she should have been happy, but instead, she was livid. How dare she!
She responded with, Yeah.
Ooh … one-word answers. Perfect. That would be her plot for petty revenge.
Miranda: Great. I’m at the front door. Can you buzz me in?
“The fuck?”
OH NO SHE DID NOT.
Right? She just assumes whatever I’m doing can wait.
Jessica looked around. The place wasn’t exactly tidy. “Dammit.” She rocked herself off the barstool and went over to the intercom to buzz Miranda in.
And then she began the scramble around her apartment to grab anything that screamed “I cannot be trusted to live a basic adult lifestyle” and threw it all into her bedroom closet.
She’d just managed to get all the dirty dishes off various surfaces and into the sink when there was a knock at the front door.
It was eleven in the morning, and Jessica was still in her pj’s. Well, nothing to do about that, because she’d be damned if she put on a bra when not absolutely necessary. Some of the lessons she’d learned at the women’s retreat in Carlsbad had made a lasting impression, it seemed.
She opened the door, and Miranda stood there, smiling, wearing makeup and, presumably, a bra. Instantly Jessica knew she should have put a little effort into her looks. Being the sloppier one put her at a power disadvantage.
Oh god, I’m spending too much time around Jimm
y.
“Heeeey!” she said.
“Heeeey!” Miranda replied.
They hugged.
She welcomed her inside, and Miranda’s first words were, “Keeping this place in good shape, I see.” Jessica detected no sarcasm.
“Yeah, you know. I figure so long as it still belongs to Jameson, I should take care of it.”
“He still hasn’t signed it over to you?”
“He tried, but with the lawsuit going on, Wendy wants to limit my assets.”
Miranda’s face scrunched. “Oh. That sucks. I bet you hate that.”
“Very much so.”
She grabbed two beers from the fridge, assuming Miranda would want one, then remembered with some embarrassment that it was still before noon.
To Miranda’s credit, she didn’t even bat an eye, just used her shirt to twist off the top, which she tossed onto the counter.
They settled in awkwardly around the kitchen island. “So, what brings you to the neighborhood?”
“Winter break. I thought I would slit my wrists if I stayed in Mooretown with my mom for a second longer. Not that she’s bad company, but—”
“No, I get it. I totally get it.”
“Right. You would.”
A strained silence, then Jessica said, “So you came to Austin to see … friends?”
“Yeah, I know a couple people from school who live here, and they invited me to come out with them for a few nights.”
“Did what’s-his-name come too?”
Miranda arched an eyebrow. “What’s-his-name?”
“The guy you were dating.”
“Ohhh … Desmond? No. We broke up months ago.”
Jessica wanted nothing more than to ask why they had, but it didn’t feel right. Before she could stop herself, different words rushed out. “Quentin’s still single, you know.”
As soon as she’d said his name, she knew she’d screwed up. Miranda flinched, the skin around her eyes tightening, and the corners of her mouth slanting toward the ground. “I know. But that’s not happening again.”
“Why not? You two were so good together. Yeah, he messed up, and … and we all messed up, but hasn’t time away helped? I mean, he’s amazing. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”
“Sounds like you might have a thing for him. He’s all yours.”
“What? No, no. That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s too late, Jess. I’m not still mad at him or you and Chris for keeping it from me. I appreciate the tough situation you were all in. But I just …” She paused and took a sip from her bottle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I needed some space. I needed time away from the whole angels and God stuff. It was weird to know my best friend was the daughter of God and my boyfriend and his best friend were angels and I was nothing. Just a human. It got me thinking—maybe I don’t have an important role to play here. Maybe it’s great that God made me a human and not an angel. I have the ability to leave and stay gone like y’all don’t have. Maybe it was a gift.”
Before she could stop herself, she muttered, “You’re doing a great job of staying gone.”
“You’re doing a great job of making me regret coming by.”
“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Go on with what you were saying.”
Miranda hesitated, then did. “I realized, though, that leaving and staying away just because I could was, in fact, just another form of this whole thing determining my life. Coming and going as I please is actual freedom from it.”
It didn’t feel fantastic to hear, but it made enough sense. Besides, Jessica could relate. There were moments, plenty of them, when she would do almost anything to get away from herself.
“Either way,” Jessica said, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m starting a church, and I’ve been flip-flopping between asking myself what Jesus would do and what Jimmy would do.”
Miranda jerked her head back. “Ew. Why would you want to do anything Jimmy would do?”
“We’ve sort of … teamed up.”
“Jess no!”
“It’s under extreme supervision and totally under wraps.” And before she knew it, they were on their second round of beer and she had caught up her former best friend about her meeting with Jimmy, the glorious demise of Eugene Thornton, and her quest to start a church of her own.
“You really think starting a church is going to fix the problems that were mostly created by other churches?”
And there it was, the question she’d been asking herself on repeat since the first setting the idea in motion. She still didn’t have a satisfying answer, but she had one that served as a Band-Aid. “I don’t see any other way. People don’t listen to you if you’re not a formal institution who claims to have a direct line to God. Sure, individuals have influence, like pro athletes and Hollywood celebrities, but nothing is quite like a church.”
“You’re trying to beat Jimmy at his own game while he’s coaching your team. Not sure how you expect that to end successfully. But more importantly, how do you know you’re not going to create a monster like White Light?”
“We left out all the pig stuff from our beliefs.”
She nodded. “Okay, that’s a good start.”
Jessica continued to fill her in on what she’d missed, and when she got to the point of the lawsuit, Miranda said, “That’s strange, though. You ignore your main purpose for years, and you build up this business that makes you happy enough, and you start running around with celebrities and shit, sort of what everyone dreams of doing, and then the Devil sends you out into the desert for a women’s retreat to empower yourself, and in the meantime, she takes all that stuff you’ve built for yourself out from under you so the only option you have left is to pursue what you were put on earth to do. Why would she do that?”
“Um.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“When you put it like that, yes, it does.”
“It’s almost like she was helping you.”
“Except that can’t be.”
“So, what is it?”
Jessica paused. She hadn’t considered that before. Her natural assumption was Devil = Evil, and Evil was bad and only around to thwart good. Perhaps it was an overly simplistic take, but the nature of good and evil had always been presented to her that way, and she hadn’t had occasion to question it.
But now she did. “I think she believed it would crush me for good. That I wouldn’t dust myself off and start on this route.”
“And was she right about that?”
“Apparently not.”
Miranda grinned. “You think the Devil underestimated you?”
“I guess so.”
“Jessica McCloud, that’s the most self-confidence I’ve heard from you in your entire life.”
“Don’t go around telling people about it. They’ll start to expect it from me.”
“You sound so confident, in fact, that I think you might be ready to confront her.”
Jessica inhaled a sip of beer and began coughing around it. “Con—” She coughed some more. “Confront her? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. I think it’s time.”
“It’s not time.”
“You have to eventually.”
“I do not.”
Miranda groaned exasperatedly. “What do you see happening with this? You just avoid her until one of you dies?”
“That sounds like a great plan. Sure. I’ll do it.”
“I heard you saw her in the street and dodged into a leather store.”
Jessica’s mouth fell open. “I thought you weren’t talking to Quentin!”
“I’m not. But he told Chris, and Chris told me.”
“I’m going to have to have a word with Christopher Riley about his gossiping habits.”
“Can you blame him? He wants nothing more than to talk with you about all this stuff, but he doesn’t feel like he can, so he goes to the next best thing: me.”
“You’re the best thi
ng, not the next best thing. We’ve always known that.”
“Not to Chris. You’re the best thing in the entire world to that poor guy.”
She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t, not on that point. “I just don’t see the benefit in confronting her. It’s not going to change her behavior. She’s not going to suddenly become not evil.”
“It’s not about changing her. Think about it. If you can confront the Devil, who is going to scare you after that?”
Shit. That was a solid question. “But what if I confront her and she uses the opportunity to screw me even worse?”
“You just said you think she underestimated you. If that’s the case, then she probably thinks your success so far is a fluke. She likely assumes this whole church thing is being orchestrated by someone other than you. You can use her low estimation of you against her to get the better of her. Women and people of color have done this for years, and to great effect.”
“But she is a woman.”
“No, she’s the Devil. It’s not even remotely the same thing. I know we haven’t kept up much lately, but I still know you better than just about anyone. That’s why I’m here right now. I’ve seen the shit you’ve gone through your whole life, and yet here you are, still standing and building something. You can do this. I’m sure of it. You can beat the Devil at her own game, and now’s the time, Jessica. Now’s the goddamned time.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
198:15:31:08 until Doomsday
Jessica’s hands were shaking as she approached the office building. She cursed Miranda’s name over and over in her mind as she walked in step with her attorney, Angelo Samuels, and Wendy Peterman. The tension between them was palpable, which made sense considering Wendy had been casually dating him for years to gain his pro-bono services and now she no longer had to. She could pay him. And if Jessica had learned anything about money recently, it was that adding it into an existing relationship never improved said relationship.
They’d drilled her on what to say and what not to say in this meeting for weeks now, ever since she’d messaged the publicist with Miranda hovering over her shoulders, and said she was ready to confront the Devil face-to-face.
The End Is Her Page 19